You won’t let me buy any clothes. Now you won’t let me buy a road map, either! I need to spend some money or I’m going to go crazy!
I'll show Luke I can fit into the city. I'll show him I can be a true New Yorker. I'll go the gym, and then I'll eat a bagel, and I'll ... shoot someone, maybe? Or maybe just the gym will be enough.
I know this is our honeymoon. But just sometimes, I wish Luke was a girl.
She was the most beautiful thing you ever saw. She was radiant. And she was wearing this necklace... When you see the necklace in the painting, it all makes sense. He loved her. Even if she lived to one hundred and five without ever getting an answer.
We're all confused, Samantha. We all need more time to think. That's life. Get over it.
Darling, when things go wrong in life, you lift your chin, put on a ravishing smile, mix yourself a little cocktail.
There are some things I don't understand about Jess and never will. No wedding dress. No flowers. No photo album. No champagne. The only thing she got out of her wedding was a husband. (I mean, obviously the husband is the main point when you get married. Absolutely. That goes without saying. But still, not even a new pair of shoes?)
A mistake isn’t a mistake unless it can’t be put right.
Why can't parents dance? Is it some universal law of physics or something?
I hurl the glass teapot to the ground. we both stare at it, stunned. "it was supposed to break," I explain after a pause, " and that was going to signify that yes, I would throw something away . If I knew it wasn't right for me.
Everyone knows revenge is a dish best served when you've had enough time to build up enough vitriol and fury.
You know what Hans told me last week?" she says as I open the door of my fitting room. "He told me to write down a list of everything I wanted to say about that women-and then tear it up. He said I'd feel a sense of freedom." "Oh right," I say interestedly. "So what happened?" "I wrote it all down," says Laurel. "And then I mailed it to her!
Ok. don't panic. Don't panic. It's only a VISA bill. It's a piece of paper; a few numbers. I mean, just how scary can a few numbers be?
The worst thing a girl can do is trail after a boy when a love affair is dead.
It’s the way he had a cup of tea waiting for me when I woke up. It’s the way he turned on his laptop especially for me to look up all my Internet horoscopes and helped me choose the best one. He knows all the crappy, embarrassing bits about me that I normally try to hide from any man for as long as possible… and he loves me anyway.
We both gaze down at my swollen tummy for a while. I still can't quite get my head round the fact that there's a baby inside my body. Which has got to come out... somehow. OK, let's not go there. There's still time for them to invent something.
I once tried to give him a friendly little "drugs chat". He politely corrected me on every single fact, then said he'd noticed I drank above the recommended guidelines of Red Bull and did I think I might have an addiction? That was the last time I tried to act like the older sister.
You're working for me cut out the attitude.
Everyone keeps saying I’ll pick it up. But what if I don’t? I did algebra for three years, and I never picked that up.
If you're single, then I'm single?" What's that supposed to be? Lyrics to a pop song?
People used to ask me for advice, and I'd say, 'Please, don't ask me!' Yes, I did economics at Oxford, but that's not the same as having a broad knowledge of personal finance
My daily Nespresso coffee, an unexpected shaft of sunlight through the window on a winter's day, my bargain Missoni sunglasses (70 percent off!)
What are they waiting to see?" Sam follows my gaze and I shrug. "Who knows? You could always do a dance, or tell a joke, or... kiss the bride?" "Not the bride," he wraps his arms around me, and gradually pulls me close. Our noses are practically touching. I can see right into his eyes. I can feel the warmth of his skin. "you." Me. "The girl who stole my phone." His lips brush across the corner of my mouth. "The thief." "It was in a bin." "Still stealing." "No it isn't-," I begin. But now his mouth is firmly on mine, and I can't speak at all. And suddenly, life is good.
Suddenly I've had enough of all this. I've had enough of being made to feel insecure and paranoid and wondering what's going on
I've never felt so bereft and panicky. What do I do without my phone? How do I function? My hand keeps automatically reaching for my phone in its usual place in my pocket. Every instinct in me wants to text someone, 'OMG, I've lost my phone! ' but how can do that without a bloody phone?
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