Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
How sad it must be for you to be nothing more than a hollow statue, to have your tomb preserved and your story forgotten.
iv. who was it who invented size zero? who was it who promised that if you got to a certain point you would no longer be?
simon: that's disgusting! me: what's disgusting? simon: you know. you put your thing in the place where he, um, defecates.
I am not dangerous. Only the stories are dangerous. Only the fictions we create, especially when they become expectations.
In my experience, desire is desire, love is love. I have never fallen in love with a gender. I have fallen for individuals.
She is my first and only love. Most people know that their first love will not be their only love. But for me, she is both.
That strange, twisted, torn love. That conflict between what your heart knows is right and what your mind is told is right.
Things are not magical because they've been conjured for us by some outside force. They are magical because we create them.
I had gotten so used to being alone, but never entirely used to it. Never used to it enough to stop wanting the alternative.
It's the way you say thank you like you're genuinely thankful. I have never met anyone else who does that on a regular basis.
I was starting to think I was making up memories, just to have answers. Our brain does that sometimes. Or at least mine does.
It was rather awkward, insofar as we were both teetering between the possibility of something and the possibility of nothing.
There will always be more questions. Every answer leads to more questions. The only way to survive is to let some of them go.
I still felt fondness for her - fondness, that pleasant, detached mix of admiration and sentiment, appreciation and nostalgia.
Because it is senior year I have begun to see things as potential absences. The things I love will become the things I'll miss.
For whatever reason, we like to focus on the 2 percent that's different, and most of the conflict in the world comes from that.
My face seems too square and my eyes too big, like I'm perpetually surprised, but there's nothing wrong with me that I can fix.
He doesn’t just look upset—he looks newly blind. There is such loss in his eyes, and it permeates every other part of his body.
I want to kiss her without counting the seconds. I want to hold her so long that I get to know her skin. I want, I want, I want.
I am a drifter, and as lonely as that can be, it is also remarkably freeing. I will never define myself in terms of anyone else.
It's one of the secrets of strength: We're so much more likely to find it in the service of others than in service to ourselves.
His books are kept on freestanding shelves hung at different angles on a sea-green wall. They defy gravity, as good books should.
This, I think, is how people survive: Even when horrible things have been done to us, we can still find gratitude in one another.
Some days are like this. And the only way to get through them is to remember that they are only one day, and that every day ends.
We found out a long time ago that we weren’t meant to fall in love with each other. But a part of me still fell in hope with him.
I have no more idea now of who I am than I did before. But at least I know that. And I'm starting to figure out who I want to be.
There is no word for our kind of friendship. Two people who don't see each other a lot, but can make each other effortlessly happy
i wish i were someone else, even though i know i'll never, ever be able to get away from what i've done and what's been done to me.
Sometimes the space between knowing what to do and actually doing it is a very short walk. Other times it is an impossible expanse.
He’ll have to prove it to you. Every day, he’ll have to prove he’s worthy of you. And if he doesn’t, that’s it. But I think he will.
motif, n. You don’t love me as much as I love you. You don’t love me as much as I love you. You don’t love me as much as I love you.
School is school-she wants it to be over, but she's afraid of it being over, because then she'll have to figure out what comes next.
Jesus died for our sins," Noah says solemnly. "What?!?" I reply, choking back my thoughts. "I was just seeing if you were listening.
You wanna-I dunno-get coffee or something sometime?" Justin smiled "Not coffee. But yes." "Not Coffee it is, then." "Yes, Not Coffee.
The truth feels different from other things. The closest you can come to describing it is that it feels like taking a perfect breath.
You went and broke our lives. You are so much worse than a cheater. You killed something. And you killed it when its back was turned.
this blue shirt i have is practically the same color as my jeans, and looking all-blue is something only cookie monster can pull off.
I couldn't remember ordinary moments, only the ones that had made an impression. Ordinary moments were the ones that fell away first.
I never understood why anyone would have sex on the floor. Until I was with you and I realized: you don't realize you're on the floor.
I don't want to steal anybody's story. I very much want to use the stories that I hear to get lost in my mind, to tell a larger story.
Making love without noise is like playing a muted piano-fine for practice, but you cheat yourself out of hearing the glorious results.
There is no word for the recipient of the love. There is only a word for the giver. There is the assumption that lovers come in pairs.
But whether or not you are here, you are here—because these words are for you, and they wouldn't exist if you weren't here in some way.
I find I very rarely live up to my words. And since you know me primarily through my words, there are oh so many ways I can disappoint.
You never let things go unanswered for too long. Emails. Phone calls. Questions. As if you know the waiting is the hardest part for me.
It's one thing to fall in love. It's another to feel someone else fall in love with you, and to feel a responsibility toward that love.
I want to write my life. I want to be able to write my life. You are a second away from saying it. You have no idea how much I love you.
why won't they leave me alone? don't they realize I have a tinder heart and a paper body and that any spark will turn me straight to ash?
A photograph it a souvenir of a memory. It is not a moment. It is the looking at the photograph that becomes the moment. Your own moment.
Maybe language is kind, giving us these double meanings. Maybe it's trying to teach us a lesson, that we can always be two things at once.