Love weaves itself from hundreds of threads.
Just because a person is beautiful doesn't mean there's no soul beneath. Doesn't mean that person hasn't suffered like everyone else, doesn't mean they don't hope to still be a good human being in an awful world.
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.
I am made for running. Because when you run, you could be anyone. You hone yourself into a body, nothing more or less than a body. You respond as a body, to the body. If you are racing to win, you have no thoughts but the body's thoughts, no goals but the body's goals. You obliterate yourself in the name of speed. You negate yourself in order to make it past the finish line.
I think one of the highest compliments you can give a person is that when you are talking to him, you are not thinking about the fact that you are talking to him. That is, your thoughts and words all exist on a single, engaged level. You are being yourself because you aren't bothering to think about who you should be. It is like when you talk in a dream.
I’ve found that people tend to trust other people who dress like them.
Little less than a promise, and a little more than a chance.
me: you know what sucks about love? o.w.g.: what? me: that it's so tied to the truth.
You know, I'd get a tattoo with your name on it. Only, I want you to have the freedom to change your name if you want to.
She asked me what was wrong, and I told her I had to end it. She was surprised, and asked my why I thought so. I told her it wasn't a thought, more a feeling, like I couldn't breathe and knew I had to get some air. It was a survival instinct, I told her. She said it was time for dinner. Then she sat me down and told me not to worry. She said moments like this were like waking up in the middle of the night: You're scared, your'e disoriented, and you're completely convinced you're right. But then you stay awake a little longer and you realize things aren't as fearful as they seem.
When we’re alone together, I’m the destination. When I’m here in her life at school, I’m the disruption.
There are times I think of us all and I wish we were back in second grade. Not really that young. But I wish it felt like second grade. I’m not saying everyone was friends back then. But we all got along. There were groups, but they didn’t really divide. At the end of the day, your class was your class, and you felt like you were a part of it. You had your friends and you had the other kids, but you didn’t really hate anyone longer than a couple of hours. Everybody got a birthday card. In second grade, we were all in it together. Now we’re all apart.
It was the most amazing feeling in the world. to know that something right happened, and to know that it had happened not through luck or command but simply because it was right.
And yes, Holden would keep those kids from falling off the cliff, but WHO WOULDN'T? Does she think I would just fold my arms or give them a pat on the back before they sailed headfirst to the ground? We are all catchers, and it's sad that she doesn't see it. Instead she sees the PHONINESS, she deplores the world even after I point out that I am in it.
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.
As sisters, they probably have closer to 99 percent in common, but they’re not about to recognize that. They’d rather fight over what kind of pet they’re going to get … It’s an argument for its own sake.
You are so close, and I can’t reach you.
There has to be a moment at the beginning where you wonder whether you’re in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself. If the moment doesn’t pass, that’s it—you’re done. And if the moment does pass, it never goes that far. It stands in the distance, ready for whenever you want it back. Sometimes it’s even there when you thought you were searching for something else, like an escape route, or your lovers’ face.
But we comforted ourselves with what we really meant to say, which was: "I don't normally feel this good about what I'm doing." Measure the hope of that moment, that feeling. Everything else will be measured against it.
I only have eyes for you.
Because when something happens, she's the person I want to tell. The most basic indicator of love.
It won't be a normal life-I know that. But it will be a life. A life together.
me giving my mom romantic advice is kind of like a goldfish giving a snail advice on how to fly.” -Will Grayson (pg. 66)
They don’t have silences together; they have noise. Mostly his.
Her vulnerability is open, but she’s safe within it.
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