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I will not tell you our love story, because-like all real love stories-it will die with us,as it should.

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I don't care if the New York Times writes an obituary for me. I just want you to write one. ... You say you're not special because the world doesn't k...more

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And then I crawled into his unmade bed, wrapping myself in his comforter like a cocoon, surrounding myself with his smell. I took out my cannula so I ...more

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(...) and then I realized there was no one else to call, which was the saddest thing. The only person I really wanted to talk to about Augustus Water'...more

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Grief does not change you. It reveals you.

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Maybe 'Okay' will be our 'always'...

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All I know of heaven and all I know of death is in this park: an elegant universe in ceaseless motion, teeming with ruined ruins and screaming childre...more

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He'd fought hard, Lida told me, as if there was another way to fight.

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Her underwear, her jeans, the comforter, my corduroys and my boxers between us, I thought. Five layers, and yet I felt it, the nervous warmth of touch...more

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When she fucked up all those years ago, just a little girl terrified into paralysis, she fell onto the enigma of herself.

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Colder by the hour, more dead with every breath.

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I looked over at Augustus Waters, who looked back at me. You could almost see through his eyes they were so blue. "There will come a time," I said, "w...more

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What I love about the sculpture is that it makes the bones that we are always walking and playing on manifest, like in a world that so often denies th...more

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In my opinion, actual heroism, like actual love, is a messy, painful, vulnerable business—and I wanted to try to reflect that.

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Hazel has to realize that her mom was wrong when she said, “I won’t be a mother anymore.” The truth is, after Hazel dies (assuming she dies), her mom ...more