I wanna explore your body. I wanna kiss my way up and down it all night long.
Camus and Henry waved to me from that muddy truck. They both wanted me to get over myself. So, this was me, getting over myself. And it was about time.
I wash myself clean of guilt, of pain, of fear, of emotion. I am the ocean. I am empty. I am nothing.
I chose him. If I chose him, he had to be the right choice. I wouldn’t love him if it weren’t right.
Because the perfect moment can never be improved, and should be remembered, cherished, just the way it was. Like every moment I spend in your arms.
Envy, after all, comes from wanting something that isn't yours. But grief comes from losing something you've already had.
I realized it was like looking into the sun—you shouldn't do it, because you'd turn your face away and be blind to everything else.
Tell me to stop, Aby, and I will...It will be the hardest thing I'll ever do, but if you don't want this, now would be the time to tell me.
One of my friends at the Compound has a photographic memory. Everything she ever sees, reads, or hears, she remembers forever in perfect detail.
You figured that the only way I'd be happy is if I did the things you thought would be best for me.
the soul mate doesn’t have to be a romantic relationship. Sometimes in life, you meet people when you need them, and there is an immediate connection.
Suffering so someone else didn't have to suffer. Sacrificing your body for someone else's well being.
People die, and everything they've ever said just echoes around and around. There's nothing new. Only the same nonsense from their lives.
You can’t be afraid. You can be sad if you like. You can be angry. But it’s the fear that’ll freeze you in place.
And so that means..." "We have to rob the Henley," Simon said. Kat sank onto a truly uncomfortable sofa. "Again.
I think perfect love is any time you love unconditionally, without selfish intent, without concern for personal gain.
And as paralyzing and upsetting as all the never agains were, the final leaving felt perfect. Pure. The most distilled possible form of liberation.
I’ve always loved the night, when everyone else is asleep and the world is all mine. It’s quiet and dark—the perfect time for creativity.
A home without a cat — and a well-fed, well-petted and properly revered cat — may be a perfect home, perhaps, but how can it prove title?
His was the gaze of a high-end predator, throwing it's prey a seductive look, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
A jet may be perfect for breaking the speed of sound, but a brick is designed to break the speed of silence. Just listen to that quietness.
