I stand up from the table and wiggle my index finger at Nick. He'll never get it, but I borrow from Heathers as I leave him to follow Tris. A true friend's work is never done, I singsong.Bulimia is so...
I particularly loved the adjective bookish, which I found other people used about as often as ramrod or chum or teetotaler.
I might have liked to share a dance with you. If I may be so bold to say. I thought: But isn’t this a dance? Isn’t all of this a dance? Isn’t that what we do with words? Isn’t that what we do when w...
I may have a potty mouth, but I do not get caught in illicit sexual encounters in Marriotts, for fuck’s sake. I guess I could be open to a Ritz-Carlton or a Four Seasons, but a Marriott, no fucking wa...
I know she is scared of this simple task even if the fear is something she can't—or won't— acknowledge. Fear, perhaps, is not based on the chemical component of adrenaline alone. It acts also on inexp...
I have to figure, with this many stops and starts, surely this train will pull out of the station eventually. What’s the big fucking rush?
I felt especially grateful now having the red Moleskine to confide in. Just knowing a Snarl was on the other side to read it—to possibly care—inspired my pen to move quickly in answer to his question.
I feel like I know her. Really know her. And part of really knowing her is also knowing that I don’t necessarily know her as well as I think I do. Which is okay. We should each have our own damn souls...
I don’t think meaning is something that can be explained. You have to understand it on your own. It’s like when you’re starting to read. First, you learn the letters. Then, once you know what sounds t...
I don't think it's a matter of ready-I mean, not in an all-the-way sense. You're never completely ready-you just get to the point where you're ready enough.
I am forgetting about time and Tal because maybe my life isn't over. Maybe it's only beginning.
Here's the thing about love, Mrs. Basil E. replied. You get a last chance. And then, when that doesn't work, you make yourself another last chance. Then another. Then another. You keep going until you...
From behind I don’t see Caroline but I do that stupid bitch, Tris, rhymes with bris, cuz that’s what she’ll do to a guy, rip apart his piece.
Deep down, you see, I long to be arcane, esoteric. I would love to confound people with their own language.
Cinderella was such a dork. She left behind her glass slipper at the ball and then went right back to her stemonster's house. It seems to me she sho8ld have worn the glass slipper always, to make hers...
But the older you get, the more you realize that, yes, there are all these things that link you to the past, and you’re using the same words and singing the same songs that have always been there for...
But somehow, knowing the Moleskine was tucked away in my bag, containing our thoughts and clues, our imprints to each other, somehow that made me feel safe, like I could have this adventure and not ge...
But love needs to have a future. And Sofia and I don't have a future. We've just had a good time sharing the present, that's all.
Because I hadn’t known that I knew these things. Just having a notebook to write them in, and having someone to write them to, made them all rise to the surface.
Because I don’t want to, I said. Not because of the way she is now—I know that’s not what she’s like. There was no way it was going to be as easy as the notebook. I get that now.