Quotes from David Levithan

I am a firm believer in serendipity- all the random pieces coming together in one wonderful moment, when suddenly you see what their purpose was all along.

You spend so much time, so much effort, trying to hold yourself together. And then everything falls apart anyway.

Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life. No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough.

People are rarely as attractive in reality as they are in the eyes of the people who are in love with them. Which is, I suppose, as it should be.

We love and we feel and we try and we hope.

I'll see you later, he says, and as he does, he runs his finger briefly over my wrist. It passes over me like air, and makes me shiver like a kiss.

Which is more stubborn, the love or the two arguing people caught within it?

There has to be a moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you're in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself.

Belonging. Togetherness. These words are as complicated and confusing as the word love. It's probably all the same thing. Or it would be if we let it be. I can only guess from observation.

There's no such thing as a perfect person, so it makes no sense to write a perfect person. I don't know any author who'd try. And we write characters, not representations of groups.

... I love books about freaks," because I am one. You might be, too. Let's be freaks together?

You have to trust the words. They do not create anything more than themselves.

She is my first and only love. Most people know that their first love will not be their only love. But for me, she is both.

You like him because he's a lost boy. Believe me, I've seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.

To get something you must give something away. To hold something you must give something away. To love something you must give something away.

Making love without noise is like playing a muted piano-fine for practice, but you cheat yourself out of hearing the glorious results.

Love weaves itself from hundreds of threads.

Sharing truth is not the kind of gift that comes in wrapping paper - ripped open once and, there, you're done. No, this is a gift that must be unfolded.

me: you know what sucks about love? o.w.g.: what? me: that it's so tied to the truth.

Readers embrace all kinds of characters as long as they are written with emotional truth.

...but the truth is that I don't feel like I can carry anyone but myself right now. The streets are empty. I am empty. Or, no--I am full of pain. It's my life that's empty.

If you want to live within the definition of your own truth, you have to choose to go through the initially painful and ultimately comforting process of finding it.

love is tied to truth. I think of them as unhappily conjoined twins.

In my experience, desire is desire, love is love. I have never fallen in love with a gender. I have fallen for individuals.