Quotes from Jennifer Niven

Everyone in my life is a stranger, and that includes me.

Gentlemen are rare. They're like virgins or leprechauns.

Just be careful with that heart of yours.

Before I die I want to have kids. Live in London. Own a pet giraffe. Skydive. Divide by zero. Play the piano. Speak French. Write a book. Travel to a different planet. Be a better dad than mine was. Feel good about myself. Go to New York City. Know equality. Live.

What if life could be this way? Only the happy parts, none of the terrible, not even the mildly unpleasant. What if we could just cut out the bad and keep the good?

You might not want to burn your bridges when you're standing on an island.

When we're in the act of wandering, we need to be present, not watching it through a lens.

Is today a good day to die? Is today the day? And if not today–when?

Theodore Finch, April 3. "Today is your day. You're off to Great Places! You're off and away!

I'm always amazed by people and their sleep. I wouldn't ever sleep if I didn't have to.

Let me ask you something. Do you think there's such a thing as a perfect day?" "What?" "A perfect day. Start to finish. When nothing terrible or sad or ordinary happens. Do you think it's possible?" "I don't know." "Have you ever had one?" "No." "I've never had one either, but I'm looking for it.

Finch: Theodore Finch, in search of the Great Manifesto Violet: I don't know that what means Finch: It means 'the urge to be, to count for something, and, if death must come, to die valiantly, with acclamation - in short, to remain a memory.

We all have a shelf life.

My beloved boat is broken on the rocks of daily life. I've paid my debts and no longer need to count pains I've suffered at the hands of others. The misfortunes and the insults. Good luck to those who remain.

I'm a fuckup. I'm broken, and no one can fix it.

Love is truly the great manifesto; the urge to be, to count for something, and, if death must come, to die valiantly, with acclamation—in short, to remain a memory.

A string of thoughts run through my head like a song I can't get rid of, over and over in the same order: I am broken. I am a fraud. I am impossible to love.

You can't do this to me.You were the one who lectured me about living.You were the one who said I had to get out and see what was right in front of me and make the most of it and not wish my time away and find my mountain because my mountain was waiting, and all that adds up to life.But then you leave.You can't just do that.

I've always been different, but to me different is normal. i decide on a version of the truth.

This is what I know about loss: - It doesn't get better. You just (somewhat) get used to it. - You never stop missing the people who go away. - For something that isn't there anymore, it weighs a ton.

You have to live your life like you'll never be sorry. It's easier just to do the right thing from the start so there's nothing to apologize for.

For some reason, I don't like the way this sounds, as if a universe could exist in which I wouldn't know Finch.

Growing fourteen inches in a summer is easy. It's growing out of a label that's hard.

It's the suddenness of life changing in an instant that makes me anxious when I sleep and makes me tell myself to breathe when I'm awake.