“You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.”

There’s some people in this world who you can just love and love and love no matter what.

There is no glory in illness. There is no meaning to it. There is no honor in dying of.

Crying is you, plus tears.

Books are the ultimate Dumpees: put them down and they’ll wait for you forever; pay attention to them and they always love you back.

What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person.

The past feels distant, even when it’s near. The future feels assured, even when it isn’t.

Much of my life had been devoted to trying not to cry in front of people who loved me.

Maybe there is something you’re afraid to say, or someone you’re afraid to love, or somewhere you’re afraid to go. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt because it matters.

It is so hard to leave, until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.

Y’all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.

When you acknowledge that there is nothing repulsive or unforgivable or shameful about yourself, it becomes easier to be that authentic person and feel like you’re living a less performed life.

I don’t know a perfect person. I only know flawed people who are still worth loving.

I may die young, but at least I’ll die smart.

Your responsibility is not to the people you’re making the gift for, but the gift itself.

I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence

You can love someone so much but you can never love people as much as you can miss them.

Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways. We become closed – not only to people’s pain – but also their happiness.

Nature has buried truth deep in the bottom of the sea.

Almost everybody is born a genius and buried an idiot.

Let the dead bury the dead, but while I’m alive, I must live and be happy.

You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.

I am bleak heroism of words that refuse to be buried alive with the liars.

Kill them with success and bury them with a smile.

I want to write, but more than that, I want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart.