She was–I keep using the past tense; I ought to say she is–one of those people who, at first sight, look plain, are quiet, unassertive, unmemorable even. But who, when they start to talk and you get to know them.
A joy that hurts with sadness a sadness that is pleasurable a pleasure full of terror a terror that excites an excitement that calms a calmness that frightens.
The books, the authors who matter the most are those who speak to me and speak for me all those things about life I most need to hear as the confession of myself
I will not compromise on language or content. At 15, people can handle the same language as me, they’re just as complicated as me and are very interested in thinking about important questions for the first time.
How do I think of you? As someone I want to be with. As someone as young as me, but “older,” if that makes sense. As someone I like to look at, not just because you’re good to look at, but because just looking at you makes me smile and feel happier.
Become more and more attractive and impressive, and you see that in fact they are beautiful. Not conventionally beautiful, not celebrity beautiful, but beautiful all through.
