Quotes from David Levithan

We are writing ourselves, writing each other. I am words, and there you are to read them.

He was the corner that her eyes always strayed toward

You look about as tiny as Idina Menzel's voice.

Mostly I was spending time in the Strand, that bastion of titillating erudition. Not so much a bookstore as a collision of 100 different bookstores, with literary wreckage strewn over 18 miles of shelves.

She caught me looking at her. 'What?' she asked. 'Your lightness,' I said, hardly knowing what I was saying. 'It's disarming.

Rayanne: I think part of him is partly interested in you. Definitely. I mean, he's got other things on his mind. Angela: But that's the part that's so unfair. I have nothing else on my mind. How comes I have to be the one sitting around analyzing him in like microscopic detail, and he gets to be the one with other things on his mind. Rickie: That is deep.

Most of the time, I feel like a perpetual smudge. My lines all curve. I tend to connect the wrong dots.

and the HE stands up. if frenchy's could bottle him up and sell him as porn, they'd probably own half of chicago within a year. he's what would happen after nine months if abercrombie fucked fitch. he's like a movie star, an olympic swimmer, and america's next top male model all at once. he's wearing a silver shirt and pink pants. everything about him sparkles. not my type at all. but...

But I have lived myself for too many years. I know exactly how hard I am.

Some bookstores want you to believe they're a community center. Like they need to host a cookie making class class in order to sell you some Proust. But the Strand leaves you completely on your own. Caught between the warring forces of organization and idiosyncrasy, with idiosyncrasy winning every time.

I have never told anyone the truth. I have never come close.

The funny thin is, you say it like it's so unusual that you've only done it once. But I bet a whole lot of people go through their lives without ever telling the truth, not really. And they wake up in the same body and the same life every singe morning.

You can tell a lot about a person based on the pages he or she journals on

We are breathing at the same pace, our chests rising and falling in unison. We have no need to whisper, because at this distance, all we need is thought.

I always wondered what it would be like to see this city as a tourist. I have to believe that NY always lives up to its reputation. The buildings really are that tall, the lights really are that bright, there's truly a story on every corner. But it still might be a shock to realize you're just one story walking among millions. To not feel the bright lights even as they fill the air. To see the tall buildings and only feel a deep longing for the stars.

Failure is always louder than success. But there is an accumulation of all the things you don't do wrong, and that becomes your confidence. You can even get to the point where that confidence lasts longer than the dance. Seconds at first. Then minutes. Then maybe it'll be there when you're walking into a party, or meeting people after a show. You know you have something desirable, and you know you can move.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's this: We all want everything to be okay. We don't even wish so much for fantastic or marvelous or outstanding. We will happily settle for okay, because most of the time, okay is enough...

We think of the boys we kissed, the boys we screwed, the boys we loved, the boys who didn't love us back, the boys who were with us at the end, the boys who were with us beyond the end. Love is so painful, how could you ever wish it on anybody? And love is so essential, how could you ever stand in its way?

Rest, v. and n. Rest with me for the rest of this. That`s it. Come closer. We`re here.

So I do what I always vowed not to do, and always found myself doing anyway. I throw "I miss you" into the breach. It even feels empty to me. Like I'm not saying it to the right person.

I love snow for the same reason I love Christmas. It brings people together as time stands still.

does it ever get easier? is there an end to these questions? do you have any answers? will you say them to me? can you stop this unraveling? will you bring me your closure? or am I the only one who sees anymore? who sees . . . who sees . . . who sees?

I can tell from the glint in her eyes that she's at least an acquaintance of Dorothy.

It's been said of me that I know how to love well, if any person alive can possess such knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us. It is all such a blessing—in the beginning, and the end, and the during.