Stephanie Perkins Quotes

I LOVE his hair, and now I get to touch it whenever I want. And he doesn't even get irritated. Most of the time.

I am here. You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I am here.

I blame it on his pants.

I collapse in bed and fall asleep with me other hand clasped around the blue rubber band. And I dream about blue eyes and blue nails and first-kiss lips dusted with blue sugar crystals.

I didn't do anything I didn't want to do.

I didn't mean to mess things up, I don't know what got into me-He rubs his temples. Please don't apologize.It's not your fault.But if I hadn't dragged you out to dance-Anna. Etienne speaks slowly. You...

I dream about reaching across the backseat and touching his hand. Just one hand. It closes slowly, tightly around mine, and the sensation of his skin against mine is . I've never felt anything like it...

I feel it coming, but I can't stop it.PANIC.They left me.My parents actually left me! IN FRANCE!Meanwhile, Paris is oddly silent.Even the opera singer has packed it in for the night. I lose it.The wa...

I guess you never really know what’s going on inside someone else’s head.

I know he is smiling, and my heart races.

I know. As if I’d ever go for him now that my dad wants me to date him.As if you’d ever go for his again.Right…right.

I like stories of adventure. Especially if there’s some kind of disaster involved.The eyebrow remains arched.I laugh. I read the ones with happy endings, too.Josh gestures towards my shelves. You read...

I mean . . . I don't know. I don't know what I want to do, or who I want to be, or where I want to live. I don't know. I like reading about adventure, sure, but I also like doing it from the safety of...

I moan with pleasure.Did you just have a foodgasm? he asks, wiping ricotta from his lips.Where have you been all my life? I ask the beautiful panini.

I must be a masochist to keep putting myself in these situations. I need help. Ineed to see a shrink or be locked in a padded cell or straitjacketed or something.

I pick a fight. I am cruel. I annihilate him.

I risk a glance, and St. Clair stares back. Deeply. He has not looked at me like this before. I turn away first then feel him turn a few beats later. I know he us smiling, and my heart races.

I scan the dark room, through the thrashing bodies of disillusioned Parisian youth, getting their anger out with a healthy dose of French punk rock.

I suddenly understand why people describe kissing as melting because every square inch of my body dissolves into his. My fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer. My veins throb and my heart explodes...

I want to feel the creases in his skin, connect his freckles with invisible lines, brush my fingers across the inside of his wrist.