I'll Give You the Sun

Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.

Meeting your soul mate is like walking into a house you've been in before - you will recognize the furniture, the pictures on the wall, the books on the shelves, the contents of drawers: You could find your way around in the dark if you had to.

I gave up practically the whole world for you,” I tell him, walking through the front door of my own love story. “The sun, stars, ocean, trees, everything, I gave it all up for you.

I love you,” I say to him, only it comes out, “Hey.” “So damn much,” he says back, only it comes out, “Dude.” He still won’t meet my eyes.

I didn’t know you could get buried in your own silence.

Or maybe a person is just made up of a lot of people,” I say. “Maybe we’re accumulating these new selves all the time.” Hauling them in as we make choices, good and bad, as we screw up, step up, lose our minds, find our minds, fall apart, fall in love, as we grieve, grow, retreat from the world, dive into the world, as we make things, as we break things.

Quick, make a wish. Take a (second or third or fourth) chance. Remake the world.

When people fall in love, they burst into flames.

His soul might be a sun. I’ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul.

You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.

Sometimes you think you know things, know things very deeply, only to realize you don’t know a damn thing.

In one split second I saw everything I could be, everything I want to be. And all that I’m not.

Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?

what is bad for the heart is good for art. The terrible irony of our lives as artists.

We wish with our hands, that’s what we do as artists.

If bad luck knows who you are, become someone else.

This is what I want: I want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.

There should be a horn or gong or something to wake God. Because I’d like to have a word with him. Three words actually: WHAT THE FUCK?!

It's never occurred to me that the stars are still up there shining even in the daytime when we can't see them.

We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.

It’s time for second chances. It’s time to remake the world.

A broken heart is an open heart.

He's the one. And some thoughts once thought are very hard to unthink.

And even as I'm kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, I wish I were kissing him, wanting more, more, more, more, like I can't get enough, never will be able to get enough.

No hot guy should be allowed to have an English accent and drive a motorcycle. Not to mention wear the leather jacket or sport the cool shades. Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.

What if I'm in charge of my own damn light switch?

He floated into the air high above the sleeping forest, his green hat spinning a few feet above his head. In his hand was the open suitcase and out of it spilled a whole sky of stars.

Maybe a person is just made up of a lot of people," I say. "Maybe we're accumulating these new selves all the time.

They do make love stories for girls with black hearts after all. They go like this.