There is no better taste than this: someone else's laughter in your mouth.

Please kiss that girl a million times.

It was her eyes and my eyes and I felt a surging sensation of rightness, of saying the right thing at the right time to the right person.

After everything I'd lived through, I was not going to be reduced to a one-sentence definition.

There were so many different versions of him. It was countless versions of a song, and they were all original, and they were all true, and they were all right. It should have been impossible. Was I supposed to love them all?

I hated this. I hated knowing what I wanted and knowing what was right and knowing that they weren't the same thing.

The truth is, I feel myself being fascinated and repelled by her: She's both a mirror of myself and a door to part of this island that I'm not.

As the hours crept by, the afternoon sunlight bleached all the books on the shelves to pale, gilded versions of themselves and warmed the paper and ink inside the covers so that the smell of unread words hung in the air.

You could write a book about things that you can't find on-line.