To douchebags!" he said, gesturing to Brad. "And to girls that break your heart," he bowed his head to me. His eyes lost focus. "And to the absolute fucking horror of losing your best friend because you were stupid enough to fall in love with her.
I want to live the rest of my life, however long or short, with as much sweetness as I can decently manage, loving all the people I love, and doing as much as I can of the work I still have to do. I am going to write fire until it comes out of my ears, my eyes, my noseholes--everywhere. Until it's every breath I breathe. I'm going to go out like a fucking meteor!
Music is not a fucking soda. It is not a fucking insurance rate. It is not a fucking T-shirt. It is the only real religion that is worth devoting your soul to. It is the last remnant of the primal scream, the funeral dirge, and the wedding march. It is the light that keeps me out of the shadows, and it is the reason my immortal soul is not in dire straits.
It's amazing how people can sound like retards when they're talking to their girlfriend, especially if they really love her a lot. Because when you're just fucking someone you make a point of keeping your cool, but when you're really in love - it can sound pretty repulsive.
And another way of explaining it is to say that shit happens, and there's no space too small, too dark and airless and fucking hopeless, for people to crawl into.
Don't let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love.
Love is never supposed to hurt. Love is supposed to heal, to be your haven from misery, to make living fucking worthwhile.
You’re sorry? I damn near drank myself to death, I could barely get out of bed, I shattered my phone into a million pieces on New Year’s Eve to keep from calling you … and you’re sorry?†I bit my lip and nodded, ashamed. I had no idea what he’d been through, and hearing his say the words made sharp pain twist inside my chest. “I’m so … so sorry.†“You’re forgiven,†he said with a grin. “Don’t ever do it again.†“I won’t. I promise.†He flashed his dimple and shook his head. “I fucking love you.
I say, “In the contract we said we wouldn’t break each other’s hearts. What if we do it again?†Fiercely he says, “What if we do? If we’re so guarded, it’s not going to be anything. Let’s do it fucking for real, Lara Jean. Let’s go all in. No more contract. No more safety net. You can break my heart. Do whatever you want with it.
By the way, when Oprah Winfrey is suggesting you may have overextended yourself, you need to examine your fucking life.