More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
all endings are also beginnings.
EVERY LIFE HAS one true-love snapshot.
The end of Eddie’s story was touched by another seemingly innocent story,
The key was gone.
That was what was missing. Every hurt he’d ever suffered, every ache he’d ever endured—it was all as gone as an expired breath. He could not feel agony. He could not feel sadness. His consciousness felt smoky, wisplike, incapable of anything but calm.
the running boy is inside every man, no matter how old he gets.
heaven can be found in the most unlikely corners.
scenery without solace is meaningless. “This is the greatest
When you are an outcast, even a tossed stone can be cherished.
“That there are no random acts. That we are all connected. That you can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind.”
“Fairness,” he said, “does not govern life and death. If it did, no good person would ever die young.”
“It is because the human spirit knows, deep down, that all lives intersect. That death doesn’t just take someone, it misses someone else, and in the small distance between being taken and being missed, lives are changed.
there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows. Birth and death are part of a whole.
“Strangers,” the Blue Man said, “are just family you have yet to come to know.”
“No life is a waste,” the Blue Man said. “The only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we are alone.”
Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something to regret. It’s something to aspire to. Little sacrifices. Big sacrifices.
Sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you’re not really losing it. You’re just passing it on to someone else.”
ALL PARENTS DAMAGE their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.
PARENTS RARELY LET go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them—a mother’s approval, a father’s nod—are covered by moments of their own accomplishments.
The old darkness has taken a seat alongside him. He is used to it by now, making room for it the way you make room for a commuter on a crowded bus.
Silence was his escape, but silence is rarely a refuge. His thoughts still haunted him.
Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. And the harm we do, we do to ourselves.
“Lost love is still love, Eddie. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. “Life has to end,” she said. “Love doesn’t.”
