Crowley, if this is what it takes to keep Simon in my arms – gunshots and Quiet Zones and high-speed chases – I’m here for it. I’ll swear to it. I’ve found my vocation.
I started making my list, my good things list, when I was 11, and I should probably cross a few things off, but that’s harder than you’d think.
They were just stories, but stories weren’t just anything.
Extroverts were nothing if not dependable.
A relationship isn’t about the end. It’s about being together every step of the way.
Fighting doesn’t feel good anymore. It feels like breaking something because you don’t know how to fix it.
He smiles, and he’s made of trouble. We should have dropped him in the Thames in a bag of stones. We should have left him out for the fairies.
My favorite part of kissing Simon when he’s cold is the way he goes warm in my hands. Like I’m the living campfire. Like I’m the one who lives. I warm him in my arms, and then he warms me in his. He gives it all back to me.
Once, I started listing off all the people that I truly cared about. When I got to number seven, Penelope told me I either needed to whittle down my list or stop making friends immediately. “My mother says you should never have more people in your life than you could defend from a hungry rakshasa.
Not that kind of cheating,” Mags said. “More like... skipping ahead. If you like someone, you should have to make an effort. You should have to get to know the person – you should have to work for that first kiss.
Sharing a room with the person you want most is like sharing a room with an open fire.
Those were my fifth-year fantasies: kisses and blood and Snow ridding the world of me.
Next time he summons me like a half-asred squirrel demon,” I said,“I’ll tell him so!
He’s lovely. A bit of a sad mess. Dull and pale and rough around the edges. But still so lovely.
I didn’t know what I was missing before I met you.
I loved you before I met you, and I loved you the moment I held you. And I never meant to leave you so soon.
And what does it mean to take care of power? Do you use it? Conserve it? Keep it out of the wrong hands?
Well, you can’t walk into someone’s house and demand to go through their attic without expecting a few duels.
Looking at you was just like looking into the sun.
We literally have three “pickup trucks” in all of England, but here they’re everywhere. What is it that Americans have to pick up that the rest of the world doesn’t?