Your father is a piece of work,” her mother said. “Every time, he breaks your hearts. And every time, he expects me to pick up the pieces.” Pick up, sweep aside – same difference in her mom’s world. Eleanor didn’t argue.
I want to be near the ocean, Lincoln, the ocean! I want to feel the tides. And i want mountains, too, at least one mountain. Is that too much to ask? And trees. Not a whole forest, necessarily. I’d settle for a thicket. Scenery. I want scenery!
Knowing is better than telling.
These rotary dials were like meditation, they forced you to slow down and concentrate. If you polled the next number too soon, you had to start over from the top.
Everything is a story. And you are the hero. You sacrificed everything for me.
He caught her by surprise, and before she could help herself, her heart was breaking for him. Like it didn’t have anything better to break over.
Every time Eleanor pulled away from Park, she felt the gasping loss of him.
What did he really want, anyway? To buy new books when they came out in hardback.
Sometimes, even when they were talking, they weren’t really talking. Sometimes they were just negotiating each other. Keeping each other posted.
Because part of me does want to trick you. Part of me wants to say whatever I have to say to make sure you’ll still want me. I want to tell you that it’ll be different – better. That I’ll be more sensitive, that I’ll compromise more. But I won’t be, Neal, I know I won’t be. And I don’t want to trick you. Nothing is ever going to change.
I swear to God, every surviving Volvo produced between 1970 and 1985 is being driven by quirky fictional girls.
She wanted to cry all the way there, thinking about Neal’s sideways symmetrical mouth and the way he could freehand a perfectly straight line.
He looked like himself, Eleanor thought, but bolder. Like Park with the volume turned way up.
I won’t,′ I say. ‘I’ve never turned my back on you. And I’m not starting now.
He would never love her more than he did at that moment, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him loving her any less.
This wasn’t good, but it was something. Cath could always change it later. That was the beauty in stacking up words – they got cheaper, the more you had of them. It would feel good to come back and cut this when she had worked her way to something better.
Hey,” Cath said, rolling her eyes. She hadn’t thought he’d seen her. “Look at you. All sweatered up. What are those, leg sweaters?” “They’re leg warmers.” “You’re wearing at least four different kinds of sweater.” “This is a scarf.” “You look tarred and sweatered.” “I get it,” she said.
If Eleanor paid too much attention, she hated him.
Reagan wore eyeliner all the way around her eyes. Like a hard-ass Kate Middleton. And even though she was bigger than most girls – big hips, big chest, wide shoulders – she carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be. And everyone else went along with it – including Levi, and all the other guys who hung out in their room while Reagan finished getting ready.
She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something. Eleanor.