Stephanie Perkins · 372 pages
Rating: (309K votes)
“For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.”
“The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.”
“Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place?”
“I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”
“French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused.”
“I wish friends held hands more often, like the children I see on the streets sometimes. I'm not sure why we have to grow up and get embarrassed about it.”
“Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.”
“Boys turns girls into such idiots.”
“I'm saying I'm in love with you! I've been in love with you this whole bleeding year!”
“Why is it that the right people never wind up together? Why are people so afraid to leave a relationship, even if they know it's a bad one?”
“I mean, really. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It's so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn't have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.”
“I wish for the thing that is best for me.”
“Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.”
“I'm a little distracted by this English French American Boy Masterpiece.”
"School of America in Paris" he explains. "SOAP".
Nice. My father sent me here to be cleansed.”
“So what do I wish for? Something I'm not sure I want? Someone I'm not sure I need? Or someone I know I can't have?”
“Seriously, I don't know any American girl who can resist an English accent.”
“I don't want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen.”
“A moment of reserve. "That was it? The whole story?"
"Yes. God, you're right. That was pants."
I sidestep another aggressive couscous vendor. "Pants?"
"Rubbish. Crap. Shite."
Pants. Oh heavens, that's cute.”
“Most people in Atlanta don't have an accent. It's pretty urban. A lot of people speak gangsta, though," I add jokingly.
"Fo' shiz," he replies in his polite English accent.
I spurt orangey-red soup across the table. St. Clair gives a surprised ha-HA kind of laugh, and I'm laughing too, the painful kind like abdominal crunches. He hands me a napkin to wipe my chin. "Fo'. Shiz." He repeats it solemnly.
Cough cough. "Please don't ever stop saying that. It's too-" I gasp. "Much."
"You oughtn't to have said that. Now I shall have to save it for special occasions."
"My birthday is in February." Cough choke wheeze. "Please don't forget.”
“How many times can our emotions be tied to someone else's - be pulled and stretched and twisted - before they snap? Before they can never be mended again?”
“We both got our Point Zero wishes―each other. He said he wished for me every time.”
“I moan with pleasure.
"Did you just have a foodgasm?" he asks, wiping ricotta from his lips.
"Where have you been all my life?" I ask the beautiful panini.”
“Madame Guillotine gets mad at me. Not because I told them to shove it, but because I didn’t say it in French. What is wrong with this school?”
“Har. Bloody. Har."
He smiles. "Oh, I see. Known me less than a day and teasing me about my accent. What's next? Care to discuss the state of my hair? My height? My trousers?"
“Anna, Anna," Josh interrupts. "If I had a euro for every stupid thing I've done, I could buy the Mona Lisa. You'll be fine.”
“The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes,” and only recently did I learn it’s spelled o-u-i and not w-e-e.”
“This is home. The two of us.”
“Please. The boy gets a boner every time you walk into the room."
My eyes pop back open. Does she mean that figuratively or has she actually seen something? No. Focus, Anna.”
“Why do I care so much about him, and why do I wish I didn't? How can one person make me so confused all of the time?”
“The more we focus on who we are in Christ, the less it matters who we were in the past, or even what happened to us.”
“You are like the angel in Cole's picture of life! You point the youth to the far-up temple of fame-"
"And leave him to get there as he can? Not at all, madam!”
“Another characteristic of conflicts such as these,” he said, gesturing toward the board, “is the propensity to demonize others. One way we do this is by lumping others into lifeless categories—bigoted whites, for example, lazy blacks, crass Americans, arrogant Europeans, violent Arabs, manipulative Jews, and so on. When we do this, we make masses of unknown people into objects and many of them into our enemies.”
“Last month we had to sit through a presentation on eliminating redundancy, and it was a bunch of PowerPoint slides, plus a guy reading out what was on the slides, and then he gave us all hard copies.”
“Driving a Bentley to Target- only in LA does this make sense.”
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