Quotes from Gabrielle Zevin

I devour, and I am devoured," Marx said. "After Dov, I think I'm through with devouring," Sadie said. "I understand why you'd say that, but I also don't think you should give up on the devouring yet." Marx growled at her and pretended to bite her, and then he kissed her on the cheek.

Maybe this is selfish, but I don't want to love more than I am loved. And I don't want to be with someone who loves something or someone more than me.

I'm not in trouble, am I?" "No. Why would you be in trouble?" Because lately, Sadie was almost always in trouble. It was impossible to be eleven, with a sick sister, and for people to find your conduct beyond reproach. She was always saying the wrong thing, or being too loud, or demanding too much (time, love, food), even though she had not demanded more than what had been freely given before. "No reason.

Marx's life had been filled with such abundance that he was one of those people who found it natural to care for those around him.

Theo looked at me with his smoldering Jesus eyes, and the Catholic schoolgirl in me crossed her legs.

Your mother is in the bedside chair. She is wearing a dress printed with strawberries and birds. Using a long needle, she is stringing brightly origami cranes into garlands. It's a Japanese custom called senbazaru. If you make one thousand paper cranes, you can restore someone to good health.

I had thought the way I felt about Will was just a room, but it had turned out to be a mansion. He had turned out to be a mansion.

I think they're in love." Sam sniffed, as if the idea of it, love, was ridiculous. "You disapprove, I take it?" "Marx is always in love. He's an emotional harlot. What does love even mean when you can find it with so many people and things?" "Marx is great," Sadie said. "I think he's lucky.

She had, he thought, one of the world's great laughs. The kind of laugh where a person didn't feel that he was being laughed at. The kind of laugh that was an invitation: I cordially invite you to join in this matter that I find assuming.

banning anything leads to organized crime. People will always find a way to get what they want, and there will always be criminals willing to provide it.

It is lucky, she thinks, that we don't feel all the love inside us every moment. We couldn't breathe or walk or eat. It is lucky that it just flares up every now and again then resolves itself into a manageable dormancy.

I felt guilty, but lighter. I had turned my problem into someone else's.

Did she ever reply?" Bong Cha narrowed her eyes at Sam, deciding if her grandson was trying to trick her into appearing foolish. "Yes, in my mind, she did. I knew your mother so well I could play her part. The same with my own mother and my grandmother and my childhood best friend, Euna, who drowned in the lake by her cousin's house. There are no ghosts, but up here"—she gestured toward her head—"it's a haunted house.

What was amazing to Sam—and what became a theme of the games he would go on to make with Sadie—was how quickly the world could shift. How your sense of self could change depending on your location. As Sadie would put it in an interview with Wired, "The game character, like the self, is contextual.

Infinite Jest is an endurance contest. You manage to get through it and you have no choice but to say you like it.

She drew the curtains, and she got into bed, without taking off her clothes or her shoes. She felt ashamed and foolish. She felt covered in failure and she felt sure that people could smell and see it on her. The failure was like a fine coating of ash, after a fire. But it wasn't only on her skin; it was in her nose, in her mouth, in her lungs, in her molecules becoming part of her. She would never be rid of it.

You go back to work. You take advantage of the quiet time that a failure allows you. You remind yourself that no one is paying any attention to you and it's a perfect time for you to sit down in front of your computer and make another game. You try again. You fail better.

He put his head in the crook of her shoulder; the freight was in proportion to the groove.

How could a person still be as young as he objectively knew himself to be and have had so much time pass?

An echo makes good company, Old Margaret said. Whenever I'm lonely, I always try to find one to talk to. They're much better than mirrors. Mirrors say nasty things about you. Echoes are far more supportive. They think whatever you say is completely brilliant.

On the board, Mr. Beery had written "Those who don't remember history are doomed to repeat it." I wasn't sure if this was meant to be inspirational, thematic, or a joke about making sure to study.

You go back to work. You take advantage of the quiet time that a failure allows you. You remind yourself that no one is paying any attention to you and it's a perfect time for you to sit down in front of your computer and make another game. You try again. You fail better.

But I can tell you that the people who give you charity are never your friends. It is not possible to receive charity from a friend.

But life was always arriving. There was always another gate to pass through. (Until, of course, there wasn't.) She walked through another gate. What was a gate anyway? A doorway, she thought. A portal. The possibility of a different world. The possibility that you might walk through the door and reinvent yourself as something better than you had been before.