Quote

How do you feel when I smile at you? he asked - and then he did smile at her, just a little. Not like myself, Cath thought. Like an idiot, she said softly. And I never want it to stop.

Rainbow Rowell

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Rainbow Rowell
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 24
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Prosaist
Writer
NE
Little
Cath
Feel
Softly
Feels
Idiot
Never
Smile
Like
Asked
Stop
Thought
Littles

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Well,” she said. “I’m frustrated.” “Don’t make me angry-kiss you.” “Give me the laundry.” “Tempers rising, faces flushed … This is how it happens.
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..I love your name. I don't want to cheat myself out of a single syllable.
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I don't have to forgive you, Cath said. It's not like that with you. You're just in with me. Always. No matter what happens.
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Maybe he was Filipino. Was that in Asia? Probably. Asia's out-of-control huge.
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I tend to write about my anxieties - it's what I'm afraid will happen. And I write a story working it out.
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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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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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Months are different in college, especially freshman year. Too much happens. Every freshman month equals six regular months—they're like dog months.
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I love you more than I hate everything else.
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Levi was smiling. He kicked her chair again.
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Every woman wants a man who'll fall in love with her soul as well as her body.
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But there's nothing more profound than creating something out of nothing.
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If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends.
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Nothing before you counts, he said. And I can't even imagine an after. She shook her head. Don't. What? Don't talk about after. I just meant that... I want to be the last person who ever kisses you, too.... That sounds bad, like a death threat or something. What I'm trying to say is, you're it. This is it for me.
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But the explanations fell apart in her hands. Everything true was too hard to write--he was too much to lose. Everything she felt for him was too hot to touch.
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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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You flirt with everything. She could tell that her eyes were popping-- her eyeballs actually felt cold around the edges. You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between.
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For the first time in weeks, Park didn't have that anxious feeling in his stomach on the way home from school, like he had to soak up enough Eleanor to keep him until the next day.
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To really be a nerd, she'd decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one.
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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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