Issac:"I dislike living in a world without Augustus Waters."
Computer: "I don't understand-"
Issac: "Me neither. Pause

Like Mom, Zoe thought–like Mom used to. And that’s where they differed, for Zoe wrote quiet poetry suffused with twilight and questions. It’s not even good poetry, she thought. I don’t have talent, it’s her. I should be the one ill; she has so much to offer, so much life. “You’re a dark one,” her mother said sometimes with amused wonder. “You’re a mystery.

What you must understand about me is that I’m a deeply unhappy person.

The times that were most fun seemed always to be followed by sadness now, because it was when life started to feel like it did when she was with us that we realized how utterly gone she was.

No reason to be angry. Anger just distracts from the all-encompassing sadness.

What can we do?" Mom asked again.
I shrugged.
But she kept asking, as if there were something she could do, until I just kind of crawled across the couch into her lap and my dad came over and held my legs really tight and I wrapped my arms all the way around my mom's middle and they held on to me for hours while the tide rolled in.