Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute

You don't need to be special or significant to have value. You're just important, always, and people either see that or they don't.

You're the bane of my existence. Did you know that?" She gins. "I hoped.

You seem distracted." "I'm always distracted. It's an unfortunate side effect of being intelligent. You wouldn't know.

You're allowed anywhere you want, as long as you're right next to me.

Give me five synonyms for hypocrite, and yes, you're allowed to use your own name.

Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.

Even if neither of us ever did anything interesting in our entire lives, it wouldn’t matter. You don’t need to be special or significant to have value. You’re just important, always, and people either see that or they don’t. They either love you, or they don’t.

You don't need to be special or significant to have value.

I have this small problem where my feelings leak out of my face, and my feelings are often intense.

Fairness is about you being happy, not him being punished.

Nothing changes if we don't make it change.

Because I am committed to protecting my peace and you are so far from my inner circle you're basically a hexagon. Get thee behind me.

Why the hell did you decide to argue with me about this? You impossible human being! Do you realize we could’ve been making out this whole time?” Her whole body perks up like a meerkat. “Well, do you want to?” “Of course I want to! Why do you think I even said anything?

You’re the bane of my existence. Did you know that?” She grins. “I hoped.” I really can’t stand this girl. I wonder how long I get to walk with her.

Are you worried about me, love?

My mind is a dramatic and often inaccurate place. Point is—you said we should talk.

It's not a capital crime to have bad feelings when bad things happen to you.

One day you're going to leave education forever, and you'll have to face the fact that memorizing a thesaurus doesn't make you interesting.

I love Bradley Graeme. As in, would give him a kidney, would wash his socks, would turn into a supervillain if he died. I love him so much I almost want to say it out loud, a dangerous and horrifying prospect I am not remotely equipped to deal with right now.

She’s so sweet. She’s so lovely. She’s like everything I wanted to be as a child before I grew up and realized I was an incurable cow and it might be genetic.

Thinking I need to be good enough to study. But maybe studying is what’s supposed to make me good enough.

You just needed to figure out on your own that…that fairness is about you being happy, not him being punished.

You’re right,” she says. “I do like you too.” Fuck yeah.

Don’t judge. I have a theory that seventy percent of the global population wants to kiss you, and that’s a conservative estimate.” “But you’re the only one who gets to do it. Lucky you.

Don’t care,” I say, and then I’m kissing her. It’s like birthday cake, back when sugar felt like being high. It’s like laughing as you stumble through the dark under the stars. It’s like Celine loving me.

Parents love to say shit like that, as if their words, their looks, their expectations, aren’t as heavy as a small planet.

But I have friends now,” she continues. “And I know they’re worth more than all the people who were…who were casually cruel to me, because they’re deliberately kind, and that makes them better people. My kind of people. Except I had to learn that. Don’t we all have to learn that?

It’s because he’s ashamed of himself. He carries this pile of guilt around, caused by nothing but his own choices. And every day he doesn’t parent you, doesn’t treat you the way he should, that guilt gets heavier, and when he sees you, is reminded of you, it becomes unbearable. What he doesn’t realize is the difference between short-term and long-term pain. If he put up with his discomfort years ago in order to do right by you—if he had taken responsibility for his actions and tried to make it up to you—that guilt of his might have gone away. Instead, he’s doomed himself to slowly die beneath it.

Hang on, let me consult with the mentally ill council.” Brad pauses. “Yes.

So Your Old Best Friend Admits She Was Wrong and Hating Her Is Getting Exhausting.