Please Mia," he implores. "Don't make me write a song.

I remember watching it all and getting the tickling in my chest and thinking to myself: This is what happiness feels like.

We stand there for a moment, staring at each other, savoring it. And then all at once, we slam together. Mia's legs are off the ground, wrapped around my waist, her hands dipping in my hair, my hands tangled in hers. And our lips. There isn't enough skin, enough spit, enough time, for the lost years that our lips are trying to make up for as they find each other. We kiss. The electric current switches to high. The lights throughout all of Brooklyn must be surging.

But that's the thing with death. The whisper of it descent travels fast and wide, and people must've know I'd become a corpse because nobody even came to view the body.

Neither sleet nor rain nor a half inch of snow will compel me to dress like a lumberjack.

Sometimes we meet people and are so symbiotic with them, it’s as if we are one person, with one mind, one destiny.

But then one time, you track down an email address and you're near a computer with Internet access so you don't have that nice cushion and you type what you're feeling and press send before you have a chance to talk yourself out of it. And then you wait, and wait, and wait, and nothing comes back, so all those things you thought were so important to say, really, they weren't. They weren't worth saying at all.

Forgivenesss: It's a miracle drug. It's God's miracle drug.

Adam's lips are set in a grime line. I can't tell if he's about to cry or about to punch the guard. For his sake, I hope it's the former. For you own, I hope the latter.

A journey of a thousand miles starts with just ten digits.

For my first recital ever, they gave me a cello. And for this one, they gave me you.

You must not waste your one day here. When the sun shines, you let it shine on you. Snow is always waiting.

I'll be your mess, you be mineThat was the deal that we had signed