“My old man. He always knew just what to say.”

“But it was sure a privilege to love him, huh?" I nodded into his shirt."Gives you an idea how I feel about you," he said.My old man. He always knew just what to say.”

“still, what could i say? that i didn't just feel depressed - instead, it was like the depression was the core of me, of every part of me, from my mind to my bones? that if he got blue, i got black? that i hated those pills so much, because i knew how much i relied on them to live?”

“Poetry is just so emo." he said. "Oh, the pain. The pain. It always rains. In my soul.”

“Cause I'm just - I want to go to Amsterdam, and I want him to tell me what happens after the book is over, and I just don't want my particular life, and also the sky is depressing me, and there is this old swing set out here that my dad made for me when I was a kid.''I must see this old swing set of tears immediately,' he said. 'I'll be over in twenty minutes.”

“He knew he couldn't tell stories, that he always included extraneous details & tangents that interested only him.”

“I had no doubt that Tiny thought he got depressed, but that was probably because he had nothing to compare it to. Still, what could I say? that I didn't just feel depressed - instead, it was like the depression was the core of me, of every part of me, from my mind to my bones? That if he got blue, I got black? That I hated those pills so much because I knew how much I relied on them to live? No, I couldn't say any of this because when it all comes down to it, nobody wants to hear it. No matter how much they like you or love you, they don't want to hear it.”