“How does it feel to know that even at my worst, you're still not good enough?”

“You know," she says. "You're still alive. I don't know how many different ways I can try to tell you before it finally sinks in.”

“I wonder if, even after all of this, he understands how fragile good things are in my hands and how many times they've been taken away from me.”

“I don't know how I'm going to do this, move through the hours like someone who wants to still be breathing when I had so firmly made up my mind to stop.”

“I think you're crazy good at this survival stuff, Cary."His shoulders sag. He gives me a small, relieved smile and we start walking again, his step a little lighter than it was before. It feels strange to have that kind of power over someone."I mean, you're crazy good at it for a stoner who couldn't seem to get his shit together academically at all," I add.”

“I feel the space beside me in a way that knows he's been gone a while. and my chest is winding itself tight with everything that means for me. What does that mean for me. I don't move because I don't want to move. I keep my eyes closed because I don't want to open my eyes.But eventually you have to move.Eventually you have to open your eyes.There's no note.”

“The people feel and look the same, like they've settled here even though they know there's something more-something better-just beyond where they are.Small-town life.”