“See that's exactly why I don't want a dog." "Why?" "Because it'll just die." "Everybody dies, Brooklyn." Like that makes it okay or something.”

“See that's exactly why I don't want a dog." "Why?" "Because it'll just die." "Everybody dies, Brooklyn." Like that makes it okay or something.”

“Sometimes you want to remember. And sometimes you need to forget.”

“«I’ve never been to a funeral until today. I see dazzling arrangements of red, yellow, and purple flowers with long, green stems. I see a stained-glass window with a white dove, a yellow sun, a blue sky. I see a gold cross, standing tall, shiny, brilliant. And I see black. Black dresses. Black pants. Black shoes. Black bibles. Black is my favorite color. Jackson asked me about it one time.“Ava, why don’t you like pink? Or yellow? Or blue?” ”I love black,” I said. ”It suits me.” ”I suit you,” he said. I’m not so sure I love black anymore.And then, beyond the flowers, beneath the stained-glass window, beside the cross, I see the white casket. I see red, burning love disappear forever. As we pull away, my eyes stay glued to the casket. It’s proof that sometimes life does not go on. I look around. If tears could bring him back, there’d be enough to bring him back a hundred times. That’s not what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, I hate good-byes. It’s like I was a garden salad with a light vinaigrette, and Jackson was a platter of seafood Cajun pasta. Alone, we were good. Together, we were fantastic.Memories might keep him alive. But they might kill me.»”

“I think fear is normal, Cade. Just don't let it win.”

“Was it hard?" I ask.Letting go?"Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn't real.”

“He cups my facewith both handsleans in,eyes lingering asweet secondbefore his lips are there on mine,teasing, playing, tasting, kissing.When he pulls away,I'm breathless.He nuzzles my ear."Now that's thrilling."You got that right.”

“THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ME AND YOUWhen I hold a rose,I see the soft, velvety petalsand smile, becausetucked betweenthose precious petalsis a special gift -the one of a fragrance,pure and sweet.When you hold a rose,you see the thornsalong the stem,and you frownbecause those thornscan bring you painand cause you to bleed.I see the gift.You see the tragedy.More and moreI fear that one of these dayssomeone will hand me a roseand all I will seeare thorns.Talk about tragedy.”

“The road to happiness is paved with good deeds for others.”

“WRAP ME UPI shiver.He pulls away."Are you cold?" he asks."A little.Plus... you know.""What?""Um... your kisses?"He laughs,pulls me downonto the blanketand wraps his armsand legs around me.Perfect.My kind of blanket.”

“I like the memories because they remind meI haven't always beenthis girl,constantly mad or scaredor confused.”

“Memories fall like snowflakes upon my dreams. The snowflakes toss and tumble, each different and yet the same.”