The Fine Art of Truth or Dare Quotes

“sometimes no matter how many eyelashes or dandelion seeds you blow, no matter how much of your heart you tear out and slap on your sleeve, it just ain't gonna happen.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Love is one of two things worth dying for. I have yet to decide on the second.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“What is it about those two words - I'm sorry - that makes otherwise articulate guys into babbling idiots?”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Truth (according to Edward Willing): People who rely on first sight are either lazy or deluded.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Ella. If you don’t learn to carpe the diem, you will be, while most certainly not Nobody, something less than a Somebody.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Relationships are like Whack-a-Mole. You squash one annoying deformity and another one pops up in no time.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Qui craint de souffrir, il souffre deja de ce qu'il craint."
"Who fears to suffer, already suffers what he fears. ”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Alex was right in front of the mantel now, bent forward, his nose mere inches from a picture of me.
"Oh,God. Don't look at that!"
It was from the year-end recital of my one and only year of ballet class. I was six: twig legs, a huge gap where my two front teeth had recently been, and a bumblebee costume. Nonna had done her best, but there was only so much she could do with yellow and black spandex and a bee butt. Dad had found one of those headbands with springy antennai attached. I'd loved the antennae. The more enthusiastic my jetes, the more they bounced. Of course, I'd also jeted my flat-chested little self out of the top of my costume so many times that, during the actual recital itself,I'd barely moved at all, victim to the overwhelming modesty of the six-year-old. Now, looking at the little girl I'd been, I wished someone had told her not to worry so much, that within a year, that smooth, skinny, little bare shoulder would have turned into the bane of her existence. That she was absolutely perfect.
"Nice stripes," Alex said casually, straightening up.
That stung. It should't have-it was just a photo-but it did. I don't know what I'd expected him to say about the picture. It wasn't that. But then, I didn't expect the wide grin that spread across his face when he got a good look at mine, either.
"Those," he announced, pointing to a photo of my mulleted dad leaning against the painted hood of his Mustang "are nice stripes. That-" he pointed to the me-bee- "Is seriously cute."
"You're insane," I muttered, insanely pleased.
"Yeah,well, tell me something I don't know." He took the bottle and plate from me. "I like knowing you have a little vanity in there somewhere." He stood, hands full, looking expectant and completely beautiful.
The reality of the situation hadn't really been all that real before. Now, as I started up the stairs to my bedroom, Alex Bainbridge in tow, it hit me. I was leading a boy, this boy, into my very personal space.
Then he started singing.
"You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you. You're sooo vain....!" He had a pretty good voice. It was a truly excellent AM radio song.
And just like that, I was officially In Deep”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“How did you find me?" I asked.
"Easy.I looked in the school directory and called Frankie Hobbes this morning."
"You what?"
"He was okay, only called me 'Dickhead' twice."
I winced. "Sorry."
"Not a problem. From his viewpoint I deserve it." He shrugged. "He'll come around. We'll be down to one negative nickname per conversation by summer.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“From: fmarino@thewillingschool.org
To: abainbr@thewillingschool.org
Date: December 19, 6:54 p.m.
Subject: Three Things

1. Truth: I'm terrified of an embarrassing number of things, including Ferris wheels, rusty nails, being alone, and being with someone.
2. Truth: I'm working on that.
3. Dare: Take a chance on me, Alex Bainbridge. Qu'ieu sui precieuse, leu lo sai."”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Love is one of the two things worth dying for. I have yet to decide on the second. It is most certainly not colorful fungus.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“An hour later, proven absolutely right, I slid the last drawer closed, sat on the dusty floor, and had a good, sorry=for-myself "what now?" moment.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Make poverty, sickness, and death central issues in the contract," he says, "it's no wonder the divorce rate is fifty percent.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Well, good night," he said cheerfully. "Thanks for dinner."
"Oh. Right." I took a half step back toward the house. "You're welcome."
"Ella."
"Yeah?"
"You've gotta be kidding."
PECo hadn't some yet, so it was pretty dark where we were standing. I don't know how his hand found mine so fast, but one second I was thinking about how much I didn't want to say good night, and the next I was up against his chest, standing on my toes with my feet between his.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath chocolaty and warm against my forehead.
"Yeah," I answered, my own breath coming in quick little jumps. "Yeah."
"Good.I have something I have to tell you."
I waited.
"I hate that Klimt painting," he said. "I really hate it."
Then he was folding me into his coat and his face was right above mine, and there was only one kiss that mattered.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Aveces no importa cuántas pestañas o dientes de león soples, no importa cuánto tu corazón se despedace y bofeteé tu cubierta, simplemente no va a suceder.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Never my favorite part of the night, the bride and groom smearing cake on each other's face.I'm with Frankie; it can't be an auspicious start.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“You wanna know something," was Dad's refrain while we were growing up, "get a book." Of course,he predates Google, but it stuck with me.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“He sighed again, but I couldn't see the fate of his dolphin logo person. I was completely fixated on his eyes. They're a pretty amazing combination of green and bronze. "I don't know what's going on, but it's weird, and it shouldn't be. I'm a decent guy."
"Of course you are." I sighed. And caved. Apparently, my Phillite defenses were worthless around this particular specimen, no matter that he couldn't seem to make up his mind whether I was worth noticing or not.
Truth: Yes,I am that naive.
"Good.So.Friday after school. We can meet down here."
I could just see Amanda's face when she caught us on our way into the dark depths of the school. "No."
"Fine.Your house."
"God,no!"
"Do you make everything this complicated?" he asked. "No. Don't answer that. Would you come to my house?"
That sounded doable.If we were at his place, I could leave whenever I wanted. "okay."
As I watched, he did a slo-mo, surprisingly graceful flop onto the floor. "Finally!"
I stepped over him and headed for the stairs.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Is your nasty natural?" I heard myself asking. "Or did you get it implanted?”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“¿Cual era el punto en tratar de explicar que gustarte algo y usarlo en público tenia casi nada que ver una cosa con la otra?”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“—Oh, creo que ya sé la respuesta, por si acaso.
—¿La respuesta a qué?
—La pregunta. La pregunta que deberías preguntarte antes de involucrarte con alguien. No era “¿Podrá él o ella hacerte feliz?” se trata de “¿Sacaré lo mejor de mí, estando con él?”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Well,that all worked out nicely," Edward said from my hand.
"Yup." I sat down and propped the postcard upright against my books. "Thanks."
"Whatever for?"
"Being real,I guess. I'm pretty sure this paper about your life will get me into NYU.Which,when you think about it, is a pretty great gift from a guy I've never met who's been dead for a hundred years."
Edward smiled. It was nice to see. "My pleasure,darling girl. I must say, I like this spark of confidence in you."
"About time,huh?"
"Yes,well.Have you forgiven the Bainbridge boy?"
"For...?"
"For hiding you."
"He wasn't.I was hiding me." I gave Edward a look before he could gloat. "Yeah,yeah. You've always been very wise. But this isn't really about my forgiving Alex,is it?"
He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "I suppose not. So?"
"So.I think you were a good guy, Edward. I think you probably would have told everyone exactly how you felt about Marina of you could have.If she hadn't been married, maybe, or if you'd lived longer. I think maybe all the pictures of you did of her were your public delcaration. Whaddya think? Can I write that? Is it the truth?"
"Oh,Ella." His face was sad again, just the way he'd cast it in bronze. But it was kinda bittersweet now, not as heartbroken. "I would give my right arm to be able to answer that for you.You know I would."
"You don't have a right arm,Mr. Willing. Left,either." I picked up the card again. "Fuhgeddaboudit," I said to it. "I got this one covered."
I tucked my Ravaged Man inside Collected Works. It would be there if I wanted it.Who knows. Maybe Edward Willing will come back into fashion someday,and maybe I'll fall for him all over again.
In the meantime, I had another guy to deal with.I sat down in front of my computer.It took me thirty seconds to write the e-mail to Alex. Then it took a couple of hours-some staring, some pacing,an endless rehearsal dinner at Ralph's, and a TiVo'd Christmas special produced by Simon Cowell and Nigel Lythgoe with Nonna and popcorn-for me to hit Send.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Five years from today. Where, exactly, do you want to be?"
Her eyes lit up. Sadie loves that kind of question. "Ooh. Wow. Let me think. December, getting close to Christmas. I'll be twenty-one..."
"Passed out under the tree with a fifth of Jack, half a 7-Eleven rotisserie chicken, and a cat who poops in your shoes." Frankie returned our startled glances with his lizard look. "Oh, wait. That's me. Sorry."
I opted to ignore him. "Five years to the day,Sadie."
She glanced quickly between Frankie and me. "Do we need a time-out here?"
"Nope," I said. "Carry on."
"Okay. Five years. I will be in New York visiting the pair of you because, while NYU is fab, I will be halfwau through my final year of classics at Cambridge, trying to decide whether I want to be a psychologist or a pastry chef. You," she said sternly to Frankie, "will be drinking appropriate amounds of champagne with your boyfriend, a six-three blond from Helsinki who happens to design for Tory Burch. Ah! Don't say anything. It's my future. You can choose a different designer when it's you go. I want the Tory freebies." She turned to me. "We will be sipping said champagne in the middle of the Gagosian Galley, because it is the opening night of your first solo exhibit. At which everything will sell."
She punctuated the sentence by poking the air with a speared black olive.
"I love you," I told her. Then, "But that wasn't really about you."
"Oh,but it was," she disagreed, going back to her salad. "It's exactly where I want to be. Although" -she grinned over a tomato wedge- "I might have the next David Beckham in tow."
"The next David Beckham is a five-foot-tall Welshman named Madog Cadwalader. He has extra teeth and bow legs."
"Really?" Sadie asked.
Frankie snorted. "No.Not really.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Daniel."
He looked up. "El-la.I was wondering if you'd catch me." He offered me a cigarette. I gave him a shame-on-you look;he grinned.
"This is your band?" I asked. Visible piercings aside, no one looked like that went by the name Ax.
"Nope,but I go to school with the lead's sister. Regular guy got food poisoning at a Christmas party last night.I've played with them before."
"Weddings?" It wasn't quite how I'd pictured him performing.
"Usually clubs, but the last one was a bar mitzvah. Musicians have to eat, too," he added, a little sharply.
"Sorry." I wanted to wave the smoke away, but figured that might be adding insult to inury. "I thought you played the guitar."
"Guitar, piano, a little violin, but badly, and I'll have to garrote you ith one of the strings if you tell anyone."
That's the thing about Daniel. Obviously-the violin being a case in point-I don't know him very well,but he seems to hold a grudge for even less time than Frankie. "Secret's safe with me."
He shrugged, telling me he didn't really care. Then, "Nice dress."
"Just when I start liking you a litte.."
He made his vampire-boy face. I could see why it usually worked. "You like me,Ella. Wanna do something when this is over?"
"Tempting," I said. "No, I mean that. But no,thanks. I'm not at my best these days."
"You're good," he said quietly, blowing out a stream of smoke. "You'll be fine."
"Yeah." I shivered. It was bitter outside. "I should go in."
"You should." The cold didn't seem to be bothering him at all, and he wasn't even wearing a jacket over his white dress shirt.
I turned to go. "Oh, I think I figured it out, by the way."
"Figured out what?"
"The question.The one everyone should ask before getting involved with someone. Not 'Will he-slash-she make me happy?' but 'Does it bring out the best in me,being with him?'"
"Him-slash-her," Daniel corrected, clearly amused. Then, "Nope. No way. Wasn't me who posed the question to you, Marino.I would never be so Emo."
"Of course not.But it was one smart boy." I waved. "Hug Frankie for me."
"Will do. Hey.Any requests for the band?"
"'Don't Stop Believin'," I shot back. He rolled his eyes. "I'm curious, in that last song-are the words really 'I cut my chest wide open'?"
"Yup.Followed by, "They come and watch us bleed.Is it art like I was hoping now?" Avett Brothers. Too gruesome for you?"
"You have no idea," I told him. How much I get it.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“From: abainbr@thewillingschool.org
To: fmarino@thewillingschool.org
Date: Novembe 22, 12:05 a.m.
Subject: Here's one for you.
Knock.Knock.

From: fmarino@thewillingschool.org
To: abainbr@thewillingschool.org
Date: November 22, 10:34 a.m.
Subject: Um...
Who's there?

From: abainbr@thewillingschool.org
To: fmarino@thewillingschool.org
Date: November 22, 10:56 a.m.
Subject: Re: Um...
Tuna.

From: fmarino@thewllingschool.org
To: abainbr@thewillingschool.org
Date: November 22, 10:34 a.m.
Subject: Re:Re: Um...
Tuna who?

From: abainbr@thewillingschool.org
To: fmarino@thewillingschool.org
Date: November 22, 9:02 p.m.
Subject: Re:Re:Re: Um...
Tuna down ya radio.I'm'a tryin' to sleep here!”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Would you like to dance?"
I knew I had frosting on my nose.
Alex leaned over and wuped it off with his thumb. "Well?"
I could only nod. I had a full mouth, too. I stood up, swallowed, and accepted the napkin he was holding. "You're here."
"I'm here," he agreed, like it hadn't been a ridiculous thing to say. "I am crashing your sister's wedding. Hope she won't mind."
"She won't mind."
He was wearing a tux. A real tux, complete with bow tie and silk lapels. I stroked one. "I'm guessing this isn't a rental."
He squirmed a little. "No, it's mine. Nice dress."
I looked down at the snug purple monstrosity my sister had chosen. At least it had a mandarin collar and some sleeves. "It's a cheongsam," she'd announced proudly. "It's Eggplant Ho Lee Mess" was Frankie's take. My pear-shaped cousin Vanessa got strapless. Now she looked like an eggplant.
"You look beautiful," Alex said, but the corner of his mouth was twitching.
"Well,you look like...like..." I sighed. "Okay, you look really really good." Then, again, "You're here."
"I'm here."
"Why?"
"I missed you," he said simply.
"It's only been four days."
"A very,very long four days. But your e-mail helped." He reached for my hand. "Now,are we dancing or not?"
We did, and it wasn't as complicated as I'd thought it might be. I stood on my toes, he bent down a little, and we fit together pretty well. The song ended way too soon.
"So," Alex said.
"So."
"We can stay here if you want to...or if you have to. But I have another suggestion. Let's go watch the sun rise."
It sounded like a good idea to me. Except... "It's ten o'clock. And it's freezing out there."
"Trust me," he said.
"okay.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Back inside, his fire was crackling away. "okay." he actually rubbed his hands together. "Action." In two minutes, he'd pulled cushions and a couple throws from the two sofas and made a sort of nest in front of the fire. Then he grabbed his backpack. "Refreshments."
I half expected to see a bottle of wine or someting similar. Instead, he pulled out a thermos.Followed by a bag of marshmellows, a box of graham crackers, and, absolutely, enough Hershey's chocolate bars to feed a small army.
"S'mores!" I said happily.
"And cocoa.Sit." He waited until I was in the middle of the nest, then disappeared through a doorway. I heard a few squeaks and rattles. When he came back,he was carrying a tray, loaded with mugs,napkins, and real, three-pointed skewers.
"You're kidding," I teased when he handed me one. "You actually own s'mores implements."
"Roast,then laugh.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“I'd always made a point of talking to Edward only when I could look him in the face. Otherwise,it seemed a little too nutso, even to me.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“I have something to show you."
He sank down next to me and handed me a sketchbook. I opened it.
And saw the mermaid. She was drawn in colored ink, exquisitely detailed; each scale had a little picture in it: a pyramid, a rocket, a peacock, a lamp. Her torso was patterened red, like a tattoo, like coral. She had a thin strand of seaweed around her neck, with a starfish holding on to the center. Her hair was a tumble of loose black curls. She had my face.
I turned the page.And another and another. There she was fighting a creature that was half human, half octopus. Exploring a cave. Riding a shark. Laughing and petting a stingray that rested on her lap.
"I'm calling her Cora Lia for the moment," Alex told me. "I thought about Corella, but it sounded like cheap dishware."
"She's...amazing."
"She's fierce. Fighting the Evil Sea-Dragon King and his minions."
I traced the red tattoo on her chest. "This is beautiful."
Alex reached into my sweater, pulled the loose neck of the T-shirt away from my shoulder. I didn't stop him. "It looks like coral to me."
He touched me, then,the pad of his thumb tracing the outline of the scar. It felt strange, partly because of the difference in the tissue, but more because in the last few years, the only hands that had touched me there were mine.
I set the book aside carefully. "Guess I don't see what you do."
"That's too bad, because I see you perfectly."
I curved myself into him. "Maybe you're exactly what I need."
"Like there's any doubt?" He buried his face in my neck.I didn't stop him. "So."
"So?"
"We'll kill a few hours, watch the sunrise, have pancakes, and you'll drive home."
"What?"
I felt him smile against my skin. "I got you swimming with sharks. Next on the Conquer Your Fears list is driving a stick shift.Right?"
"One thing at a time," I said. Then, "Oh. Do that again."
In another story, the intrepid heroine would have gone running out and splashed in the surf, hypothermia be damned. She would have driven the Mustang home, booked a haircut, taken up stand-up comedy, and danced on the observation deck of the Empire State Building.
But this was me, and I was moving at my own pace.
Truth: My story started a hundred years ago. There's time.”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare

“Subject: Some boat
Alex,
I know Fox Mulder. My mom watched The X-Files. She says it was because she liked the creepy store lines. I think she liked David Duchovny. She tried Californication, but I don't think her heart was in it. I think she was just sticking it to my grandmother, who has decided it's the work of the devil. She says that about most current music,too, but God help anyone who gets between her and American Idol.

The fuzzy whale was very nice, it a little hard to identify. The profile of the guy between you and the whale in the third pic was very familiar, if a little fuzzy. I won't ask. No,no. I have to ask.

I won't ask.

My mother loves his wife's suits.

I Googled. There are sharks off the coast of the Vineyard. Great big white ones. I believe you about the turtle. Did I mention that there are sharks there? I go to Surf City for a week every summer with my cousins. I eat too much ice cream. I play miniature golf-badly. I don't complain about sand in my hot dog buns or sheets. I even spend enough time on the beach to get sand in more uncomfortable places. I do not swim. I mean, I could if I wanted to but I figure that if we were meant to share the water with sharks, we would have a few extra rows of teeth, too.

I'll save you some cannoli.
-Ella

Subject: Shh
Fiorella,
Yes,Fiorella. I looked it up. It means Flower. Which, when paired with MArino, means Flower of the Sea. What shark would dare to touch you?

I won't touch the uncomfortable sand mention, hard as it is to resist. I also will not think of you in a bikini (Note to self: Do not think of Ella in a bikini under any circumstanes. Note from self: Are you f-ing kidding me?).

Okay.

Two pieces of info for you. One: Our host has an excellent wine cellar and my mother is European. Meaning she doesn't begrudge me the occasional glass. Or four.

Two: Our hostess says to thank yur mother very much. Most people say nasty things about her suits.
Three: We have a house kinda near Surf City. Maybe I'll be there when your there.

You'd better burn this after reading.
-Alexai

Subect: Happy Thanksgiving
Alexei,
Consider it burned. Don't worry. I'm not showing your e-mails to anybody. Matter of national security, of course.
Well,I got to sit at the adult table. In between my great-great-aunt Jo, who is ninety-three and deaf, and her daughter, JoJo, who had to repeat everyone's conversations across me. Loudly. The food was great,even my uncle Ricky's cranberry lasagna. In fact, it would have been a perfectly good TG if the Eagles han't been playing the Jets.My cousin Joey (other side of the family) lives in Hoboken. His sister married a Philly guy. It started out as a lively across-the-table debate: Jets v. Iggles. It ended up with Joey flinging himself across the table at his brother-in-law and my grandmother saying loud prayers to Saint Bridget. At least I think it was Saint Bridget. Hard to tell. She was speaking Italian.
She caught me trying to freeze a half-dozen cannoli. She yelled at me. Apparently, the shells get really soggy when they defrost. I guess you'll have to come have a fresh one when you get back.
-F/E”
― Melissa Jensen, The Fine Art of Truth or Dare