John Green

All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm.

What about the rest of your life?" She shrugged. "What about it?" "Aren't you worried about, like, forever?" "Forever is composed of nows," she says.

She said 'I love you' as if it were a secret, and an immense one.

It must be some book," she said as she knelt down next to the bed..."Did that boy give it to you?" She asked out of nowhere. "By 'it' do you mean herpes?" "You are too much," Mom said, "The book, Hazel. I mean the book.

And he was feeling not-unique in the very best possible way.

And he found himself thinking that maybe stories don't just make us matter to each other - maybe they're also the only way to the infinite mattering he'd been after for so long.

What do you mean by meant? Given the final futility of our struggle, is the fleeting jolt of meaning that art gives us valuable? Or is it the only value passing time as comfortably as possible?

Nothing was happening, really, but the moment was thick with mattering

You matter as much as the things that matter to you do.

How strange and how lovely it is to be anything at all.

The part I enjoy most is not the doing, but the noticing.

She was nothing but good and I was nothing but bad, but then she died, and I didn't.

She never liked me much, but she sure loved me

That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape---the world or the end of it?

I wondered whether I could find a Great Perhaps here at all or whether I had made a grand miscalculation.

What's your name ? Hazel . No , your full name . Um , Hazel Grace Lancaster .

I just want to do something that matters. Or be something that matters. I just want to matter.

Wow,” I said. “Are you making this up?” “Hazel Grace, could I, with my meager intellectual capacities, make up a letter from Peter Van Houten featuring phrases like ‘our triumphantly digitized contemporaneity’?” “You could not,” I allowed. “Can I, can I have the email address?” “Of course,” Augustus said, like it was not the best gift ever.

...all I have to do is stay in between the lines and make sure that no one is too close to me and I am not too close to anyone and keep leaving. Maybe it felt like this for her, too, but I could never feel like this alone.

And I don’t blame him. I don’t even trust me.

I learned that myth doesn’t mean a lie; it means a traditional story that tells you something about people and their worldview and what they hold sacred. Interesting.