Quote

Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.

Rainbow Rowell

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Rainbow Rowell
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 24
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Prosaist
Writer
NE
Hands
Eleanor
Something
Heartbeat
Love
Butterfly
Like
Holding
Complete
Completely
Hand
Alive

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He looked like someone with a steerage ticket on the titanic. Somebody who'd be standing in line at Ellis Island. Undiluted and old-blooded. Also cute.
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Or maybe, he thought now, he just didn't recognize all those other girls. The way a computer drive will spit out a disk if it doesn't recognize the formatting. When he touched Eleanor's hand, he recognized her. He knew.
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You’ve read the books?” “I’ve seen the movies.” Cath rolled her eyes so hard, it hurt. (Actually.) (Maybe because she was still on the edge of tears. On the edge, period.) “So you haven’t read the books.” “I’m not really a book person.” “That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said to me
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It felt good to be writing in her own room, in her own bed. To get lost in the World of Mages and stay lost. To not hear any voices in her head but Simon's and Baz's. Not even her own. This was why Cath wrote fic. For these hours when their world supplanted the real world.
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You don’t have to be the kind of beautiful that everyone can agree on. If the right person finds you beautiful, you win. You win forever.
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So...I'm larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than ... I don't know,more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. To match her tiny pearls.
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I don’t trust anybody. Not anybody. And the more that I care about someone, the more sure I am they’re going to get tired of me and take off.
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You think I'm cute? He said thinkly, pulling on her hand. She was glad he couldn't see her face. I think you're... Beautiful. Breathtaking. Like the person in a Greek myth who makes one of the gods stop caring about being a god.
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She wanted to lose herself in him. To tie his arms around her like a tourniquet. If she showed him how much she needed him, he'd run away.
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Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.
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You’re a sad little hermit, and it creeps me out.
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It's our last chance. No. No, I can't... I, no, I need to believe that it isn't our last chance... Eleanor? Can you hear me? I need you to believe it, too.
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All of her bones seemed more purposeful than other people’s. Like they weren’t just there to hold her up, they were there to make a point.
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I think he just gets like this sometimes. Like he needs to pull away. I think of it like winter. During winter, it isn't that the sun is gone (or cheating on you with another planet). You can still see it in the sky. It's just farther away.
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You win when no one finds you, even if they're not looking.
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He didn't take her breath away. Maybe the opposite. But that was okay-that was really good, actually, to be near someone who filled your lungs with air.
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