....love and desire enjoy a symbiotic relationship, meaning that one cannot exist without the other. Desire is an enemy to contentment; desire is illness, a feverish brain. Who can be considered healthy who wants? The very word want suggests a lack, an impoverishment, and that is what desire is: an impoverishment of the brain, a flaw, a mistake.
The secret is,†I say, whispering right into his ear, “that yours was the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.†“But I’ve never kissed you,†he whispers back. Around us the rain sounds like falling glass. “Not since third grade, anyway.†I smile, but I’m not sure if he can see it. “Better get started, then,†I say, “because I don’t have much time.
We wanted the freedom to love. We wanted the freedom to choose. Now we have to fight for it.
If you’re smart, you care. And if you care, you love.
Now I'd rather be infected with love for the tiniest sliver of a second than live a hundred years smothered by a lie.
And when I wake up it's wonderful, like I've been carried quietly onto a calm, peaceful shore, and the dream, and its meaning, has broken over me like a wave and is ebbing away now, leaving me with a single, solid certainty. I know now.
And now I know why they invented words for love, why they had to: It's the only thing that can come close to describing what I feel in that moment, the baffling mixture of pain and pleasure and fear and joy, all running sharply through me at once.
I told you," he whispers back. I can feel his breath just tickling the space behind my ear, making my hair prick up on my neck. "I like you." "You don't know me," I say quickly. "I want to, though.
Live free or die.
Popularity's a weird thing. You can't really define it, and it's not cool to talk about, but you know it when you see it. Like a lazy eye, or porn.