I want someone whose heart is big enough to hold me.
Months are different in college, especially freshman year. Too much happens. Every freshman month equals six regular months – they’re like dog months.
I love you more than I hate everything else.
Sometimes writing is running downhill, your fingers jerking behind you on the keyboard the way your legs do when they can’t quite keep up with gravity.
I don’t have to forgive you, Cath said. It’s not like that with you. You’re just in with me. Always. No matter what happens.
I dare you to call Ask-A-Nurse and tell them you feel a presence in your womb region.
That’s the ultimate kind of broken. The kind of damage you never recover from.
I don’t trust anybody. Not anybody. And the more that I care about someone, the more sure I am they’re going to get tired of me and take off.
Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and mildly socially retarded, I’m a complete disaster.
There was just no fear in her.
That girl had the subtlety of a Spencer’s Gifts shop.
Cath felt like she was swimming in words. Drowning in them, sometimes.
A little manic was what their house ran on.
She heard the very beginning of a smile in his voice – a fetal smile – and it very nearly killed her.
I take something that happened to me in 1983, and I make it happen to somebody else in 1943. I pick my life apart that way, try to understand it better by writing straight through it.
You shouldn’t reward me for endangering your life, you know. Think of the precedent you’re setting.
Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.
I’d rather be broken than wasted.
You win when no one finds you, even if they’re not looking.
You can’t take back texts. If you come off all moody and melancholy in a text, it just sits there in your phone, reminding you of what a drag you are.