“A man could shoot a squirrel out of a tree from a distance of sixty feet. But he couldn't vomit into a bucket or pee into a pot only two feet away. It was one of the great mysteries of life.”

“He did not understand all he had heard, but from his clandestine glimpse into the privacy of these two, with all the world that his short experience could conceive of at their feet, he had gathered that life for everybody was a struggle, sometimes magnificent from a distance, but always difficult and surprisingly simple and a little sad.”

“I have extremely great aim when it comes to peeing. I can, for instance, manage to not splash a single drop on the rim of the toilet, even when standing five feet away and from behind the shower curtain.”

“I could hear the wind whistle behind me as someone swiftly moved away from me in a distance. I heard the autumn leaves crunch beneath his feet as the figure slowly retreated. I could have sworn that it was the red-eyed man from my past that couldn't live with just haunting my dreams - he haunted my life like a ghost lingering around me, his eyes burning like flames in every shadow he could find. But, I wondered, why me?”

“If your feet are in two buckets and the average temperature of the water is 90 degrees, you’re probably fine—unless one bucket is at 35 and the other is at 145 degrees. On average, you’re fine. Based on variation, though, you’re miserable.”

“There's got to be a moment when that baby [flying] squirrel looks from the end of one branch to the tree six feet away and thinks twice about making a leap. Falling in love is no different; it's the moment that we close our eyes and throw away everything that seems reasonable and hope to God there's someone or something waiting to catch us on the other side.”