I read The Fault in Our Stars over the weekend. It was really good. It had much better writing than I expected. I’m all in on John Green. Here were my two favorite clips, both dealt with pain and suffering which I suppose I’m dealing with right now.
And then he broke down, just for one moment, his sob roaring impotent like a clap of thunder unaccompanied by lightning, the terrible ferocity that amateurs in the field of suffering might mistake for weakness.
That’s just beautiful. This maybe even more so.
I missed the future. Obviously I knew even before his recurrence that I’d never grow old with Augustus Waters. But think about Lidewij and her boyfriend, I felt robbed.
I would probably never again see the ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up that you can’t make out the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless monolith. I could imagine it. I could remember it. But I couldn’t see it again, and it never occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again.