Sorrow spares no one, and scars respect no person.

I'm beginning to think the only choice anyone has in life is between either a bad choice or a worse one.

He didn't want the respect of people who weren’t worth wiping his nose on—people who weren't worth the spatout gum attached to the bottom of his worn-out shoes. The only respect he wanted was from himself and the people who really mattered in his life. The people who really loved and cared about him.

It's easy to look at people and make quick judgements about them, their present and their pasts, but you'd be amazed at the pain and tears a single smile hides. what a person shows to the world is only one tiny facet of the iceburg hidden from sight. And more often then not, it's lined with cracks and scars that go all the way to the foundation of their soul.

. . . when the horror of his grief was new to him, and every object in life, however trifling or however important, seem saturated with his one great sorrow.

You felt a deep sorrow, the kind of melancholy you feel when you're in a beautiful place and the sun is going down