Holding a real book is like holding something alive. There’s the grit of the pages between your fingers as you turn them. The edges get soft and worn. With a real book, you feel the weight of the story more.

I’ve made this deal with the universe. I’ve learned not to ask more of it than what I’m given, both good and bad.

I’ve never considered any book, especially a novel or work of literature, something you should ‘plow through.’ The whole point of reading is savor ing the story, immersing your self in a whole new place. Maybe one that doesn’t even exist.

You’re painting stars where I colored black holes.

Thing is, when you put something back together it’s never exactly the same as it was before.

So I wanted you to choose a future that’s first and foremost yours alone. Not to belong to me. I want you to belong with me.

Speed-reading just squashes the whole experience. You miss detail and pacing, and everything the author intended you to feel in the first place.

She forgets that what she does in one small moment can affect tomorrow.

It’s just too bloody hard. For now, let our time here be our moment.” The moment we cheated worlds and lives and universes for.

You love that boy like you love the kitchen. . .but you add yourself like too much sugar sometimes.