It was another country. It was a country for the young, a country where you died before you got old.

Ronan Lynch lived with every sort of secret.

The inside of the old Camaro smelled like asphalt and desire, gasoline and dreams.

His home was populated by things and creatures from Niall Lynch's dreams, and his mother was just another one of them

It was a sort of ferocious, quiet beauty, the sort that wouldn't let you admire it. The sort of beauty that always hurt.

Reality's what other people dream for you.

I wish you could be kissed, Jane, ' he said. 'Because I would beg just one off you. Under all this.' He flailed an arm toward the stars.

Ronan's second secret was Adam Parrish.

At this, Gansey rolled over onto his back and folded his hands on his chest. He wore a salmon polo shirt, which, in Blue’s opinion, was far more hellish than anything they’d discussed to this point.

The Gray Man hated his current rental car. He got the distinct impression it hadn't been handled enough by humans when it was young, and now it would never be pleasant to be around.

Do you eat all of the men in the family? Where do they go? Does this house have a basement?

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.

Even the loneliest and most solitary in the universe... the very cold space dust... will eventually come together to form a star.

You never know how many friends you have until you rent a cottage at the beach.

On one night of my debut the Prince of Wales, the Princess, and the duchess of London came to see me. They loved me for what I was and what I gave them.

Filmmakers have to find the right materials to match their [voice].

The only thing that gets in the way of a really good photograph, is the camera

Preparing for the ups and downs of life.

I think that we're all mentally ill. Those of us outside the asylums only hide it a little better - and maybe not all that much better after all.

For, until the wisdom of men bear some proportion to the wisdom of God, their attempts to find out the structure of his works, by the force of their wit and genius, will be vain.

Philosophy is the microscope of thought. Everything desires to flee from it, but nothing escapes it.