I don't understand, Jem. I don't understand why you'd leave me. Why would you that?

You get use to someone—start to like them, even—and they leave. In the end, everyone leaves.

And just when I though things were starting to get better, everything had gone wrong again.

We all know we're one day closer to the end when we wake up in the morning. We just kid ourselves that it's not happening.

However cozy things seemed, the facts of life were the same. You couldn't escape death: It would get us all in the end.

I was tired of being me.

He loved me and I loved him, but the number in my head was telling me that he was going to die today. And the numbers had never been wrong.

How easy to be a bird or an animal, living from day to day, unaware you're alive, unaware that one day you will die.

And then, a strangely comforting thought trickled through me—I had nothing, so I could do anything now. Anything I wanted. I had nothing left to lose.

Life's not that simple. Not so easy to move on when the anger you've got is what keeps you going.

History engineered if the facts couldn't be generally accepted.

Art is what you get away with

A feeble body weakens the mind.

Can we today measure devotion to husband and children by our indifference to everything else?

This is the epitaph I want on my tomb: Here lies one of the most intelligent animals who ever appeared on the face of the earth.

Prosperity often presages adversity.

Good nature will always supply the absence of beauty; but beauty cannot supply the absence of good nature.

Nothing seems to me more doubtful than Aristotle's remark that it is probable the arts and philosophy have several times been discovered and several times lost.

The music is all. People should die for it. People are dying for everything else, so why not the music?

I hope you are never victims, but I hope you have no power over other people.