"I found myself crying. I could hear my father’s voice telling me the story. And I guess I was sad. But I was also a little bit happy. He left me stories to tell. My dad had them. My mom had them. Stories were living inside us. I think we were born to tell our stories. After we died, our stories would survive. Maybe it was our stories that fed the universe the energy it needed to keep on giving life.
Maybe all we were meant to do on this earth was to keep telling stories. Our stories-and the stories of the people we loved."—Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World