I can’t stop you from killing yourself. If that’s what you truly want, no one can stop you. I can’t be around twenty-four hours a day, looking after you. But if that’s what you want, don’t you think you owe it to your mother to talk to her first?

It’s a good day when a goddess gets on the school-bus with you.

Fate comes in and sweeps us all like a big broom, you hear? And the dust goes flyin’ and it lands where it lands, and we get no say in the matter.

His safe haven had turned into an ambush.

Once he gets inside your head, you’re dead.

I don’t believe in writer’s block. Writer’s block is when you’re running down an ally and all of a sudden you’re trapped by a brick wall. You can’t go under, over, or through it. You’re stuck. But the problem isn’t that you can’t pass the brick wall. You see, the problem is that you went down the wrong ally.

But it’s high school. It’s not real love, or at least you can’t be sure it’s real love. Real love is messy and complicated and brutal. It’s been tested. Zik and Michelle have never been tested by anything mroe than being separated by a couple of classes.

If you don’t feel anything, you can’t be hurt.

Popular culture woefully underprepares us for actual therapy.

This isn’t ‘I do something for you, you do something for me’. This is hard-core friendship. Varsity level. This is me asking you to do something for me without getting anything in return. This is friendship, Howie.