An Abundance of Katherines

by John Green

His single consolation was that one day, he would matter. He’d be famous. And none of them ever would. That’s why, his mom said, they made fun of him in the first place. “They’re just jealous,” she said. But Colin knew better. They weren’t jealous. He just wasn’t likable. Sometimes it’s that simple.

What is the point of being alive if you don’t at least try to do something remarkable?

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.

The thing about chameleoning your way through life is that it gets to where nothing is real.

I don’t think your missing pieces ever fit inside you again once they go missing.