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

We’re all just facilitators. The real business is done by readers.

The human tongue is like wasabi: it’s very powerful, and should be used sparingly.

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

He liked the mere act of reading, the magic of turning scratches on a page into words inside his head.

We just did an awesome job of not dying.

Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than about the stories and people we’re quoting.

Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.

I don’t think your missing pieces ever fit inside you again once they go missing.

I’m not saying that everything is survivable. Just that everything except the last thing is.

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

He liked the mere act of reading, the magic of turning scratches on a page into words inside his head.

We just did an awesome job of not dying.

Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than about the stories and people we’re quoting.

Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.

I don’t think your missing pieces ever fit inside you again once they go missing.

I’m not saying that everything is survivable. Just that everything except the last thing is.

If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you’re going to have something special.

I really like older British guys – I don’t think any of them would ever have a problem with crying in front of a woman or saying “I love you” or “You hurt me” or emotional stuff like that.

I have but one passion: to enlighten those who have been kept in the dark, in the name of humanity which has suffered so much and is entitled to happiness. My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.

Silent hearts carrying pain quietly are likely to make thunders cry loud.

My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul.

The last person I adored made me cry and then tenderly wiped the tears off my face. It was the only lesson that taught me; you can love someone and still do horrible, cruel things to them.

I don’t react to a tragic happening any more. I took so many bad things as a kid and some people think I don’t care about anything. It’s just too hard for me to get emotional. I can’t cry no more.

There are these emotions which are eager to scream aloud, but they settle inside us without a cry.