…a box where she was expected to be sweet and sensitive (but not oversensitive); a box for young and pretty girls who were not as bright or powerful as their boyfriends. A box for people who were not forces to be reckoned with.
E. LOCKHARTShe doesn’t feel like crying anymore.
More E. Lockhart Quotes
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Everything doesn’t seem like anything when you love someone. Especially when you’re young.
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There will be all these fifty-year-old women wearing hot pants and squeezing themselves into pretzel shapes and then there will be me. Just reaching for my toes like they’re China. ‘Hello there! You’re so far away, I can’t get to you! Can you even hear me?
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How was I supposed to concentrate on my mental health when my therapist was encased in orange sparkle madness?
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There’s something about seeing a guy’s feelings written down, something about him taking that risk and committing that heart to paper, that means so much more than anything he could just say.
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8. Fact: It is a bad idea to date a known cheater, because even if he doesn’t cheat on you, you will always know he’s capable of it and will never fully trust him. Then you will become even more insecure and neurotic than you already are.
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Someone once wrote that a novel should deliver a series of small astonishments. I get the same thing spending an hour with you.
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You can’t have an ending. It’s impossible. Because unlike in the movies, life goes on. You’re never at the end until you die.
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Maybe a friend is someone who wants your updates. Even if they’re boring. Or sad. Or annoyingly cutesy. A friend says “Sign me up for your boring crap, yes indeed”-because he likes you anyways. He’ll tolerate your junk.
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I sit around too much, waiting for other people to do stuff and angsting about stuff they’ve done, without doing anything myself.
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I don’t know if there is a one for me. I think I might like variety.
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My problem is I can think whatever I think-girl power, solidarity, Gloria Steinem rah rah rah – but I still feel the way I feel. Which is jealous. And pissy about little things.
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Love is when you have a really amazing piece of cake, and it’s the very last piece, but you let him have it.
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It shattered something inside me that hadn’t been broken before.
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I looked at her. my lovely, tall mother with her pretty coil of hair and her hard, bitter mouth. Her veins were never open. Her heart never leapt out to flop helplessly on the lawn. She never melted into puddles. She was normal. Always. At any cost.
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She doesn’t feel like crying anymore.
E. LOCKHART