I'll fight it. I'll fight it for you. Don't you worry about me, Hazel Grace. I'm okay. I'll find a way to hang around and annoy you for a long time.
Oh, I wouldn't mind, Hazel Grace. It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.
People talk about the courage of cancer patients, and I do not deny that courage. I had been poked and stabbed and poisoned for years, and still I trod on. But make no mistake: In that moment, I would have been very, very happy to die.
I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.
depression is not a side effect of cancer. Depression is a side effect of dying.
You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.
Only now that I loved a grenade did I understand the foolishness of trying to save others from my own impending fragmentation: I couldn’t unlove Augustus Waters. And I didn’t want to.
That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt.
Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy?
Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death.
My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.
All salvation is temporary," Augustus shot back. "I bought them a minute. Maybe that's the minute that buys them an hour, which is the hour that buys them a year. No one's gonna buy them forever, Hazel Grace, but my life bought them a minute. And that's not nothing.
Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.
You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world...but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices.
My love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity, ~ Hazel Lancaster.
As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.
It's a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing.
Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.
The marks humans leave are too often scars.
Because you are beautiful. I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence
You should see it. V for Vendetta I mean. "I'll look it up." No. With Me. At my house. Now
Maybe 'okay' will be our 'always
People will say it's sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it's not sad, Van Houten. It's triumphant. It's heroic. Isn't that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm.
Some wars," he said dismissively. "What am I at war with? My cancer. And what is my cancer? My cancer is me. The tumors are made of me. They're made of me as surely as my brain and my heart is made of me. It is a civil war, Hazel Grace, with a predetermined winner.
We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.
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