Stephanie Perkins

Breathe. One thing at a time

I want my mom.The thought shames me. Eighteen-year-olds shouldn’t need their mother

And I realize ... it’s okay. It’s okay if St. Clair and I never become more than friends. His friendship alone has strengthened me in a way that no one else’s ever has. He swept me from my room and showed me independence. In other words, he was exactly what I needed. I won’t forget it. And I certainly don’t want to lose it

Because I was right. For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It’s a person.
And we’re finally home

Flynn looks up at the sky, at the North Star above us. Polaris, it’s called. A fixed point, more accurate than any compass. You always know where you are when you look up at it

Growing up, there’d been so many times she’d wished her mom could be a lawyer or a banker or a producer, the kind of jobs some of her friends’ parents had. But when her mother had been invited to show at the prestigious Biennale, and Luba had sold a ring so Sophie could accompany her, she’d been so proud of her mother, the artist.

The whole mess started when I lit the church on fire

My list of achievements is quite impressive, if I do say so myself.

My failures equal one.

Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place?

The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you