Hmmm. What you’re saying is that you’ve never been kissed?” He picked at a string on the blanket under us.

It was an oddly satisfying idea to feel bereft as I left my mother this time. We only feel bereft when we’re deprived of something meaningful.

Wyatt told me once that if tenderness were a disease, I’d be terminal.

Hearing my brother’s words coming out of Henry, this stranger in a strange town, made me feel wild with all the loss—wild and wired with no place to put those feelings.

I turned my ear toward the door because I heard him breathing. When you’re alone and afraid, the simple sound of the steady in and out of air being drawn by another person is good medicine.

I found I could only glance at him for tiny moments and then I had to look away. He was perfect enough to hurt my feelings for a long time, and I wanted to let him.

Then let me be your mercy, ” he said. “I’ll never be able to give you smart answers about why we suffer, but I can come into your world and try to be some kind of help to you.

Next to the first Henry and Meg, Henry had written, “Promise?” Well, that genie’s out of the bottle and there’s no stuffing her back in.

I smiled at him. Not even Wyatt would have known how to be this honorable when talking about a girl that had hurt him.

He leaned toward me and said his name like he was sharing a secret and it made me think he probably kept a lot of secrets. His smile was sweet and his teeth the tiniest bit crooked.

I could’ve gone on and on but the truth was all that mattered. “My brother died because someone was jealous.

There is no wealth like knowledge, no poverty like ignorance.

Why does everyone have to pretend to be stupid and not know long words?

Old soul cries through the tears of a newborn

A wife who discomforts you with truth is better than a mistress who massages you with lies.

The judge also has a truth he wants to hide: He often hasn't been completely candid in describing the facts or the law.

for most of us the space between 'dreaming on things to come' and 'it is too late, it is all over' is too tiny to enter.

There's an old line that goes like this: An optimist is usually happy. And a pessimist is usually right. Maybe so. But which would you rather be, anyway?

The few of understanding, vision rare, Who veiled not from the herd their hearts, but tried, Poor generous fools, to lay their feelings bare, Them have men always burnt and crucified.

More glorious to merit a sceptre than to possess one.

The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.