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“All salvation is temporary,” Augustus shot back. “I bought them a minute. Maybe that’s the minute that buys them an hour, which is the hour that buys them a year. No one’s gonna buy them forever, Hazel Grace, but my life bought them a minute. And that’s not nothing.”
“That’s the thing about pain,” Augustus said, and then glanced back at me. “It demands to be felt.”
As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.
“Easy comfort isn’t comforting,”
“That’s what I believe. I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it—or my observation of it—is temporary?”
“Nah, nostalgia is a side effect of dying,” he answered.
