The Sun is Also a Star by Nicola Yoon

[…] you can love someone and still have a not-so-great relationship with them. I wonder how much of our non-relationship is because of typical father versus teenage boy stuff […] and how much of it is cultural […]?

Hope is the thing with feathers.

To grow up is to grow apart.

As our eyes meet, I get a kind of déjà vu, but instead of feeling like I’m repeating something in the past, it feels like I’m experiencing something that will happen in my future.

America’s not really a melting pot. It’s more like one of those divided metal plates with sperate sections for starch, meat, and veggies.

It’s hard to love someone who doesn’t love you back.

The poetic heart is not to be trusted. It is fickle and will lead you astray. It will tell you that all you need is love and dreams. […] The poetic heart is not to be trusted with long-term decision making.

He was some exotic planet, and I was his favorite satellite. But he’s no planet, just the final fading light of an already dead star. And I’m not a satellite. I’m space junk, hurtling as far as I can away from him.

It’s not up to you to help other people fit you into a box.

Words, […] should behave more like units of measure, A meter is a meter is a meter. Words shouldn’t be allowed to change meanings. Who decides that the meaning has changed, and when?

That’s the thing that makes me wary.Where did all those feelings go?People spend their whole lives looking for love.Poems and songs and entire novels are written about it.But how can you trust something that can end as suddenly as it begins

There’s a Japanese phrase that I like: koi no yokan. It doesn’t mean love at first sight. It’s closer to love at second sight. […] Maybe you don’t love them right away, but it’s inevitable that you will.

Names are powerful things. They act as an identity marker and a kind of map, locating you in time and geography. More than that, they can be a compass.

Who are we if not a product of our parents and their histories.

Sincerity is sexy

It’s hard to come from someplace or someone you’re not proud of.

I don’t believe in fate, but I’m desperate.

Maybe part of falling in love with someone else is also falling in love with yourself.

I love this part of getting to know someone. How every new piece of information, every new expression, seems magical.

For a minute, I let myself feel how tired I am. It’s hard trying to hold on to a place that doesn’t want you.