“Believe me, if you’re a teenager, you’re always in the damned woods. Literally, you’re in the woods — probably too much you’re in the woods. And metaphorically you’re in the woods, in your life.”

“Never follow anyone else's path, unless you’re in the woods and you’re lost and you see a path. Then by all means follow that path.”

“When you’re a carpenter making a beautiful chest of drawers, you’re not going to use a piece of plywood on the back, even though it faces the wall and nobody will ever see it. You’ll know it’s there, so you’re going to use a beautiful piece of wood on the back. For you to sleep well at night, the aesthetic, the quality, has to be carried all the way through.”

“Every time you look up at the stars, it’s like opening a door. You could be anyone, anywhere. You could be yourself at any moment in your life. You open that door and you realize you’re the same person under the same stars. Camping out in the backyard with your best friend, eleven years old. Sixteen, driving alone, stopping at the edge of the city, looking up at the same stars. Walking a wooded path, kissing in the moonlight, look up and you’re eleven again. Chasing cats in a tiny town, you’re eleven again, you’re sixteen again. You’re in a rowboat. You’re staring out the back of a car. Out here where the world begins and ends, it’s like nothing ever stops happening.”

“Freakin’ fairies, you’re too damn small!”“Dude, you’re a faecist.”“A what?”“A fae-racist, you’re a faecist.”“That’s not even a real word!”“Patten pending,”

“Gotta say, baby,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful always but you’re seriously fuckin’ beautiful when you’re takin’ me.” …“Gotta say, darlin’,” I murmured back huskily. “You’re handsome always, but you’re seriously handsome when you’re giving it to me.”