All right, so we're also all fucked up. But hey, you think sober people aren't all fucked up? The world is being run by sober people—and it doesn't look like it's working out all that well. Just.

I was looking for you without knowing what I was looking for.

And then my dad was there. He and my brother stared at each other and I couldn't stand the look on their faces, because it seemed like there was the hurt of all the sons and all the fathers of the world. And the hurt was so deep that it was way beyond tears and so their faces were dry.

When something gets broken, it can be fixed.

Sometimes heaven was feeling nothing. Maybe being drunk was a little like dying and going to heaven. Like living in the light. He kept thinking of Ileana. She was eight now.

Your pain's become the only light you know. You want to punish yourself. You think your life has to be a tragedy.

But the thing is, I didn't make my friends happy and they didn't make me happy. All we did was get stoned out of our minds. That didn't have anything to do with happiness.

And prayer? How could you pray to a God you wanted to hit?

Do you think the heart needs love to keep on beating?

I think you love him more than you can bear.

And then it started hailing. It was so beautiful and scary, I wondered about the science of storms and how sometimes it seemed that a storm wanted to break the world and how the world refused to break.

In order to be wildly popular you had to make people believe that you were fun and interesting I just wasn't that much of a con artist.

She was a counselor, a therapist, a beautiful woman. He was nothing. That's what he was.

I have this idea that the reason we have dreams is that we're thinking about things that we don't know we're thinking about - and those things, well, they sneak out of us in our dreams.

I lived in pain because I chose to live in pain. Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with the idea of tragedy, the idea that I was destined to live a tragic life. I had this romantic idea about the life of a writer and what he was supposed to suffer. [...:] Somehow I made my own pain a kind of god.

I felt like I was the saddest boy in the universe. Summer had come and gone. Summer had come and gone. And the world was ending.

It would be so effen great if the whole world laughed more- the whole world. I don't mean the kind of laughing that's putting someone down. I mean the kind of laughing that means you've just discovered something really beautiful.

All the hovering angels were gone. He thought maybe there had been a funeral. Someone had died. Everything was black—the sky, the clothes he was wearing, his heart.

And even though rain was a miracle because this was the desert, that night it was not a miracle because the rain sounded like a thief trying to break into the house.

Maybe I was a little superior. But I don't think I was superior. I just didn't understand how to talk to them, how to be myself around them. Being around other guys didn't make me feel smarter. Being around other guys made me feel stupid and inadequate. It was like they were all part of this club and I wasn't a member.

Maybe Sam was right about things hiding inside of us. How many more things were hiding there?

She retreated to her own desert, prayed and fought with God there.

And loved my father too, for the careful way he spoke. I came to understand that my father was a careful man. To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.

Ari, it's time you stopped running.

I wanted to buy a T-shirt that read: I AM UNKNOWABLE.

Being on the verge of seventeen could be harsh and painful and confusing. Being on the verge of seventeen really suck.

Too much analysis. What ever happened to reading a book because you liked it?

Yeah, I had all kinds of tragic reasons for feeling sorry for myself. Being fifteen didn't help. Sometimes I thought that being fifteen was the worst tragedy of all.

Do you think we'll ever discover all the secrets of the universe?

There is a randomness to this ballet of death. This is the order of things. This is the secret to understanding the universe. Everything happens in an instant. Normalcy. And then apocalypse.

You could smell the rain in the desert even before a drop fell. I closed my eyes. I held my hand out and felt the first drop. It was like a kiss. The sky was kissing me.

Maybe the sun had set. Maybe the rainbow had lifted—because the light was gone.

There's nothing ordinary about you. Nothing ordinary at all.

Guess that's a part of what the living did, they took care of their dead.

Maybe it's a terrible thing, to keep a war to yourself. But maybe that's the way it has to be.

I'd rather have a cup of coffee and a cigarette than live in all that honesty.

I hadn't even solved the mystery of my own body.

I wondered what it was like, to hold someone's hand. I bet you could find all the mysteries of the universe in someone's hand.

I wondered what it would be like, to love a girl, to know how a girl thinks, to see the world through a girl's eyes. Maybe they knew more than boys. Maybe they understood things that boys could never understand.

What if hummingbirds lost their wings? We had twenty-four hours to come back with an answer, and it took her precisely ten hours and seven minutes to text me back: Then it would rain for days and the world would know the rage of the grieving sky.

I hated God for giving me a heart. What good were they? Hearts? Having one got me exactly where?

The storm was fierce. But I wasn't afraid. I knew my father's love was fiercer than any storm.

If summer was a book then I was going to write something beautiful in it. In my own handwriting. But I had no idea what to write.

He's like a sunflower, Grace. He leans into me as if I were the source of all light.

I keep that memory somewhere inside me—​where it's safe. I take it out and look at it when I need to. As if it were a photograph.

It felt like there was a whole world inside her.

But what really bugged the living crap out of me was that my mother had more friends than I did. How saw was that?

I thought masturbating was embarassing. I didn't even know why. It just was. It was like having sex with yourself. Having sex with yourself was really weird. Autoeroticism.

One summer night I fell asleep hoping the world would be different when I woke. In the morning, when I opened my eyes, the world was the same.