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He has dents that pop up on both cheeks when he smiles wide, and Mama says they’re called dimples. I love Brant’s dimples. I pretend they were made just for me.
He turned the only girl I’ve ever wanted into the only girl I can never have.
I’m hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you, June Bailey. The desperate, aching kind of love. The kind there’s no coming back from. The kind there’s no way out of. The kind that’s going to be the death of me one day. I fall more in love with June than I ever thought possible as we clutch each other in a moonlit graveyard on her eighteenth birthday, with my mother on my mind and the scent of sweet desserts dancing in the air.
“You were unsure which pain is worse: the shock of what happened, or the ache for what never will.” —SIMON VAN BOOY, EVERYTHING BEAUTIFUL BEGAN AFTER
“You’re not responsible for the way others react to what you need to do to get better.”
“I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but the thought of another man putting his hands on you makes me borderline murderous.”
“No relationship comes without a fight, but it has to be worth fighting for. It has to be worth all the sacrifices you’ll inevitably have to make.”
Passion is meaning. Passion is purpose. And tragedy is simply the risk we take in order to experience it.
“Sometimes that’s the greatest gift we can give someone,” she says. “Time.”
“Never underestimate a man willing to wait forever for the woman he loves.”
Just as we cannot force ourselves to love someone, we cannot force ourselves to unlove them either. Fate can be foolish, and fate can be careless. But fate is always true.
