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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
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Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
Life
Boys
Potter
Told
Potters
Pretty
Delights
Girl
Harry
Black
Shirts
Must
Delight
Never
Somewhere
Love
Personal
Overtones
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When I worked in theater, I was always writing things on Post-it Notes and sticking them on screens or desks. Twitter has given me a way of continuing to post those notes, only a lot of other people see them, too.
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I have no phobias. Phobias are irrational. My fears are rational and CAREFULLY CULTIVATED, like roses.
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We study there a lot because... what other choice does society give us, right? It's Starbucks or death, sometimes.
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Sometimes it is worth any amount of suffering just to prevent giving your parents the opportunity to be right.
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Just then, my phone started ringing. The ring must have been damaged by the water as well, so now it had a high, keening note - kind of the sound I imagine a mermaid might make if you punched her in the face.
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You don't know me yet, I said. Rory was telling me she lives in a swamp, Charlotte said. That's right, I said, turning up my accent a little. These are the very first shoes I've ever owned. They sure do pinch my feet. Jerome gave a little snort.
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One person's crazy is another person's sane, I guess.
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English rain feels obligatory, like paperwork. It dampens already damn days and slicks the stones.
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Every time you try to flirt with her, a puppy dies.
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I followed your footsteps, he said, in answer to the unspoken question. Snow makes it easy. I had been tracked, like a bear. Sorry to make you go to all that trouble, I said. I didn't have to go that far, really. You're about three streets over. You just kept going in loops. A really inept bear.
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They weren't pressed together as closely as normal, but his shoulder bumped hers, then remained there. It was very subtle, and possibly even accidental, but it was enough.
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I am a mass of contradictions.
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What are you? I asked. I'm the Ghost of the Night Before Exams. And how long did it take you to come up with that? Jazza asked. I'm a busy man, he replied.
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Nothing was quite like it was supposed to be.
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The essay I had to read was called, An Essay on Criticism by Alexander Pope. The first challenge was that the essay was, in fact, a very long poem in heroic couplets. If something is called an essay, it should be an essay.
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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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Something about this boat screamed, I am a very popular model in the world's oil-bearing regions. I cost more than your soul!
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The kids I talk to are readers, and the craziest, the most dedicated readers you will ever see.
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Before I take you into the beating heart of the story, let’s get one thing out of the way. I know from experience that when it comes up later, it will distract you so much that you won’t be able to concentrate on anything else I will tell you. My name is Jubilee Dougal. Take a moment and let it sink in.
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It was almost funny. Life seemed downright accidental in its brevity, and death a punch line to a lousy joke.
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