Ali Hazelwood Quotes

carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you" - Adam

I’m going to kill you,” he gritted out, little more than a growl. “If you say another word about the woman I love, if you look at her, if you even think about her - I’m going to fucking kill you.

I'm starting to wonder if this is what being in love is. Being okay with ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole.

Ik hou van jou, Adam.

You can fall in love: someone will catch you.

And then I'll come find you, and I'll take care of you." - Adam

Expiration dates are for the weak.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a community of women trying to mind their own business must be in want of a random man’s opinion.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was sitting on her bed staring at the Boston skyline and chewing on her lunch, that Olive realized that the protein bar Adam had given her was covered in chocolate.

This might be inappropriate but... Olive. You are really... You are extraordinary

You kiss him and next thing you know he's saving your ass and he's buying you scones and calling you a smart-ass in a weirdly affectionate tone

He’d clearly never seen a rom-com or read a romance novel in his life.

Have you considered that maybe you’re already the way I want you to be? That maybe there are no signals because nothing needs to be changed

You don't even have to admit to yourself that you love me, Bee. God knows I love you enough for the both of us - Levi Ward

I know it’s scary, being vulnerable, but you can allow yourself to care. You can want to be with people as more than just friends or casual acquaintances.

You’re not a problem, Misery. You’re a privilege.

Olive had felt that he was on her side. Over & over, & in ways that could never have anticipated, he had made her feel unjudged. Less alone.

You could be my entire world,” he whispers in my ear before moving to my collarbone. “If you let me.

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you

Ssh.” His arm slid around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip in a gesture that should have been unpleasant but just felt reassuring. His voice was low when he added, “It’s fine.” The words vibrated in her ear, rich and warm. “More material for my Title IX complaint.

You were always in my head. And I could never get you out.

In my fantasies, you allow me to keep an eye on you.” I feel his lips at my temple. “And when I really let go, I imagine that you let me take care of you, too.

if academia ever makes you feel like you’re not good or smart enough . . . it’s not you, it’s academia.

Bold of you to assume that the real me is my best hand.” “Foolish of you to think it isn’t.

Maybe you're not meant for me the way I'm meant for you, but I'm going to choose you anyway, over and over and over again.

Olive,” Dr. Aslan interrupted her with a stern tone. “What do I always tell you?” “Um . . . ‘Don’t misplace the multichannel pipette’?” “The other thing.” She sighed. “ ‘Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.’ 

I want to tell her that she's luminous, she's so bright in my mind, sometimes I can't focus.

Did you… Did you just kiss me?” He sounded puzzled, and maybe a little out of breath. His lips were full and plump and… God. Kissed. There was simply no way Olive could get away with denying what she had just done. Still, it was worth a try. “Nope.” Surprisingly, it seemed to work. “Ah. Okay, then.” Carlsen nodded and turned around, looking vaguely disoriented. He took a couple of steps down the hallway, reached the water fountain - maybe where he’d headed in the first place. Olive was starting to believe that she might actually be off the hook when he halted and turned back with a skeptical expression. “Are you sure?

I like to see you. When you’re not trying to be someone else.

The real villain is love: an unstable isotope, constantly undergoing spontaneous nuclear decay. And it will forever go unpunished.

God bless libraries.

She sighed. “ ‘Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.’ ” “More than that, if possible. Since there is absolutely nothing mediocre about you.

Everyone likes tall, broody, sullen hunks with genius IQs.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Or makes you resent your pathological inability to set boundaries, one or the two.

Because I’m starting to wonder if this is what being in love is. Being okay with ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole.

HYPOTHESIS: When given a choice between A (a slightly inconveniencing situation) and B (a colossal shitshow with devastating consequences), I will inevitably end up selecting B.

Elsie, it’s the bare minimum. The bar’s so low, you could pick it up and beat him with it.

I love you, I think, and you are my home.

He told me once that sometimes, with some people, it's not about winning or losing, That with some people, it's just about playing. Though for the longest time, I didn't really believe him.

If there is one thing men hate more than a smart woman, it’s a smart woman who makes her own choices when it comes to her own sex life.

My smell. Do I smell like…?” “Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.

It never occurred to Olive that Dr. Adam Carlsen—known ass—had called her by her name.

You mean you’ve done this before?” She frowned. “Done what?” “Put in expired contacts.” “Of course. Contacts are not cheap.” “Neither are eyes.” Humph. Good point.

What I am is an adult woman with agency and the tools to make choices. Feel free to, you know, treat me accordingly.

Some nights, when he’s walking past her door, he has to whisper to himself: “Keep going.

What did Adam's fortune cookie say?" "Mmm." Olive made a show to look at the strip. "Not much. Just 'Holden Rodrigues, Ph.D., is a loser.'" Malcolm sped up just as Holden flipped her off, making her burst into laughter. "What does it really say?" Adam asked when they were finally alone. Olive handed him the crumpled paper and remained silent as he angled it to read it in the lamplight. She wasn't surprised when she saw a muscle jump in his jaw, or when he slid the fortune into the pocket of his jeans. She knew what it said, after all. You can fall in love: someone will catch you.

There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day.

She’s so mean. I love her.

... she loved him even more for it. For looking at her like she was the beginning and end of his every thought.

Why would you keep something that makes you think of me?” I feel him shrug. “Because I think of you anyway, Mallory.

Of all the good things I’ve felt in my fucking life, you are the best.

Pretty fucking tragic twist of fate, but you don’t seem to remember that we first met years ago. An issue, since I remember a little too well. I like no one, absolutely no one, but I liked you from the start. I liked you when I didn’t know you, and now that I do know you it’s only gotten worse. Sometimes, often, always, I think about you before falling asleep. Then I dream of you, and when I wake up my head’s still there, stuck on something funny, beautiful, filthy, intelligent that’s all about you. It’s been going on for a while, longer than you think, longer than you can imagine, and I should have told you, but I have this impression, this certainty that you’re half a second from running away, that I should give you enough reasons to stay. Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll take you grocery shopping and fill your fridge when we’re back home. Buy you a new bike and a case of decent reagent and that sludge you drink. Kill the people who made you cry. Is there something you need? Name it. It’s yours. If I have it, it’s yours.

You are the most magnificent thing that ever happened to me,

You think, but you don’t know. You don’t know anything about what it’s like to find your other half, I would take anything she chose to give me—the tiniest fraction or her entire world. I would take her for a single night knowing that I’ll lose her by morning, and I would hold on to her and never let go. I would take her healthy, or sick, or tired, or angry, or strong, and it would be my fucking privilege. I would take her problems, her gifts, her moods, her passions, her jokes, her body—I would take every last thing, if she chose to give it to me.

Galaxies pass through his black eyes, and I wonder whether this second could last a century. Whether the universe could be just me and him, understanding each other on a forever loop.

How are you?" "Good. Fine. I mean I wish I were dead. But aside from that.

Be gentle with me, Elsie. That’s all I ask.

You put in expired contacts?” He sounded personally offended “Just a little expired.” “What’s ‘a little’?” “I don’t know. A few years?” “What?” His consonants were sharp and precise. Crisp. Pleasant. “Only a couple, I think.” “Just a couple of years?” “It’s okay. Expiration dates are for the weak.” A sharp sound - some kind of snort. “Expiration dates are so I don’t find you weeping in the corner of my bathroom.” Unless this dude was Mr. Stanford himself, he really needed to stop calling it his bathroom.

It’s easier like that, isn’t it? [...] Never showing anyone who you really are. [...] That way if something goes wrong, if someone rejects you, then it’s not about you, is it? When you’re yourself, that’s when you’re exposed. Vulnerable.

I’d rather drink a can of Axe body spray while feral raccoons feast on my exposed bone marrow than sit across from this twat.

Honey,” I ask, lowering my sunglasses to the tip of my nose, “are we rich?

But a good kiss will do that: make a girl forget herself for a while.

I look at him looking at me, and overflow with something I cannot put a name to. “Because when I’m with you, Mallory, everything is different. When I’m with you, I want to play more than I want to win.

See, that’s the thing I hate the most about adulting: at some point, one has to start doing it.

Her heart may be broken, but her brain was doing just fine.

Not everyone wants you to be someone else, Elsie. And I definitely wouldn’t want you to be George.” “And why is that?” “It would be a waste.” “A waste of what?” “Of you.

I can give you nice. I can give you better than nice. I can give you everything.” He smiles at me, full of hope. “You don’t even have to admit to yourself that you love me, Bee. God knows I love you enough for the both of us. But I need you to stay. I need you to stick around. Not in Houston, if you don’t want to. I’ll follow you, if you ask me to.

She makes him want to draw again.

She frowned. “I asked if I could kiss you, and you said yes.” “Incorrect. You asked if you could kiss me and I snorted.” “I’m pretty sure I heard you said yes.” He lifted one eyebrow, and for a minute Olive let herself daydream of drowning someone. Dr. Carlsen. Herself. Both sounded like great options.

People who date, they-they talk. A lot. More than just greetings in the hallway. They know each other’s favorite colors, and where they were born, and they… they hold hands. They kiss.” Adam pressed his lips together as if to suppress a smile. “We could never do that.

Or, you could stay mad, and we could go to your lab and throw test tubes full of toxic reagents at each other until the pain of third-degree burns overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?

We're only humans. We're full of ''whys'', drowning in ''whys.'' Every once in a while, we need a bit of ''because,'' and if it's not readily available, we make it up.

Thank you, Oh Penised Overlords, for the recognition I deserve

Yep. I’m so glad he finally scrounged up the courage to ask you out. He’d been going on and on about this ‘amazing girl’ for years, but he was concerned about being in the same department, and you know how he is . . .” He shrugged and waved his hand. “I’m glad he finally managed to pull his head out of his ass.

This is the equivalent to someone buying their own ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug. Congratulations, you’re officially NASA’s Micheal Scott

We all want to think that we’re important to the people who are important to us. But sometimes, our best friend is someone else’s best friend.

She would have loved to run to the edge of campus and scream into the void until modern civilization collapsed, but that wasn’t exactly a pressing matter.

I am going to take care of this,” he told her. There was something determined, earnest in his eyes. Olive had never felt safer, or more loved. “And then I’ll come find you, and I’ll take care of you.

What do you loathe?” “The way you seem to always get under my skin.” “Elsie. You think you don’t live under mine.

That was a badass speech, Misery.” “Badass is my middle name.” “Your middle name is Lyn.” Shit. “Stop reading my file.

Science is reliable in its variability. Science does whatever the fuck it wants. God, I love science.

I've never been surer of anything. Except maybe cell theory.

She had not figured that Adam would notice her while in conversation with a young, beautiful faculty member. She had not figured that he’d suddenly stop speaking, eyes widening and lips parting; that he’d mutter “Excuse me” while staring at Olive and stand from the table, ignoring the curious looks in his directions that he’d march to the entrance, where Olive was, with quick, long strides and a concerned expression. “Olive, are you okay?” he asked her.

I don’t want to be work. I don’t want you to feel that I’m work.” “Somewhere along the way your wires got crossed. Your brain decided that you’re not worth people’s time and effort, and that if you ask for anything, they won’t just say no, they’ll also leave you. That’s not how love works, Elsie.

He studies my face for several moments, like he cannot stop on the cover or the first page, like he needs to read the whole book every time.

Annie used to have a funny theory: we all have a Year Zero around which the calendars of our lives pivot. At some point you meet someone, and they become so important, so metamorphic, that ten, twenty, sixty-five years down the line you look back and realize that you could split your existence in two. Before they showed (BCE), and your Common Era. Your very own Gregorian calendar.

Way to make me feel excluded, bitches.” “Darcy,” we all say at once, all in the same disapproving tone. “What?” She shrugs from the door. “I thought we now just sprinkled the word generously in conversation. For seasoning.

Maybe there is something devastating about the incompleteness of it. But maybe, just knowing that the other person is there . . .” His throat bobs. “There might be pleasure in that, too. The satisfaction of knowing that something beautiful exists.” His lips open and close a few times, as though he can only find the right words by shaping them first to himself. “Maybe some things transcend reciprocity. Maybe not everything is about having.

I want you, Elsie. All the time. I think of you. All. The. Fucking. Time. I’m distracted. I’m shit at work. And my first instinct, the very first time I saw you, was to run away. Because I knew that if we’d start doing this, we would never stop. And that’s exactly how it is. There is no universe in which I’m going to let you go. I want to be with you, on you, every second of every day. I think – I dream of crazy things. I want you to marry me tomorrow so you can go on my health insurance. I want to lock you in my room for a couple of weeks. I want to buy groceries based on what you like. I want to play it cool, like I’m attracted to you and not obsessed out of my mind, but that’s not where I’m at. Not at all. And I need you to keep us in check. I need you to pace us, because wherever it is that we’re going… I’m here. I’m already right here.

There is something about you. That you tirelessly study people. Figure out who they are, what they want, and then mold yourself into whatever shape you think will fit them. I’ve seen you play half a dozen different roles for half a dozen different situations, switching personalities like you’re channel surfing, and I still have no idea who you are.

I take a deep breath, still staring out the window. “I really, really, really like you.” He doesn’t reply for a long moment. Then: “I’m pretty sure I like you more.” “I doubt it. I just want you to know, not everyone is like your family. You can be . . . you can be you with me. You can talk, say, do however you want. And I’ll never hurt you like they did.” I make myself smile at him. It’s easy now. “I promise I don’t bite.” He reaches over to take my hand, his skin warm and rough against mine. He smiles back. Just a little. “You could rip me to shreds, Bee.

But before I can say anything, he cups my cheek and leans down to kiss me once more. This time it’s sweet, slow, savoring. Patient. This time it’s lingering and gentle—everything our other kiss wasn’t. I want to try them all. All the kisses Levi Ward is capable of, I want to sample them like fine wine.

I know what she smells like. This little freckle on her neck when she pulls up her hair. Her upper lip is a little plumper than the lower. The curve of her wrist, when she holds a pen. It’s wrong, really wrong, but I know the shape of her. I go to sleep thinking about it, and then I wake up, go to work, and she is there, and it’s impossible. I tell her stuff I know she’ll agree to, just to hear her hum back at me. It’s like hot water down my fucking spine. She’s married. She’s brilliant. She trusts me, and all I think about is taking her to my office, stripping her, doing unspeakable things to her. And I want to tell her. I want to tell her that she’s luminous, she’s so bright in my mind, sometimes I can’t focus. Sometimes I forget why I came into the room. I’m distracted. I want to push her against a wall, and I want her to push back. I want to go back in time and punch her stupid husband on the day I met him and then travel back to the future and punch him again. I want to buy her flowers, food, books. I want to hold her hand, and I want to lock her in my bedroom. She’s everything I ever wanted and I want to inject her into my veins and also to never see her again. There’s nothing like her and these feelings, they are fucking intolerable. They were half-asleep while she was gone, but now she’s here and my body thinks it’s a fucking teenager and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. There is nothing I can do, so I’ll just . . . not.

It’s easier like that, isn’t it?” “What is?” “Never showing anyone who you really are. That way if something goes wrong, if someone rejects you, then it’s not about you, is it? When you’re yourself, that’s when you’re exposed. Vulnerable. But if you hold back … Losing a game’s always painful, but knowing that you haven’t played your best hand makes it bearable.

Then, since you have never even been part of a super-tournament, what makes you qualified to be here today? Why you and not someone else?” I swallow. “I just . . .” Nothing. I got lucky. It’s a mistake. I’m not good enough and— “Man”—Nolan snorts into the mic—“she literally won the qualifying tournament to be here. Keep up, will you?

Picture this, Olive. Early two thousands. Preppy, ridiculously expensive all-male DC school. Two gay students in grade twelve. Well, two of us that were out, anyway. Richie Muller and I date for the entirety of senior year - and then he dumps me three days before prom for some guy he’d been having a thing with for months.” “He was a prick,” Adam muttered. “I have three choices. Not go to the dance and mope at home. Go alone and mope at school. Or, have my best friend - who was planning on staying home and moping over gamma-aminobutyric acids - come as my date. Guess which?” Olive gasped. “How did you convince him?” “That’s the thing, I didn’t. When I told him about what Richie did, he offered!

Is everything okay?” He said it looking into her eyes, in a low, intimate tone. Like they were alone. Like Anh was not there. He said it in a way that should have made Olive uncomfortable but didn't. For some inexplicable reason his presence in the room soothed her, even though until a second ago she had been freaking out. Perhaps two different types of unease neutralized each other?

The scent is growing into more than just a problem. It invades. It swirls. It travels. It sticks to his nose. It concentrates, sometimes. They rarely touch. When they did, her wrist accidentally brushed against the front of his shirt, and he found himself tearing off the piece of fabric where her smell was most intense. He slipped it in his pocket, and now carries it everywhere. Even as he leaves to avoid her.

I like no one, absolutely no one, but I liked you from the start. I liked you when I didn’t know you, and now that I do know you it’s only gotten worse. Sometimes, often, always, I think about you before falling asleep. Then I dream of you, and when I wake up my head’s still there, stuck on something funny, beautiful, filthy, intelligent that’s all about you. It’s been going on for a while, longer than you think, longer than you can imagine, and I should have told you, but I have this impression, this certainty that you’re half a second from running away, that I should give you enough reasons to stay. Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll take you grocery shopping and fill your fridge when we’re back home. Buy you a new bike and a case of decent reagent and that sludge you drink. Kill the people who made you cry. Is there something you need? Name it. It’s yours. If I have it, it’s yours.