Boys turns girls into such idiots.
How could I have ever for a moment believed I wasn't in love with him?
Because that's the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don't want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lunges. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It's mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.
Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.
I wish for the thing that is best for me.
Foreign novels are less action-oriented. They have a different pace; they’re more reflective. They challenge us to look for the story, find the story within the story.
You ought to stop listening to stereotypes and start forming your own opinions.
You read a lot. - Safer than going on a real adventure
I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. "Is this okay?" I whisper. "Are you okay?" His reply is anguished. Honest. "I love you."
What my parents never considered is that I just wanted a choice.
I wish the world would swallow us here, whole, in this moment. And that's when it hits me that this - this - is falling in love.
Seriously, I don't know any American girl who can resist an English accent.
What’d I tell you about musicians? That bad boy type will only break your heart.
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