Love and Other Foreign Words

I think I'm nostalgic for a time I never experienced.

Good becomes perfect, but perfect is an illusion. And illusions are like all spells—temporary and soon broken. And when that happens, feelings change.

I don’t think I have as many friends as I thought I did, not close ones, not many who I connect with on that deep level of language that doesn’t just allow us to be ourselves with each other but allows us to be understood, even when we’re not saying anything. Silence—awkward or comfortable—is a language too. Awkward silence screams, “We have nothing in common.” Comfortable silence proves just how much we do.

Come dance with me," he says, taking my hand, and someday I'll explain to him that I already am.

I can speak the languages of lots of groups and learn others with some ease, but no matter how fluent I am, when I'm not speaking Josie, I am merely acting. We all are when we interact outside of our natural cultures. It is inevitable, because it is impossible to be fully yourself in a foreign language.

Someday, I will be brave enough to say these things to you in person. For now, I remain in happy, quiet contemplation over you and can say tonight that I just might love you. Or could someday.

Attraction and infatuation produce strong, exciting emotions that could easily be taken for love. But attraction wanes, and infatuation passes. Love doesn't end.

It's easier to hate than to hurt.

You realize I can never sleep under this blanket with this thread as it is. The thought of it would plague me all night.' 'Were you going to?' he asks, looking over his shoulder at me. 'Well, I'm not going to now.' 'Suggesting you were going to at some point?' 'Suggesting no matter where I sleep in the future, it will not be under this blanket.' 'I was not aware our friendship included sleepovers,' he says. 'Will we be doing each other's hair as well?' 'Yes. I long to see you in an up-do.

I want you to write for you and about you, from the depth of you.

I keep telling myself that maybe, eventually, we’ll get to know each other, and he might like me. A lot. But that’s a long way off, and in the meantime, I already know I like him. A lot. And I don’t know what to do with these feelings

There is something heroic, inexplicable, and otherworldly in every love story.

I don't really see how I can keep being with you. Would you want to be with someone who just told you they could never love you?

Need I say more?' 'No, because you're wrong, and I'd hate for you to keep embarrassing yourself.

I'm not entirely sure there is a formula for this,' I say. But I wish there were. I would have followed it, plugging in all my data for x and all of Ethan's for y. And I would have worked out the results before involving my emotions, and I wouldn't feel as I feel now--like I've been dumped for real by an imaginary guy.

In someone else's language, you become a visitor, a guest - sometimes a very welcome guest received with shrieks and hugs - but still always a guest. Because as soon as you stop speaking the native language of the group, you stop being one of the group. And then you're just alone, no matter who you're with.

forcing a subject to respond the way you want him to only confirms your bias, my dear.

Are there days when you find life terribly confusing? Only when I have a girlfriend.

Aber ganz egal wie fließend ich in all diesen Sprachen bin, wenn ich nicht Josie spreche, schauspielere ich bloß. Das tun wir alle, wenn wir außerhalb der Kulturen interagieren, in die wir hineingeboren wurden. Es ist sogar unvermeidlich, denn es ist unmöglich, in einer fremden Sprache ganz man selbst zu sein. In der Sprache eines anderen wirst du zu einem Besucher, einem Gast - manchmal ein sehr willkommener Gast, den man kreischend und mit Umarmungen in Empfang nimmt -, aber trotzdem bist und bleibst du Gast. Denn sobald du aufhörst, die Sprache der Gruppe zu sprechen, hörst du auch auf, einer aus der Gruppe zu sein. Und dann bist du allein, egal mit wem zu zusammen bist.

If you get it tested and find out you're actually retarded, that would be irony.

He winks at me and ignores me for the rest of supper, during which he instructs Ross about current diabetic treatments, corrects Maggie's perfectly pronounced Renoir as Ren-wah, and keeps fondling Kate's breasts. Okay, not exactly, but he touches her arm or hand whenever he talks or she does, and it's so frequent it's bordering on molestation. I can't believe no one's putting a stop to this.

-Merece la pena correr el riesgo por ti, Josie. ¿Por mí no? -No estoy.. dispuesta a correr el riesgo de perder a uno de mis únicos amigos.

How can Sophie hate Josh tonight when Friday morning she loved him?' I ask. What I mean is How can I have had such strong feelings for Ethan when now I don't know what I feel aside from overwhelming mortification?