An Abundance of Katherines

by John Green

He anagrammed “yrs forever” until he found one he liked: sorry fever.

Crying adds something: crying is you, plus tears.

He thought of Democritus: “Everywhere man blames nature and fate, yet his fate is mostly but the echo of his character and passions, his mistakes and weaknesses.”*

She had the sort of broad and guileful smile in which you couldn’t help but believe—you just wanted to make her happy so you could keep seeing it.

Colin thought the truth should matter as much as the point, and he figured that was why he couldn’t tell good stories.

Ergo: girls should always make the first move, because (a) they are, on the whole, less likely to be rejected than guys, and (b) that way, girls will never get kissed unless they want to be kissed.

I will have it. I will. With Katherine. But I won’t be only that, he resolved. I will leave behind something more than one photo album where I always look old.

You can love someone so much, he thought. But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.

Books are the ultimate Dumpees: put them down and they’ll wait for you forever; pay attention to them and they always love you back.