But then again, maybe 'I will' is nicer. It has the future in it. 'I do' just has the present.

It was strange, really. A couple months ago, I had thought I couldn’t live without him. Apparently I could.

I wondered if the person who really loves you is the person who knows all your stories, the person who WANTS to know all your stories.

Love stories are written in millimeters and milliseconds with a fast, dull pencil whose marks you can barely see, they are written in miles and eons with a chisel on the side of a mountiantop

It was odd to have something so personal out there in that way, but the good thing about art is that no one necessarily knows what you mean by it anyway.

It was funny how dad was more honest in a book that anyone in the world could pick up and read than he could be talking to me. Or maybe it was sad. One or the other. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

I was crying a little for the boy I had wanted him to be and the boy he hadn’t turned out to be.

My heart was a little bit broken, but I still had to go to school. I buttoned my dress shirt over it and my winter coat, too. I hoped it didn't show too much.

Each period had required me to be a slightly different person, and that was exhausting. I wondered if school had always felt this way and whether it was like this for everone.

But now, at this moment, you can't hook your boat to mine, 'cause I'm liable to sink us both. (222)

Hi there, " squeaked a precocious little voice, "you are speaking to Chloe Fusakawa, and I have just learned how to answer the phone.

Poets never die, I thought. They just fail in the end.

Don't blaming your challenge but get up and look it as a bridge to your success.

Cuz I can count on one hand the men who’ve loved me, not in the Biblical sense—I don’t have enough digits for that—but who have truly loved me.

Think of any great man or woman. How can you separate them from the years in which they lived? You can't. Their greatness lies in their response to that moment.

Art destroys silence.

Delay is the enemy of progress.

A radical is a man with both feet firmly planted-in the air.

I have been coaching recently. I coached high school basketball in Arizona, and I hope that more opportunities become available.

So you see, in the end, it is nearly certain that the power of prediction must triumph over the arrogance of elegance.

I wouldn't call myself a feminist, because I think there are differences between men and women.