Here," she said. "This is for you." "I didn't really get you anything," I sputtered. "I mean, I didn't know that you were going to be here, and--" "Don't worry. It's your embarrassment at not having the thought that counts.
It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that's always the case. My life doesn't add up to anything.
You know what happens to girls who loves lost boys? They become lost themselves.
If I lose it now, I will lose you, too. I know that. I hate it.
This is what my voice sounds like I don't need to be talking to someone else To hear it
you’d think that silence would be peaceful. but really, it’s painful.
I try to be a careful person. Most of the time my carelessness is completely unintentional.
Every single answer starts with the phrase 'I don't know.' But most of the time she does know, if I give her the time and the space in which to answer.
You're giving up. You're slipping into being miserable and if you are being miserable, then it's all about you again. But it's not all about you. Love doesn't work that way.
You don't know, but I'm noticing.
Life tells you to take the elevator, but love tells you to take the stairs.
Deep down, you see, I long to be arcane, esoteric. I would love to confound people with their own language.
Yesterday is another world. I want to go back there.
I am starting to get tired of relying on words.
The boy I loved didn't know I existed. Then again, he was obsessed with Camus, so he didn't know if any of us existed.
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.
Maybe your history just repeats and repeats until it batters you enough to snap the seams that hold you together
Dispel, v. It was the way you said, “I have something to tell you.” I could feel the magic drain from the room.
And I, who have never thought in terms of a life, think to myself that I could make a life out of this.
If smart people are parodying it, that's a sure sign that some less smart people are believing it.
A sound waiting to be a word.
I don't get this at all. It's like protesting the fact that some people are red-haired.
My lines all curve. I tend to connect the wrong dots.
I think that if you were somehow able to measure the weight of human kindness, it would have weighed more on 9/11 than it ever had. On 9/11, all the hatred and murder could not compare with the weight of love, of bravery, of caring. I have to believe that.
I asked you what you wanted and you said you didn't want anything. And I told you I wasn't planning on giving you anything; I was planning on giving you something.
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