“Ninety-nine percent of the time, your parents never have to know, though. The school doesn't want your parents to think you became a fuckup here any more than you want your parents think you're a fuckup.”

“You think they liked me?''Sure they did. Who cares, though? They're just parents.''They're your parents,' he said, glancing over at me. 'Plus, I like being liked. Is that crazy?”

“You know how people are always saying your parents are always right? "Follow your parents' advice; they know what's good for you." And you know how no one ever listens to this advice, because even if it's true it's so annoying and condescending that it just make you want to go, like, develop a meth addiction and have unprotected sex with eighty seven thousand anonymous partners?”

“You couldn't be more wrong," I said. "You are buying into the cross-stitched sentiments of your parents' throw pillows. You're arguing that the fragile, rare thing is beautiful simply because it is fragile and rare. But that's a lie, and you know it.""You're a hard person to comfort," Augustus said."Easy comfort isn't comforting," I said.”

“Hazel GRACE!” he shouted. “You did not use your one dying Wish to go to Disney World with your parents.”“Also Epcot Center,” I mumbled.“Oh, my God,” Augustus said. “I can’t believe I have a crush on a girl with such cliché wishes.”

“Even though we fought, like, ninety-four percent of the time, I'm really sad.”

“I just want to be enough for you, but I never can be. This can never be enough for you. But this is all you get. You get me, and your family, and this world. This is your life. I'm sorry if it sucks. But you're not going to be the first man on Mars and you're not going to be an NBA star, and you're not going to hunt Nazis.”