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What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them.

"[...] sorry wastes time. You have to live your life like you'll never be sorry. It's easier just to do the right thing from the start so there's nothing to apologize for."

I am crying – loud and hiccuping, as if I've been holding my breath for a very long time and finally, finally can breathe. You make me lovely, and it's lovely to be lovely to the one I love...

Worthless. Stupid. These are the words I grew up hearing. They're the words I try to outrun, because if I let them in, they might stay there and grow and fill me up and in, until the only thing left of me is worthless stupid worthless stupid worthless stupid freak.

“sometimes there’s beauty in the tough words—it’s all in how you read them.”
― Jennifer Niven, All the Bright Places

I feel like I'm living for these moments - the moments when I'm just about to lie down beside him, when I know it's getting ready to happen, his skin on mine, his mouth on mine, and then when he's touching me and the electric current is shooting through me everywhere. It's like all the other hours of the day are spent looking forward to right now.

«Sannheten er at jeg var syk, men ikke på noen lett forklarlig, influensaaktig måte. Min erfaring er at folk er langt mer medfølende dersom de kan se at du har det vondt, og for ørtende gang i livet skulle jeg ønske jeg hadde meslinger eller kopper eller en annen lettfattelig sykdom, for å gjøre det enklere for meg selv og også for dem. Alt ville ha vært bedre enn sannheten. Jeg stengte av igjen. Jeg ble helt tom. I det ene øyeblikket spant jeg rundt, i det neste slepte hjernen min seg i sirkel som en gammel, giktbrudden hund som prøver å legge seg ned. Og så sluknet jeg bare og sovnet, men jeg sov ikke sånn som man gjør om natten, Forestill deg en lang, mørk søvn der du ikke drømmer i det hele tatt.»

I love: the way her eyes spark when we're talking or when she's telling me something she wants me to know, the way she mouths the words to herself when she's reading and concentrating, the way she looks at me as if there's only me, as if she can see past the flesh and bone and bullshit right into the me that's there, the one I don't even see myself.

"No more winter at all. Finch, you brought me spring."

"Sometimes, Ultraviolet, things feel true to is even if they're not."