Frankie appreciated both the accolades and the rejections equally, because both meant she’d had an impact. She wasn’t a person who needed to be liked so much as she was a person who liked to be notorious.
E. LOCKHARTDo not think about guys who have broken your heart six ways. It is mentally deranged to chase after heartbreak.
More E. Lockhart Quotes
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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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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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Love is when you give someone else the power to destroy you, and you trust them not to do it.
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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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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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These guys, they were so sure of their places in life–so deeply confident of their merit and their future–they didn’t need any kind of front at all.
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Never take a seat in the back of the room. Winners sit up front.
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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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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 are my girlfriend,” whispered Matthew. ” You’re my girl and I’m your guy, and you’re my girl and I’m your guy. Let’s not fight.” -pg 126
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Because on some level, even though it never turns out to be true, and even though I should know better, I still expect life to be like the movies.
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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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How was I supposed to concentrate on my mental health when my therapist was encased in orange sparkle madness?
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If those are your friends, you’ve got no need for enemies.
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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.
E. LOCKHART