"You think that holding someone hard will bring them closer. You think that you can hold them so hard that you'll still feel them, embossed on you, when you pull away.Every time Eleanor pulled away from Park, she felt the gasping loss of him."
"Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive."
"I'm ending this.''No. Come on. It's not worth it.''You are,' he said fiercely, looking at her.'You're worth it."
"Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."
"You think I'm cute?"He said thinkly, pulling on her hand.She was glad he couldn't see her face. "I think you're..."Beautiful. Breathtaking. Like the person in a Greek myth who makes one of the gods stop caring about being a god."
"The first time he'd held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt."