More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
That’s how you know you really love something, Tallulahloo, when it feels worth the hassle, when even the hardest parts of it feel like a gift.”
“Fuck anyone who makes you feel like you’re too much. If they feel that way, they aren’t enough for you.”
Quiet settles between us as she takes another bite of noodles, as I sit, leaning against the wall, watching her. Generally, I’m not a fan of quiet. It makes me uneasy. It leaves me with my noisy, chaotic thoughts and an overwhelming sense of loneliness. But right now, I don’t mind it so much. This kind of quiet feels . . . alive, like that moment’s breath in a song between the final notes of a beautiful verse and the beginning of an epic chorus, full of promise and possibility.
“I see love as . . . elemental, something so deeply woven into everything that makes life feel alive. And I’m not even talking exclusively about romantic love. Love takes so many forms. Love for ourselves. Our surroundings. Strangers. Friends. Family. Partners. To me, to reduce it to only an animalistic impulse does it a profound disservice.
“I think love is . . . wrapping your arms around every emotion, even the hard ones, even when being numb seems so much safer. Love is hoping, even after disappointment has taught you not to. Love is that bone-deep hum of peace through your body when you’re hugged hard, when you’re listened to well, when you’re not left alone in your sadness. Love is stubborn and persistent, an indomitable weed that springs up in those slivers of soft soil in our concrete-jungle existence.
Kaye liked this
“That . . . charged, impenetrable space between two people who feel so close—their hearts, their minds, their bodies—yet never truly touch, that place of mystery, that’s real. And I think, it’s that reach to feel and know and connect to every part of each other, in spite of the distance between us . . . I think that’s love, in so many beautiful, mysterious iterations.”
Kaye liked this
“Well”—I raise my mug—“sympathies. You think I appreciate being horny for a high-handed IKEA-furniture-assembling, plant-hoarding, romance-loving, rescue-animal-adopting pushover?”
“Don’t you dare apologize, not if you wanted to do that.” She stares at me, blinking, like she’s stunned. “I . . . wanted to.” “You don’t regret it?” I ask roughly. She shakes her head. “No. I don’t.” “Then, hold tight, Lu.”
VIGGO 🤤
What if love is like anything else humans strive at—something you can fail at spectacularly, and, by contrast, by some mysterious, terrifying chance of sharing it with the right person, through hard work and hope, something you can also do spectacularly well?
“I haven’t wanted it all to be so . . . messy, for myself or the people I love. Life’s chaos makes me worry that the people I care about won’t be okay, makes me anxious and unsure of myself. And so I’ve clung to my happy stories, to this idea of a formula for my and others’ happiness—my own kind of ideological rigidity.”
I love so much that he loves romance books
Kaye liked this
