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The squirrels on campus were beyond domestic they were practically domestically abusive.

Rainbow Rowell

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Rainbow Rowell
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 24
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Prosaist
Writer
NE
Domestically
Squirrels
Abusive
Campus
Practically
Domestic
Beyond

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Well, I'm writing everything that isn't my final project, so that when I actually sit down to write it, that's all that will be left in my mind.
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That girl had the subtlety of a Spencer’s Gifts shop.
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I want everyone to meet you. You're my favorite person of all time.
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You're not the ugly one. Levi Grinned. You're just the Clark Kent... ... Will you warn me when you take off your glasses?
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I've never loved the name Rainbow - it seems like a name you'd give to your stuffed unicorn - but I really like having an unusual name. It stands out. And it made me feel like it was okay to stand out. To be different.
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Have you ever heard sculptors say that they don’t actually sculpt an object they sculpt away everything that isn’t the object?
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That moment, she told Cath, when you realize that a guy's looking at you differently - that you're taking up more space in his field of vision. That moment when you know he can't see past you anymore.
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God, his chin. She wanted to make an honest woman of his chin. She wanted to lock it down.
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She didn't have words for what Levi was. He was a cave painting. He was The Red Ballon. She lifted her heels and pulled him forward until his face was so close, she could look at only one of his eyes at a time. You're magic, she said.
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And because I’m so out of control, I can’t help myself. I’m not even mine anymore, I’m yours, and what if you decide that you don’t want me? How could you want me like I want you?
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That's the ultimate kind of broken. The kind of damage you never recover from.
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Things she knew now, that she hadn't known two hours ago: Park was covered with skin. Everywhere.
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Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.
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I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather.
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You know, he said, I keep wanting to say that it's like Simon Snow threw up in here... but it's more like someone else ate Simon Snow—like somebody went to an all-you-care-to-eat Simon Snow buffet—and then threw up in here.
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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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You look different. You look unsettling.’ ‘You look like you,’ he said. ‘You with the volume turned up.
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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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Cath wanted to go back and rewrite every scene she'd ever written about Baz or Simon's chests. She'd written them flat and sharp and hard. Levi was all soft motion and breath, curves and warm hollows. Levi's chest was a living thing.
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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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