You shall no longer take things at second or third hand.... nor look through the eyes of the dead.... nor feed on the specters in books. I tramp a perpetual journey All goes onward and outward.... and nothing collapses, And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier. If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. The final three stanzas of 'Song of Myself" were also highlighted. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to your nevertheless, And filter and fiber your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one places search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you, It became a weekend of reading, of trying to see her in the fragments of the poem she'd left for me. I could never get anywhere with the lines, but I kept thinking about them anyway, became I didn't want to disappoint her. She wanted me to play out with the string, to find the place where she had stopped and was waiting for me, to follow the bread crumb trail until it dead-ended into her.

Paper Towns