Dirty

Scars are proof we can can survive

Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

Sometimes when things break, you can hold them together for a while with string or glue or tape. Sometimes, nothing will hold what’s broken, and the pieces fly all over, and though you think you might be able to find them all again, one or two will always be missing. I flew apart. I broke. I shattered like a crystal vase dropped on a concrete floor, and pieces of me scattered all over. Some of them I was glad to see go. Some I never wanted to see again.

I could say his body was perfect and every part of it beautiful, because it was. Not because he had no flaws, but because I wanted him so desperately I couldn’t see any.

I have seen clouds part for the sun. I have seen rainbows. I have seen flowers in the morning, covered in dew, and I have seen sunsets so brilliant with fire they made me want to weep. And I have seen Dan smile at me, his lips still wet from my kiss, and if I had to choose which sight moved me the most I would say it was that one.

A woman's orgasm is such a fragile thing, dependant as much upon her mind as on her clitoris.

Macy: "Listen, I can't pretend to be the queen of good advice, here. I've had more boyfriends than I can count, and I'm not so sure that's any better than not having any. But I do know this. When you find someone who makes you smile and laugh, when you find someone who makes you feel safe, you shouldn't let that person go just because you're afraid." Elle: "And you're not afraid of it ending?" Macy: "Sure I am, But I'd rather have something this good for a little while than have nothing forever

When you find someone who makes you smile and laugh, when you find someone who makes you feel safe…you shouldn’t let that person go just because you’re afraid.

We didn't run through fields of flowers, hand in hand. No music played when we kissed. No house landed on my mother. I didn't let go of everything all at once and become some bright and shining example to prove all it takes is a knight with a hammer to break the glass tower. Life doesn't that way. We tried, though, as we still try, every day, to make this work. To be honest and faithful to each other. To listen. To look ahead of things that lie before us instead of always staring behind at what we've left behind.I don't know what the future brings. All I know with utter certainty is this. Dan tamed me. We need each other.

I had no words to give him. No explanation. I didn’t understand it, myself. It scared me, but then so do roller coasters, and I ride them anyway, too.

We're not meant to separate sex from love; there's a reason why euphoria occurs in both situations. Sex and love nourish each other. You can argue it's humanity's way of establishing family groups and guaranteeing creation of the next generation; but the simple fact remains: the more often two people engage in sex, the more likely it is that one of them will fall in love.

He put my fingertips to his mouth and kissed them. Licked the trace of blood away. Made them clean. Then I knew the truth I had been denying. He made me clean. Dan made me clean and shining and bright. He made me beautiful, and I did not want to lose him.

And you’re not afraid of it ending?” “Sure I am. But I’d rather have something this good for a little while than have nothing forever.

Sex is not wrong. Sex is not dirty. Not even sex in a public place with a man you barely know. It's not. Sex is a gift, a built-in human pleasure, something to enjoy and cherish and utilize. Sex rejuvenates. Sex replenishes. Orgasms are just one more miraculous function our body provides, no more shameful than a sneeze or the beating of our hearts. Sex is not dirty, not even in public places with someone you barely know. Liking sex, like a man's hands on me, coming with him, letting him inside me...that doesn't make me dirty.

What are you, Elle? Are you a ghost? Are you an angel or a demon? Because you can’t be real.

You know what they say. Best revenge is looking good, right?

Abandoning a task that is futile and pointless is not giving up.

All men have the stars, but they are not the same things for different people.

I do not like that I allowed my past to close me off. I do not like that I let circumstances rob me of the ability to have a normal relationship with a man, to have friends, to be happy. I do not like it, but I had felt myself powerless against it.

Sometimes when you break things, you can hold them together for a while with string or glue or tape. Sometimes, nothing will hold what's broken, and the pieces fly all over, and though you think you might be able to find them all again, one or two will always be missing

I've been hit on plenty of times, mostly by men with little finesse who thought what was between their legs made up for what they lacked between their ears.

Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy.

It is such a secret place, the land of tears. That is what the narrator ofThe Little Prince says after the little prince argues with him the first time about matters of consequence. And he was right. My land of tears had been a secret for a very long time.

I closed my eyes against the sudden sorrow that someone I knew so well should be someone who consistently brought me so much grief.

Knowing what you need doesn't always mean you know how to get it, though. I'd spent a long time hiding in my cave. No matter how much I might want to come out into the light, I knew it would hurt my eyes. I was a fool. A fool, but nevertheless too smart not to know I was the architect of my own demise, that it was time to put my past behind me. It was time to stop allowing the white elephants to stand unspoken of in my living room.

He closed his hand around my wrist and pressed my hand flat against his chest. “The way I see it, Elle, scars are proof we can survive.

Sex makes bumble-tongued fools even out of the most eloquent, but the beauty of it is that it also tunes our ears to hear the meaning of words that, spoken under other circumstances, would make us laugh or cry or frown.

You've got the sexiest voice. You make everything you say sound like it tastes good coming out of your mouth.

You look gorgeous, Elle, and you don't act like a gorgeous woman does." "I don't? How do I act?" "You act like an angel. But you fuck like a deomon. Don't you.