Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.
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I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is inprobably biased toward the consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it-or my observation of it-is temporary?
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Augustus Waters was a self-aggrandizing bastard. But we forgive him. We forgive him not because he had a heart as figuratively good as his literal one sucked, or because he knew more about how to hold a cigarette than any nonsmoker in history, or because he got eighteen years when he should've gotten more.''Seventeen,' Gus corrected.'I'm assuming you've got some time, you interupting bastard.'I'm telling you,' Isaac continued, 'Augustus Waters talked so much that he'd interupt you at his own funeral. And he was pretentious: Sweet Jesus Christ, that kid never took a piss without pondering the abundant metaphorical resonances of human waste production. And he was vain: I do not believe I have ever met a more physically attractive person who was more acutely aware of his own physical attractiveness.'But I will say this: When the scientists of the future show up at my house with robot eyes and they tell me to try them on, I will tell the scientists to screw off, because I do not want to see a world without him.'I was kind of crying by then.
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It's just that most really good-looking people are stupid, so I exceed expectations.''Right, it's primarily his hotness,' I said.'It can be sort of blinding,' he said.'It actually did blind our friend Isaac,' I said.'Terrible tragedy, that. But can I help my own deadly beauty?''You cannot.''It is my burden, this beautiful face.''Not to mention your body.''Seriously, don't even get me started on my hot bod. You don't want to see me naked, Dave. Seeing me naked actually took Hazel Grace's breath away,' he said, nodding toward the oxygen tank.
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There's no way of knowing that your last good day is Your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.
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And then the line was quite but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.
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I leave, and the leaving is so exhilarating I know I can never go back. But then what? Do I just keep leaving places, and leaving them, and leaving them, tramping a perpetual journey?
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.. There are books.. Which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.
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.. Being in a bad mood with your friends beats being in a bad mood without them.
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Caroline was always moody and miserable, but I liked it. I liked feeling as if she had chosen me as the only person in the world not to hate, and so we spent all this time together just ragging on everyone, you know?
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There is no shortage of fault to be found amid our stars
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When she fucked up all those years ago, just a little girl terrified into paralysis, she fell onto the enigma of herself.
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As he read, I feel in love the way you fall asleep: slow, and then all at once.
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It seemed like forever ago, like we'd had this brief but still infinite forever. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.
Her primary reason for living and my primary reason for living were awfully entangled.
It's hard as hell to hold onto your dignity when the risen sun is too bright in your losing eyes, and that's what I was thinking about as we hunted for bad guys through the ruins of a city that didn't exist.
All writing is rewriting.
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The whole thing was the precise opposite of what I figured it would be: slow and patient and quiet and neither particularly painful nor particularly ecstatic
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There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1.
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Support Group featured a rotating cast of characters in various states of tumor-driven unwellness. Why did the cast rotate? A side effect of dying.
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It's a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing.
john-green the-fault-in-our-stars
Before I got here, I thought for a long time that the way out of the labyrinth was to pretend that it did not exist, to build a small, self-sufficient world in the back corner of the endless maze and to pretend that I was not lost, but home.
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If people could see me the way I see myself - if they could live in my memories - would anyone love me?
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And I wanted to tell her that the pleasure for me wasn't planning or doing or leaving; the pleasure was in seeing our strings cross and separate and then come back together.
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I wanted to know that he would be okay if I died. I wanted to not be a grenade, to not be a malevolent force in the lives of people I loved.
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