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You've never told me about your love life, Scarlett. You're a very pretty girl. You must have a boy shacked up somewhere for your personal delights. I'd bet it's a booky one, overtones of Harry Potter and a lot of black T-shirts.

Maureen Johnson

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Maureen Johnson
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 16
Author
Novelist
Writer
Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
Girl
Harry
Black
Shirts
Must
Delight
Never
Somewhere
Love
Personal
Overtones
Life
Boys
Potter
Told
Potters
Pretty
Delights

More quotes by Maureen Johnson

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Well, what now? You have no job. I have no job. Wanna play Jenga?
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You're...a demon hunter?' 'It's not as exciting as it sounds,' he said. 'There is a surprising amount of paperwork involved.
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Did you hear? he asked. They found another body around nine this morning. It's the Ripper, definitely. Good morning, I replied. Morning. Listen to this. The second victim.
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I still have a whopping bad case of what you call scag magnetism. I thought i had gotten rid of it there, but it looks like scary guys still materialize from thin air in my presence. They are drawn to me. I am the North Pole, and they are the explorers of love.
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Kissing is something that makes up for a lot of other crap you have to put up with...It can be confusing and weird and awkward, but sometimes it just makes you melt and forget everything that is going on.
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What tinfoil? he asked.
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Welsh is an actual, currently used language and our next-door neighbors Angela and Gaenor spoke it. It sounds like Wizard.
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WORTH IT and perfect are different things. No one’s perfect, yet in romance, everyone becomes WORTH IT. And that’s the trick.
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Oh my God! said one of the Ambers. Is this not the worst trip ever? Did you see the snow? She was a sharp one, this Amber. What would she notice next? The train? The moon? The hilarious vagaries of human existence? Her own head?
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The truth was that she had managed to betray everyone by doing nothing. No one in history had ever done less and yet been so wrong. Not cheating on a non-boyfriend with the non-boyfriend of a friend. The pressure of thinking that one through made her swollen body ache.
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I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.
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I envisioned huge piles of the Elf Hotel flying off the belt, taking down everybody in sight. I had seen pictures of that Elf Hotel - it had sharp candy-cane spires that could easily impale someone. If anyone was ever going to be killed by an Elf Hotel, it would be my parents.
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I could envision it all to clearly: Stuart or Debbie finding the dented door off its hinges, lying in the snow. She came in, ravaged the boy, stole plastic bags, and ripped off the door in her escape, the police would say in the APB. Probably making her way to bust her parents out of jail.
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Proximity doesn't breed familiarity.
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Having your back scratched is not the only reason to be married, but it is a good one, especially for those spots that are so hard to reach by yourself.
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Nothing was quite like it was supposed to be.
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I sleep better knowing that a naked cork-eater is not sneaking around at night, stealing my underwear.
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English rain feels obligatory, like paperwork. It dampens already damn days and slicks the stones.
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Money is for doing things, my love. Don't sit on it like a hen sits on an egg. It doesn't hatch. I should know. I've made enough of it.
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I like you because you were mad. And you're pretty. And pretty sane for a mad person.
Maureen Johnson