“I have this storm inside me. It's trying to kill me. I wonder sometimes if that's such a bad thing.I know about storms.I'm tired.I just want to sleep forever.Maybe I should tell the storm to go ahead and kill me.”

“See that tree?" It was a stubby cypress tree, all bent and twisted."Yeah, I see it.""It's my favorite tree.""It's not that great a tree," I said."That's it. That's exactly it. It's like me. The wind beat the holy crap out of it when it was just a sapling. Never could straighten itself out again." He sort of smiled at me. "But, Zach, it didn't die." He looked like maybe he wanted to cry. But he didn't. "It's alive.""Maybe it should have just given up.""That tree didn't know how to do that. It only knew how to live. Crooked. Bent. Taller trees dwarfing it even more. It just wanted to live. I named it, you know?"He was waiting for me to ask what he'd named it--but I decided I didn't want to ask."Zach," he whispered. "The tree's name is Zach."[p. 135]”

“See, the thing about guys is that I didn't really care to be around them. I mean, guys really made me uncomfortable. I don't know why, not exactly. I just, I don't know, I just didn't belong. I think it embarrassed the hell out of me that I was a guy. And it really depressed me that there was the distinct possibility that I was going to grow up and be like one of those assholes.”

“This is the way I see it: if you get to know yourself really well, you might discover that deep down inside you’re just a dirty, disgusting, and selfish piece of shit. What if my heart is all rotted out and corrupted? What about that? What am I suppose to do with that information? Just tell me that.”

“I do not know what it means to be okay. I have never known and maybe I will never know. Okay is just a word I use so I won't have to talk about what's inside. Okay is a word that means I am going to keep my secrets.”

“Did the thought ever occur to you that I might care about you? People are allowed to care about each other." "You don't know me well enough to care about me." "Let me clue you in on something, Andres. Just because you hate yourself doesn't mean that I have to hate you.”

“I wanted to tell them that I'd never had a friend, not ever, not a real one. Until Dante. I wanted to tell them that I never knew that people like Dante existed in the world, people who looked at the stars, and knew the mysteries of water, and knew enough to know that birds belonged to the heavens and weren't meant to be shot down from their graceful flights by mean and stupid boys. I wanted to tell them that he had changed my life and that I would never be the same, not ever. And that somehow it felt like it was Dante who had saved my life and not the other way around. I wanted to tell them that he was the first human being aside from my mother who had ever made me want to talk about the things that scared me. I wanted to tell them so many things and yet I didn't have the words. So I just stupidly repeated myself. "Dante's my friend.”