I wish friends held hands more often, like the children I see on the streets sometimes. I’m not sure why we have to grow up and get embarrassed about it.
St. Clair wanders around, picking up things and examining them like I did in Meredith’s room. He inspects the collection of banana and elephant figurines lined up on my dresser. He holds up a glass elephant and raises his dark eyebrows in question.
I’ll only say this once more. I like you. I’ve always liked you. It would be wrong for me to come back into your life and act otherwise.
But, for me, yes. I have to be with Anna. But this is something you have to figure out on your own.
Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? Because I was right. For the two of us, home isn’t a place. It’s a person.
The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.
You should show encouragement whenever you can. People try harder when they know that someone cares about them.
You read a lot. – Safer than going on a real adventure.
Foreign novels are less action-oriented. They have a different pace; they’re more reflective. They challenge us to look for the story, find the story within the story.
I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. “Is this okay?” I whisper. “Are you okay?” His reply is anguished. Honest. “I love you.”
I am hard on myself. But isn’t it better to be honest about these things before someone else can use them against you? Before someone else can break your heart? Isn’t it better to break it yourself?
Umbrellas are so small and sad and easy to forget.
It’s ridiculous how difficult a question can be when the answer means so much.
You ought to stop listening to stereotypes and start forming your own opinions.
I didn’t know it was possible to simultaneously hate and ache for someone.
I’m not interested in making what’s easy. I’m interested in making what’s beautiful.
I wish the world would swallow us here, whole, in this moment. And that’s when it hits me that this – this – is falling in love.
How could I have ever for a moment believed I wasn’t in love with him?
What’d I tell you about musicians? That bad boy type will only break your heart.
My smile wavers as I revert to my natural state of being: nervous and weird.
If I had a euro for every stupid thing I’ve done, I could buy the Mona Lisa.