Book Lovers

by Emily Henry

“There isn’t for women either. There’s just tall women,” he says, “and the men too insecure to date them.”

And just so you know, those bangs do not make you more approachable. You just look like a hot assassin in an expensive wig.” “All I just heard,” I say, “is hot and expensive.”

“You’re never the weirdest person in the room.”

Maybe this is why people take trips, for that feeling of your real life liquefying around you, like nothing you do will tug on any other strand of your carefully built world. It’s a feeling not unlike reading a really good book: all-consuming, worry-obliterating.

“People like to remember childhood as all magic and no responsibilities, but that’s not really how it is. You have absolutely no control over your environment. It all comes down to the adults in your life, and . . . I don’t know.

Like a gut-punch of a sentence, like a line so sharp you have to set the book aside to catch your breath.