They speak little; it is as if the air has been churned up with decade’s worth of fruitless pursuit and missed connections and thoughts unspoken, and they are waiting quietly for all this matter – these motes of opportunity forgone – to settle around them.

There is the possibility of a happy ending.

I like to think he’s in a better place. And besides, when you get older, you want to have something to believe in.

When you fall in love, friends, let yourself fall.

Do you always travel with such cumbersome books?” “I don’t trust anyone who wouldn’t.

If you can become anything, then you aren’t anything. Right? Like there’s some fundamental way in which the you of you doesn’t exist anymore.

The creation of art requires descent into the dark.

He is terrified, suddenly, that she will vanish again, that they will continue to age, and likely die, apart.

The story you walk into, he has learned, is always more complex than it first appears.

This is what happens, of course: men get lost, men vanish, men are erased and reborn.