You´re my son, Ed. You might be idiotic and irresponsible, but it doesn´t make the slightest difference to what I feel for you. I´m pissed off that you could have thought it would

Because even if the whole world was throwing rocks at you, if you still had your mother or father at your back, you'd be okay.

The triumph of hope over experience.

All Chelsea's internet dates were gorgeous. Until she met them.

They were like animals, men. They found too much eye contact threatening.

She was always tired, these days. She put on one of those smiles that wasn’t really a smile at all, and they went on.

Real friends were the kind where you pick up where you’d left off, whether it be a week since you’d seen each other or two years.

Kind eyes under all the mascara.

A face whose emotions had not yet been battered by experience.

He dropped his head and kissed her. He kisses her and it was a kiss of utter certainty, the kind of kiss during which monarchs die and whole continents fall without your even noticing.

Because even if the whole world was throwing rocks at you, if you still had your mother or father at your back, you’d be okay.

When you are beloved and happy, you are a great success.

You will always have time for what you make time for

Gross Domestic Product—the substitution, in effect, of ideas for physical value.

So this was betrayal. It was like being left alone in the desert at dusk without water or warmth. It left your mouth dry and will broken. It sapped your tears and made you hollow.

It's - everybody's looking at the bottom line all the time, and failure doesn't look good on the bottom line, and yet you don't learn anything without failing.

My first dissatisfaction has always been with religion.

Get up there, where 'there' is . . . get up in front and . . . preach your guts out!

When men die of disease they are said to die from natural causes. When they recover (and mostly they do) the doctor gets the credit of curing them.

You look at the tree and you allow it. You see why it is the way it is.

Misery is the River of the World