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I was horribly bookish, to the point of coming right out and saying it, which I knew was not socially acceptable.

Rachel Cohn

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Rachel Cohn
Age: 56
Born: 1968
Born: December 14
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Silver Spring
Maryland
Horribly
Socially
Acceptable
Coming
Saying
Knew
Point
Right
Bookish

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Life is funny, baby, and that's no joke
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Well what's in your Amazonian hope chest?
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I don't know why I'm saying any of this, except that it's the truth. -Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist
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Males are the most incomprehensible species.
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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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Usually my characters, though young, tend to be street-wise.
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Answer all the questions that I'm too afraid to ask
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All this hoping for nothing-or someone-that's maybe hopeless
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So much is happening and yet nothing at all.
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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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No--when the rain falls you just let it fall and you grin like a madman and you dance with it, because if you can make yourself happy in the rain then you're doing pretty alright in life. (Nick, page 156)
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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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When in doubt, ingest carbs.
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The mosh pit will reveal all the answers. The mosh pit never lies. -Norah, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist
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I love snow for the same reason I love Christmas: It brings people together while time stands still. Cozy couples lazily meandered the streets and children trudged sleds and chased snowballs. No one seemed to be in a rush to experience anything other than the glory of the day, with each other, whenever and however it happened.
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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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But I know the difference. Everyone else is a ghost. I exist here alone, stranded by choice. Deserted.
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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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I'm liking that I can throw any kind of sentence at her without worrying it's too out there.
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Perhaps it's not that I'm frigid-- it's that once I decide I like a guy, I turn into a raging idiot, unfit for public appearances.
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