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.