Extraits

Life and death aren’t as different from each other as I thought they were. This isn’t like walking into a new country. This is like walking into a new room in the same house. This is like sharing a hallway and the same row of framed family pictures, but there’s a glass wall between.

Even people who've never seen a miracle can believe in miracles.

I know everyone has dreams of flying, but this isn’t a dream of flying. It’s a dream of floating, and the ocean is not water but wind.

I call it a dream, but it feels realer than my life.

I like the sky. It's rational to me in a way that life isn't.

I can't imagine a universe in which I try to unlove her.

Because every time someone finds a new animal, or a new amazing thing on earth, it means we haven't broken everything yet.

I'm dark matter. The universe inside of me is full of something, and science can't even shine a light on it. I feel like I'm mostly made of mysteries.

Death is the Santa Claus of the adult world. Except Santa Claus in reverse. The guy who takes all the presents away.

If you look at the sky that way, it’s this massive shifting poem, or maybe a letter, first written by one author, and then, when the earth moves, annotated by another. So I stare and stare until, one day, I can read it.

I read stuff. Books are not my only friends, but we’re friendly. So there.