Here’s the last thing that occurs to me as Sarah recedes in the rearview mirror, slamming out of the car, jogging across the parking lot: If you’re one tardy away from missing out on a...

The sparrows jumped before they knew how to fly, and they learned to fly only because they had jumped

The idea—the fact of it, the fact that he even noticed and thought about me for more than one second—is huge and overwhelming, makes my legs go tingly and my hands feel numb.

But it’s not about knowing. It is simply about going forward.

An itchy feeling began to work its way through my body, as though a thousand mosquitoes were circulating through my blood, biting me from the inside, making me want to scream, jump, squirm. I ran.

They couldn’t have known that even this was a lie—that we never really choose, not entirely. We are always being pushed and squeezed down one road or another. We have no choice but to step...

Every day, streets papered with more and more for .Reward, reward, reward.Reward for information.If you see something, say something.A paper town, a paper world: paper rustling in the airm whispering to me, hissing out a...

Somehow, the pain only makes it better, more intense, more worth it.

That was what her parents did not understand—and had never understood—about stories. Liza told herself storied as though she was weaving and knotting an endless rope. Then, no matter how dark or terrible the pit...

I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.

The rules of Panic are simple. Anyone can enter. But only one person will win.

There was one painting, I remember, that showed a broad, clean sweep of sky and the ocean drawn out to the horizon, and the sand littered with seashells and crabs and mermaid’s purses and bits...

,Quien sabe? Quizas ellos tengan razón. Quizas estamos siendo manejados como locos por nuestros sentimientos. Quizas el amor es una enfermedad y estaríamos mejor sin ella. Pero nosotros elegimos una ruta diferente. Y al final,...

We wanted the freedom to love. We wanted the freedom to choose. Now we have to fight for it.

Two weeks until your cure” she says finally. “Sixteen days” I say, but in my head I’m counting: Seven days. Seven days until I’m free and away from all these people and their sliding superficial...

When you’re completely free, you’re also completely on your own.

We are such small, stupid things. For most of my life I thought of nature as the stupid thing: Blind, animal, destructive. We, the humans, were clean and smart and in control: we had wrestled...

Everyone is asleep. They’ve all been asleep for years. You seemed … awake.’ Alex is whispering now. He closes his eyes, opens them again.’I’m tired of sleeping.

Let me show you

I’ve been trying so hard not to think his name, not to even breathe the idea of him

Eventually she came. She appeared suddenly, exactly like she’d done that day- she stepped into the sunshine, she jumped, she laughed and threw her head back, so her long ponytail nearly grazed the waistband of...

How is it possible, I think, to change so much and not be able to change anything at all?

Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That’s what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything...

Are you sure you can’t dematerialize? Not even a little?” “I’m sure.

My first kiss. A new kind of kiss, like the new kind of music still playing, softly, in the distance – wild and arrhythmic, desperate. Passionate.

on the day that started it all, that rocketed me forward and landed me here, in this new body, in this new future.

It won’t matter if nobody ever thinks I’m pretty (although sometimes I wish, just for a second, that somebody would)

She lives for this-the fight, the battle for survival. She actually enjoys it.

Soy un mentiroso.Siempre estuve mintiendo. Ella se merecía un ángel, y yo quería serlo por ella.

Birds feed; then they nest. Paint them any color you want, send them halfway around the world, but they’ll always find a way back. And eventually they’ll show their true colors again.

Is what I did really so much worse than what anybody else does?Is it really so much worse than what you do?Think about it.

Are you sure that being like everybody else will make you happy?””I don’t know any other way.””Let me show you.”And then we’re kissing. Or at least, I think we’re kissing—I’ve only seen it done a...

Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging up your back and runing its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do-the only thing-is run.

He is no longer mine to lose, but the grief is there, a gnawing sense of disbelief.

Nothing,” my dad and I say at the same time, and he smiles at me.

Every choice is limited. That’s life.

I’d never undetstood how Hana Could lie so often and easily. But just like anyhting else, lying becomes easier the more you do it.

This was my secret: she was the one who saved me.

Perfection is a promise, and a reassurance that we are not wrong.

Find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.

It was all very strange, Mr. Gray thought, as he wiped the coffee canister clean with a sponge. Very, very mysterious. You were born; you lived a whole life; and at the end, you wound...

Welcome to the free world. We give people the power to choose. They can even choose the wrong thing. Beautiful, isn’t it?

People need other people to feel things for them,” she said. “It gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.

Because I think you’re right. You can make a difference.” He told me experiences were kind of like fate, and fate usually came in the form of a test. He told me fate liked to...

You can’t go home again” ─ isn’t necessarily that places change but people do.

Alex loved books. He was the one who first introduced me to poetry. That’s another reason I can’t read anymore.

He has left nothing except for a note, which I find neatly folded under one of my sneakers.The Story of Solomon is the only way I know how to explain.And then, in smaller letters:Forgive me.

I used to think that’s what love was: knowing someone so well he was like a part of you.

It was so strange, the way that life moved forward: the twists and the dead ends, the sudden opportunities. She supposed if you could predict or foresee everything that was going to happen, you’d lose...

Poetry isn’t like any writing I’ve ever heard before. I don’t understand all of it, just bits of images, sentences that appear half-finished, all fluttering together like brightly colored ribbons in the wind.