Quotes from Ann Napolitano

The air between us is not empty space.

So much could be solved, she thinks, if we simply held hands with each other more often.

What happened is baked into your bones, Edward. It lives under your skin. It's not going away. It's part of you and will be part of you every moment until you die. What you've been working on, since the first time I met you, is learning to live with that.

This was not a tragedy. Dying on your couch watching TV by yourself is a tragedy. Dying while doing something you love with every part of your body is magic. I wish you magic, Edward.

You're depressed, not crazy. It's not insane to be depressed in this world. It's more sane than being happy. I never trust those upbeat individuals who grin no matter what's going on. Those are the ones with a screw loose, if you ask me.

Everything ends," she says. "That's nothing to be sad about. What matters is what starts in that moment.

There was no reason for what happened to you, Eddie. You could have died; you just didn't. It was dumb luck. Nobody chose you for anything. Which means, truly, that you can do anything.

She was no longer who she used to be, and she wasn't yet whoever she was becoming.

When in doubt, read books. Educate yourself. Education has always saved me Edward. Learn about the mysteries.

Since death is certain, but the time of death is uncertain, what is the most important thing?" —PEMA CHÖDRÖN

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?" —GEORGE ELIOT

God is not here to be demanded of, begged from, or criticized. He hands out burdens to those who are strong enough to carry them, and I feel profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of lining up with the other invalids and asking for mine to be alleviated.

We're part of the sky, and the rocks in your mother's garden, and that old man who sleeps by the train station. We're all interconnected, and when you see that, you see how beautiful life is. Your mother and sisters don't have that awareness. Not yet, anyway. They believe they're contained in their bodies, in the biographical facts of their lives.

When an old person dies," Kent said, "even if that person is wonderful, he or she is still somewhat ready, and so are the people who loved them. They're like old trees, whose roots have loosened in the ground. They fall gently. But when someone like your aunt Sylvie dies—before her time—her roots get pulled out and the ground is ripped up. Everyone nearby is in danger of being knocked over.

Sylvie had read somewhere that the more times a story was told, the less accurate it became. Humans were prone to exaggeration; they leaned away from the parts of the narrative they found boring and leaned into the exciting spots. Details and timelines changed over years of repetition. The story became more myth and less true. Sylvie thought about how she and William rarely told their story and felt pleased; by not being shared, their love story remained intact.

My wife is pregnant, and her physician told her that physiologically and medically speaking, there are three different kinds of humans: men, women, and pregnant women. I think the same idea applies to you, Edward. There are grown-ups, children, and then you. You don't feel like a kid anymore, right?" Edward nods. "But you won't be an adult for years. You're something else, and we need to figure out what you are, so we can figure out how to help you.

Hope may have a positive reputation, but it has a vicious downside. If you have hope, you can be crushed.

I wouldn't have done that to you"—Edward looks at his uncle and then over at Shay; this applies to her too—"because I know what it's like to be left behind.

that just because you never thought about someone didn't mean they weren't inside you.

It feels unkind that they are shoving their emotions at him when his own sadness and fear are so vast that he has to hide from them.

Take stock of who we are and what we have and then use it for good.

if you think about one memory for most of a day, is that not your present? Some people live in the now; some people prefer to reside in the past—either choice is valid.

We contain the other, hopelessly and forever.

He was her heart. He had changed all the molecules inside her. Sylvie had known love would come for her with the force of a tsunami. She'd dreamed of this