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Reading is so personal. It’s insane that we even try to be objective.
you run inside for another day of being a daughter instead of being a woman.
it was dangerous for two people to bond by talking shit about other people
Real love is quiet. A whisper between two people.
Life is not a book. It’s boring.
I get to die—or go to prison—knowing that you loved me, that you sent me soup. So, if you think about it, I win, even when I lose.
It is possible to love two books in two very different ways.
You didn’t protect my chair. You didn’t follow me up the stairs when I slipped out. Nobody did. I am not loved. I am under attack from within and without.
Two people never want time apart. It’s always one.
That’s what we do when we read something that moves us, alters us, astounds us. Whether it’s good or bad, we show it to someone we love, because when you read something, you want someone you love to read it, too.
