Because when you love something, you want to do it all the time, even if no one is paying you for it. At least that's how I felt about drawing.
If the guy likes/loves you, he won't care if you are a good kisser or not. He should like you for what you are - not how you kiss.
If you really love someone, even if you can't see where you'll be or what you'll be doing twenty years from now, you'd still want that person to be there.
One of the many advantages of having a boyfriend who is half French is that his culinary repertoire extends beyond mac and cheese. Plus, there’s the kissing.
I've come to the conclusion that, aside from Nazis, the Taliban, and possibly the honey badger, there is no one on the planet more merciless than a teenage girl once she's decided she dislikes you.
Strong female characters - even if they don't necessarily make the same decisions that we might - make such great narrative material, especially when there's an equally strong male character in the mix.
Susannah." My dance partner's breath was soft against my cheek. "Susannah...." Yeah. In my dreams. In real life, the voice calling my name wasn't a bit masculine. That's because it belonged to a twelve-year-old boy.
We need to talk.” “I’m just – Look,” I said, as he took a step toward me. “I’m just going to give Cee Cee a call and maybe we’ll go to the beach or something, because I really … I just need a day off.”Another step toward me. Now he was right in front of me. “Especially,” I said significantly, looking up at him, “from talking. That’s what I especially need a day off from. Talking.” “Fine,” he said. He reached up and cupped my face in both his hands. “We don’t have to talk.”And that’s when he kissed me. On the lips.
I won’t tell you how I managed to break in, since I don’t want the authorities figuring out, but let’s just say that if you’re going to make a gate, make sure it reaches all the way to the ground.
Why can't you just get married in Las Vegas like normal Americans?
You'll blow up a helicopter, but you won't go out with me? What is wrong with you?
I really wanted to be veterinarian, but I got a 410 on my math SATs.
For each book, I do end up making a kind of playlist to fit the characters.
I wish I had taken Spanish instead of French in high school. I could eavesdrop on a lot more conversations on the subway if I knew Spanish.
Usually writer's block arises when something is wrong internally with the story.
We were a very funny family. Humour was the tool with which my brother and I tried to get attention. We were always trying to be the funniest.
When I was a kid, I had a couple of really good friends, like some really good best friends, but I was really shy other than that.
All of my characters are a little bit based on people I know in real life. You know when you do that you have to change the character a little bit in case your friend or your relative reads the book, because you don't want them to know you wrote about them... They might get mad.
Even though I loved to write, I never liked English lit. class very much. I think it ruins books when you dissect them too much. I liked my art classes best.
I was an unhappy child, and that puts me off having a child of my own.
I think if I hadn't been a writer, I'd have been a teacher like my dad. He was a college professor, and one of my greatest regrets is that he passed away before I was able to prove to him that I wasn't going to be stuck working at Rax Roast Beef for the rest of my life!
No offense, but if you want to be with my niece, you should think about getting a haircut. My mother is very conservative.” “No offense taken,” John said mildly.
Jesse, who had not stirred the whole time from the spot he'd been standing, confident I could handle Cheryl myself, was grinning. "It's every girl's dream to guy to go to prom with the guy she loves?" he echoed, not just one, but both inky black eyebrows raised. "Don't start with me," I said. I tried to hide my suddenly flaming cheeks by scraping away what was left of the cannolis, and replacing them with the contents of an upended bag of chocolate chip cookies. "I have things to do.
Of course. I was on the run from evil spirits that wanted to kill me and now, according to the local paper, the law. Yet Richard Smith, cemetery sexton and death deity scholar, had a book for me to read in all my copious spare time.
„Everyone wants to believe that there’s something else – something great – waiting for them on the other side. Paradise. Valhalla. Heaven. Their next – hopefully less horrible – life.
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