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The line between true self and feigned self is blurred on all sides. Which I think is a rather handy metaphor for falling in love.

Gayle Forman

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Gayle Forman
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 5
Writer
LA
California
Thinking
Sides
Lines
Rather
Feigned
Fall
Blurred
True
Handy
Self
Metaphor
Love
Falling
Think
Line

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I think everything is happening all the time, but if you don't put yourself in the path of it, you miss it. When you travel, you put yourself out there. It's not always great. Sometimes it's terrible. But other times ... [...] It's not so bad.
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Sacrifice, that's what we do for the people we love.
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I like French fries, I say. I like French fries? I sound like a slow child in a made-for-TV movie.
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About being grateful for what you have instead of yearning for what you think you want.
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Closure. I loathe that word.
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If you can't trust me with a choice, how can you trust me with a child?
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Whoever said that the past isn't dead had it backward. It's the future that's already dead, already played out.
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A day might just be twenty-four hours but sometimes getting through one seems as impossible as scaling Everest.
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You stood over me and you made a promise to me, as sacred as any vow. And I can understand why you're angry, but you can't blame me. You can't hate me for taking your word.
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So, this is how it's become? This is how I've become? A walking contradiction? I'm surrounded by people and feel alone. I claim to crave a bit of normalcy but now that I have some, it's like I don't know what to do with it, I don't know how to be a normal person anymore.
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I know that all the magic kisses in the world probably couldn't have helped him today. But I would do anything to have been able to give him one.
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I want to undo this. To make it right. But I have no idea how. I don't seem to know how to open up to people without getting the door slammed in my face. So I do nothing.
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Willem holds my wrist for a long moment, looking at that birthmark. Then he lifts it to his mouth. And though his lips are soft and his kiss is gentle, it feels like a knife jamming into the electrical socket. It feels like the moment when I go live
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Traveling is not something you are good at. It is something you do. Like breathing.
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Someone wake me when it's over When the evening silence softens golden Just lay me on bed of dover Oh, I need help with this burden Hush
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In the middle of L.A.'s sunny non-winter, I need to sit in a dark closet to feel right.
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And something tells me if it matters, maybe it shouldn't be easy.
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It feels like the city is telling secrets down here, privy only to those who think to listen.
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