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They were tricky, those demons. Could they be trusted? Of course they could be trusted. She'd created them. She owned them. They wouldn't lead her astray.

Rachel Cohn

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Rachel Cohn
Age: 56
Born: 1968
Born: December 14
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Silver Spring
Maryland
Course
Owned
Tricky
Trusted
Demon
Created
Lead
Wouldn
Astray
Courses
Demons

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It's the great male fantasy-all it takes is one dance to know that she's the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know-this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want princes, but boys want their princesses just as much.
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It's bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They're not. They're just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close.
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But she's not, and I am left to wonder on my own: How does this work, the getting to know a new guy without revealing too much desperation for his undivided attention?
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I want to believe there is a somebody out there for me. I want to believe that I exist to be there for that somebody.
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One of the failures of cellular communication is that tiredness often comes across as sadness.
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In a field, I am the absence of field. In a crowd, I am the absence of crowd. In a dream, I am the absence of dream. But I don't want to live as an absence. I move to keep things whole. Because sometimes I feel drunk on positivity. Sometimes I feel amazement at the tangle of words and lives, and I want to be a part of that tangle.
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[S]he leans into this guy and rocks her head like I’m making this music for her, when if I could, I would take it all away and give her as much silence as she’s given me pain.
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Books. I'd probably spend all my time alone and lost in books if I could. It's easier that way.
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She told me if I clean all the ashes out of the grate, then I’ll be able to help my sisters get ready for the bal.” “It’s Christmas, Dashiel. Can’t you give that atitude a rest?” “Merry Christmas, Dad. And thanks for the presents.” “What presents?” “I’m sorry—those were all from Mom, weren’t they?
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I don’t know what boldness came over me, but the resolute heaviness of Dash’s demeanor threatened to crush my soul. My pinky finger crept over and nestled against his, for comfort. Like a magnet, his pinky finger latched onto and intertwined with mine. I like magnets a whole lot.
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Everyone on this island wants something kept quiet. I want to roar
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The complexity embedded in the different levels of meaning that go along with the words I love you ought to be a whole mindfuck of a video game
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So he's worth a second shot? The more apt question, my dear, is: are you?
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The reward is in the risk.
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But I know the difference. Everyone else is a ghost. I exist here alone, stranded by choice. Deserted.
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I particularly loved the adjective bookish, which I found other people used about as often as ramrod or chum or teetotaler.
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I could become a nun even if I am a non-believer. I'll learn to fake it like Nick did with me. I will minister the gospel of compassion and kindness and please, always use a condom, from famine-stricken nations to war-torn dead zones. It's possible I might become a nun who kisses other nuns.
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Things change all the time, mostly in little ways.
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Once upon a time, Sleeping Beauty decided to take a nap from which she would never wake up.
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But, you see, that's the luxury of being a lout - you get to be selective about when you care and when you don't. The rest of us get stuck when your care goes shallow.
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