rainbow-rowell

The problem with playing hide-and-seek with your sister is that sometimes she gets bored and stops looking for you.And there you are - under the couch, in the closet, wedged behind the lilac tree - and you don't want to give up, because maybe she's just biding her time. But maybe she's wandered off...

He ever offer to walk you home?""I've never asked," Cath said quickly. "I've never asked you either.""That's true," Levi said.More quiet. More cold.The air stung Cath's throat when she finally spoke again. "So maybe you shouldn't.""Don't be ridiculous," Levi said. "That wasn't my point.

She smiled, and her eyes started to drift downward. "Cather..." Back up to his eyes."You know that I'm falling in love with you, right?

If Levi were a dog, he'd be a golden retriever. If he were a game, he'd be a Ping-Pong, incessant and bouncing and light.

From: Beth Fremont To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder Sent: Thurs, 09/30/1999 3:42 PM Subject: If you were Superman _ _ and you could choose any alter ego you wanted, why the hell would you choose to spend your Clark Kent hours _ which already suck because you have to wear glasses and you can__ fly _ at a newspaper? Why not pose as a wealthy playboy like Batman? Or the leader of a small but important nation like Black Panther? Why would you choose to spend your days on deadline, making crap money, dealing with terminally crabby editors?

You can never hurt me,And you will never cause me painCause you're made of fire,And I'm the heavy rain.

Are you okay?" she heard someone - Levi? - ask "Hey... are you crying?"Cath ran her fingers along the cover, over the raised gold type.Then someone else ran right into her, pushing the book into Cath's chest. Pushing two books into her chest. Cath looked up just as Wren threw an arm around her."They're both crying," Cath heard Reagan say. "I can't even watch."Cath freed an arm to wrap around her sister. "I can't believe it's really over," she whispered.Wren held her tight and shook her head. She really was crying, too. "Don't be so melodramatic, Cath," Wren laughed hoarsely. "It's never over... It's Simon.

You don't get to choose," Lincoln said. "It's just happening.

When I wake up on Sunday Mornings - late, you always let me sleep in - I come looking for you, and you're in the backyard with dirt on your knees and two little girls spinning around you in perfect orbit. And you put their hair in pigtails and you let them wear whatever madness they want, and Alice planted a fruit cocktail tree and Noomi ate a butterfly, and they look like me because they're round and golden, but they glow for you.

She wrapped her fingers around his and touched his palm with her thumb. Her fingers were trembling.Park shifted in his seat and turned his back to the aisle."Okay?" she whispered.He nodded, taking a deep breath. They both stared down at their hands.Jesus.

There's nothing more intoxicating than creating something from nothing. Creating something from yourself." Professor Piper

Parfois, écrire se rapproche de la chute libre : vos doigts s'agitent sur le clavier comme vos jambes dans le vide.

So this is what you look like when you're keeping a giant secret from me - exactly the same as usual.

You kissed him, right? The only question is, do you want to kiss him again?

Why do I write?To be somewhere elseTo get free of ourselvesTo stopTo stop being anything or anywhere at allTo disappear