Stephanie Perkins · 339 pages
Rating: (85.3K votes)
“I am hard on myself. But isn’t it better to be honest about these things before someone else can use them against you? Before someone else can break your heart? Isn’t it better to break it yourself?”
“Phones are distracting. The internet is distracting.The way he looked at you? He wasn't distracted. He was consumed.”
“St. Clair clears his throat. 'My fiancée and I are headed out for a celebratory dessert. I'd ask you all to join us, but I don't want you there.”
“There's no story,' I say. 'I saw you one day, and I just knew.”
“Do adults realize how lucky they are? Or do they forget that these small moments are actually small miracles? I don’t want to ever forget.”
“I’m…getting there. I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s okay to be a blank canvas. Maybe it’s okay that my future is unknown. And maybe,” I say with another smile, “it’s okay to be inspired by the people who do know their future.” “It goes both ways, you know.” I link his icicle fingers through mine. “What does?” “Artists are inspired by blank canvases.” My smile grows wider.”
“What are you working on?" I ask.
"The last page." He gestures towards the table, where a pencilled sketch is being turned into inked brushstrokes. It's a drawing of us, in this café, in this moment.
I smile up at him "It's beautiful. But what comes next?"
"The best part." And he pulls me back into his arms. "The happily ever after.”
“You forgot to call,' he says.
I throw open my arms. He pulls me into them, and we kiss, and his lips are cold, and I think he's crying, and I'm definitely crying, and I pull back to say, 'I am so in love with you, Joshua Wasserstein. Of course I'll wait for you.”
“St. Clair gets a crush on Anna. He's torn between her and Ellie, and he spends so much time running between them that he hardly has time left for Josh. And the more time that Josh spends alone, the more he realizes how alone he actually is. All of his friends will be gone the next year. Josh grows increasingly antagonistic toward school, which makes Rashmi increasingly antagonistic toward him, which makes him increasingly antagonistic toward her. And she's upset because Elie dropped her as a friend, and Meredith is upset because now St. Clair likes two girls who aren't her, and Anna is upset because St. Clair is leading her on, and then St. Clair's mom gets cancer.
It's a freaking soap opera.”
“St. Clair waggles his eyebrows at Josh, but the moment he sees that I've caught him, his expression changes to a flirtatious grin. "Aw, mate," he says to Josh. "Admit it. You couldn't resist me."
Josh relaxes into a smile. "You're like a gorgeous little bonbon."
"Delicious in every way," St Clair says.
Anna rolls her eyes. "Wait until you try his creamy centre.”
“I'm the last one in the dark, until- suddenly- it happens. St. Clair removes something from his pocket. And then he gets down on one knee.
Anna's entire body lights with shock and joy and love. She nods a vigorous yes. St. Clair places the ring on her finger. He stands, she throws her arms around him, and they kiss. He spins her in a circle. They kiss again. Deep, hungry, long. And then he turns to us and waves- with the biggest smile I've ever seen- clearly aware that we've been standing here the whole time.”
“You know that because you asked me out, you’re the one who has to pick the place, right?”
Throat. Dry.
Dry throat.
All of the dryness in my throat.
“Whatever you suggest.” He grins. “I’ll say yes. You’ll definitely get a yes. If that helps.”
“Josh bear-hugs St Clair. "I'm sorry you're off the market."
"Don't tell Anna, but I bought one for you, too," St Clair says.”
“Josh grins. "Just give me your hand."
"W-what?"
"Your hand," he repeats. "Give it to me."
I extend my shaking right hand. And-in a moment that is a hundred dreams come true-Joshua Wasserstein laces his fingers through mine. A staggering shock of energy shoots straight into my veins. Straight into my heart.
"There," he says. "I've been waiting a long time to do that."
Not nearly as long as I've been waiting.”
“Umbrellas are so small and sad and easy to forget.”
“I've always thought the best relationships are those that are as happy and content in silence as they are in action [...]”
“I can’t imagine Josh falling for someone vanilla.
Not that Josh would ever fall for me.
But I wouldn’t want to ruin any chance.
Even though I don’t have a chance.
But just in case I do.
Even though I don’t.”
“I like stories of adventure. Especially if there’s some kind of disaster involved.”
The eyebrow remains arched.
I laugh. “I read the ones with happy endings, too.”
Josh gestures towards my shelves. “You read a lot.”
“Safer than going on a real adventure.”
Now he’s the one who laughs. “Maybe.”
“Take a risk. Take a fucking risk. If you keep playing it safe, you'll never know who you are -Josh”
“Kismet is closing.”
“What’s Kismet?”
“Fate,” he says.
“What?”
“The name of the cafe.”
“I smile up at him. "It's beautiful. But what comes next?"
"The best part." And he pulls me back into his arms. "The happily ever after.”
“SPACES... BREAKS...TO CONTEMPLATE THINGS... TO FIGURE OUT WHAT'S IMPORTANT...”
“Josh grins. It’s wide and relieved and reveals a rarely seen pair of dimples. I could live inside those dimples for the rest of my life.”
“You know, If you weren't tiny, cute and remarkably innocent looking I'd be running away right now. This feels like the set-up to some torture porn.”
“We're enveloped in pitch black. "Wait here," I whisper.
"Are you getting your ax?"
"Handcuffs."
"Kinky. But, okay, I'll try it.”
“How does one proceed in a situation like this? If only the discovery of mutual admiration could lead promptly into making out. If only I could say, 'Listen. I like you, and you like me, so let’s go find a secluded park and touch each other.”
“It’s midnight, it’s sweltering, and I might be high on Vicodin, but that guy - that guy right over there - that’s him.
The him.”
“We straighten , bu our snickering is barely contained as we attempt to focus our attention on a picture of a discarded Coke can. "This guy's lady love is kind of a slob, don't you think?" he whispers.
I cover my mouth with my hands again.
"A reaaaaaaaal litterbug."
"Stop it," I hiss. My eyes are watering. "Ohmygod look at this one! How did he get her toenail clippings?"
"If you were my girl," he whispers, "I'd take creepy pictures of your trash when I knew you weren't looking."
"If you were my girl," I whisper back," I"d put the creepy pictures in a foreign museum so you wouldn't know that I take creepy pictures.”
“The lines are careful. They reveal he pays attention. People don’t think he does, because he daydreams and skips class and neglects his homework, but when I see his drawings, I know they’re wrong.”
“Alas, but you do not recognize one thing, Monsieur le Docteur, one thing that you will find very difficult to comprehend. The twelfth century was quite different from today, different in a most special way. You see, the entire world believed in magic, and this affected things. It altered the world we perceived, everyone perceived, mortal and vampire alike. You will not be able to accept this, but it altered the very laws of physics. Magic was a little more real.”
“(Note: Extreme sensibility of the French sometimes makes them difficult to deal with.)”
“Check her out. She‟s fuckin‟ hot.”
“Wedding band,” I say.
“She sings in one?"
“No, jackass. She's wearing one.”
“Because I think that sometimes, when you really love somebody, you don't ask them for the kind of compromise that is actually a sacrifice. The kind where one person gives up everything they have, everything they are, just so they can be with the other person. And you certainly don't expect that shit. You don't expect someone to prove their love. To love you that little bit more than you love them.”
“But the most terrible thing was that the shame didn't simply sear my heart, it also mingled into a single whole with the pleasure I was getting from what was going on.
It was something quite unimaginable - truly beyond good and evil. It was then that I finally understood the fatal abysses trodden by De Sade and Sacher-Masoch, who I had always thought absurdly pompous. No, they weren't absurd at all - they simply hadn't been able to find the right words to convey the true nature of their nightmares. And I knew why - there were no such words in any human language.
'Stop,' I whispered through my tears.
But in heart I didn't know what I wanted - for him to stop or to carry on.
I couldn't hold back any longer and I started crying. But they were tears of pleasure, a monstrous, shameful pleasure that was too enthralling to be abandoned voluntarily.”
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