...what was it like out there? Kind of describe it to us," Jessa says, beaming at them and then at me. Trini beams at her and there's a lot of beaming happening.

What’s the difference between a trip and a journey?" "Narnie, my love, when we get there, you’ll understand.

What do you want from me?" he asks. What I want from every person in my life, I want to tell him. More.

Hold my hand because I might disappear.

But grief makes a monster out of us sometimes . . . and sometimes you say and do things to the people you love that you can't forgive yourself for.

Do you think people have noticed that I'm around?" "I notice when you're not. Does that count?

No," I say, looking up at Griggs. "It's actually because my heart belongs to someone else." And if I could bottle the look on his face, I'd keep it by my bedside for the rest of my life.

The truth doesn't set you free, you know. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed and defenseless and red in the face and horrified and petrified and vulnerable.

I think if I'm ever asked to recall what Year 12 was all about, I'll remember it as one big cappuccino experience.

It's like you have a plan and someone comes along and makes you want to change it all, but you still like your first plan, no matter how fantastic the second one makes you feel.

Maybe memories should be left the way they are.

It is dark. You cannot see. Only the hint of stars out the broken window. And a voice as old as the Snake from the Garden whispers, 'I will hold your hand.

The feeling that the work is magnificent, and the feeling that it is abominable, are both mosquitoes to be repelled, ignored, or killed, but not indulged.

Democracy is the name we give the people whenever we need them.

Truth springs from argument amongst friends.

The power of love itself weakens and gradually becomes lost with age, like all the other energies of man.

No one in the United States of America should ever be targeted because of who they are, what they look like, or how they worship.

The point is the love story. We live in a love story in the midst of war.

I've discovered writers by reading books left in airplane seats and weird hotels.

Each has his own tree of ancestors, but at the top of all sits Probably Arboreal.

Speak not at all, in any wise, till you have somewhat to speak; care not for the reward of your speaking, but simply and with undivided mind for the truth of your speaking.