Quote

You're wearing at least four different kinds of sweater. This is a scarf. You look tarred and sweatered.

Rainbow Rowell

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Rainbow Rowell
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 24
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Prosaist
Writer
NE
Kind
Sweaters
Wearing
Kinds
Least
Four
Look
Scarf
Looks
Scarves
Different
Sweater

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If I had an author superpower, I would like to have the ability to stop time for everyone else. I feel like I have to disappear into myself to write books. I go away, into my head, for hours and weeks at a time, and I hate that I miss everything. It's pretty selfish to want to pause other people, isn't it?
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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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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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I don’t just kiss people. Kisses aren’t... just with me.
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Holding Eleanor’s hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive. As soon as he touched her, he wondered how he’d gone this long without doing it. He rubbed his thumb through her palm and up her fingers, and was aware of her every breath.
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Maybe he was Filipino. Was that in Asia? Probably. Asia's out-of-control huge.
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You can’t take back texts. If you come off all moody and melancholy in a text, it just sits there in your phone, reminding you of what a drag you are.
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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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He already knows what I look like, Cath said. There's no point in being tricky about it now. How is doing your hair--and maybe putting on some lip gloss--being tricky? It's like I'm trying to distract him with something shiny.
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Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and mildly socially retarded, I'm a complete disaster.
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I'd rather be broken than wasted.
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It was like their lives were overlapping lines, like they had their own gravity. Usually, that serendipity thing felt like the nicest thing the universe had ever done for her.
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So why aren’t you living with your sister?” “She wanted to meet new people,” Cath said. “You make it sound like she broke up with you.
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That's the ultimate kind of broken. The kind of damage you never recover from.
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As I moved to less and less diverse places in my life, I realized that white people dont talk about race amongst themselves!
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I’d know you in the dark,” he said. “From a thousand miles away. There’s nothing you could become that I haven’t already fallen in love with.
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I love you more than I hate everything else.
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Your trash can is full of energy bar wrappers. You were looking through my trash?
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He always kept me just on the edge of crazy. Feeling like I wanted him too much, which just made me want him more. That sounds excruciating.
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She was tired of being the one who cried.
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