Anna Quotes

All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.

If you look for perfection, you'll never be content.

I think... if it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.

Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.

He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused.

Respect was invented to cover the empty place where love should be.

The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.

The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.

Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place?

Love. The reason I dislike that word is that it means too much for me, far more than you can understand." - Anna Karenina {Anna Karenina}

Spring is the time of plans and projects.

You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms...

Is it really possible to tell someone else what one feels?

If you were music, I would listen to you ceaselessly, and my low spirits would brighten up.

I know you aren't perfect. But it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.

Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed.

Each person has a literature inside them.

I wish friends held hands more often, like the children I see on the streets sometimes. I'm not sure why we have to grow up and get embarrassed about it.

It is good people who make good places.

I've always loved you, and when you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be.

Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.

Be bad, but at least don't be a liar, a deceiver!

All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.

I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.

I'm saying I'm in love with you! I've been in love with you this whole bleeding year!

Boys turns girls into such idiots.

Why is it that the right people never wind up together? Why are people so afraid to leave a relationship, even if they know it's a bad one?

Anything is better than lies and deceit!

I mean, really. Who sends their kid to boarding school? It's so Hogwarts. Only mine doesn't have cute boy wizards or magic candy or flying lessons.

I wish for the thing that is best for me.

Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.

In books I have traveled, not only to other worlds, but into my own.

I always loved you, and if one loves anyone, one loves the whole person, just as they are and not as one would like them to be. -Dolly

Just because something isn't practical doesn't mean it's not worth creating. Sometimes beauty and real-life magic are enough.

I'm a little distracted by this English French American Boy Masterpiece.

Anna, Anna," Josh interrupts. "If I had a euro for every stupid thing I've done, I could buy the Mona Lisa. You'll be fine.

Soap?" "School of America in Paris" he explains. "SOAP". Nice. My father sent me here to be cleansed.

Please. The boy gets a boner every time you walk into the room." My eyes pop back open. Does she mean that figuratively or has she actually seen something? No. Focus, Anna.

Perfect is overrated. Perfect is boring." I smile. "You don't think I'm perfect?" "No. You're delightfully screwy, and I wouldn't have you any other way.

Sometimes she did not know what she feared, what she desired: whether she feared or desired what had been or what would be, and precisely what she desired, she did not know.

As the tide washed in, the Dutch Tulip Man faced the Ocean: "Conjoiner rejoinder poisoner concealer revelator. Look at it, rising up and rising down, taking everything with it." "What’s that?" Anna asked. "Water," the Dutchman said. "Well, and time.

it's much better to do good in a way that no one knows anything about it.

Just because he can't love you the way you want him to doesn't mean he does't love you with everything he has.' Liam says.

If you love me as you say you do,' she whispered, 'make it so that I am at peace.

So what do I wish for? Something I'm not sure I want? Someone I'm not sure I need? Or someone I know I can't have?

When it's right, it's simple.

Seriously, I don't know any American girl who can resist an English accent.

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.

So do you believe in second chances?" I bite my lip. "Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right," he adds. "If the person is... Lola?" This time, he holds my gaze. "Only if the other person is Cricket.

They've got no idea what happiness is, they don't know that without this love there is no happiness or unhappiness for us--there is no life.

Gossip is just a tool to distract people who have nothing better to do from feeling jealous of those few of us still remaining with noble hearts.

I don't want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen.

Sophia Mercer," Elodie intoned, "we have come to induct you into our sisterhood. Say the five words to begin the ritual." I blinked at her. "Are you freaking kidding me?" Anna gave an exasperated sigh. "No, the five words are 'I accept you offer, sisters.

And if I'm the stars, Cricket Bell is entire galaxies.

You make me want things I can't have.

One of the world's most tiresome questions is what object one would bring to a desert island,because people always answer "a deck of cards" or "Anna Karenina" when the obvious answer is "a well equipped boat and a crew to sail me off the island and back home where I can play all the card games and read all the Russian novels I want.

How many times can our emotions be tied to someone else's - be pulled and stretched and twisted - before they snap? Before they can never be mended again?

If they strain me up tight, why, let 'em look out! I can't bear it, and I won't.

Don't go looking for boys in the dark They will say pretty things then leave you with scars. Do go looking for boys in the park For that is where the true gentlemen are.

There are some people in life that you can't get over.

But the law of loving others could not be discovered by reason, because it is unreasonable.

He was smoking hot. As in H-O-T-T, hott. I’d never understood until that moment why girls insisted on adding an extra t. This guy was extra-t-worthy.

All the girls in the world were divided into two classes: one class included all the girls in the world except her, and they had all the usual human feelings and were very ordinary girls; while the other class -herself alone- had no weaknesses and was superior to all humanity.

It's hard to love a woman and do anything.

We both got our Point Zero wishes―each other. He said he wished for me every time.

Sometimes a mistake isn't a what. It's a who.

You fuck - you ate my cat!

A moment of reserve. "That was it? The whole story?" "Yes. God, you're right. That was pants." I sidestep another aggressive couscous vendor. "Pants?" "Rubbish. Crap. Shite." Pants. Oh heavens, that's cute.

I don't believe in fashion. I believe in costume. Life is too short to be same person every day.

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

I moan with pleasure. "Did you just have a foodgasm?" he asks, wiping ricotta from his lips. "Where have you been all my life?" I ask the beautiful panini.

The best thing about reading is to escape from your life, to be able to live hundreds or even thousands of different lives.

The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color -- oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples...

This is home. The two of us.

People should say what they mean and not make other people stumble around.

The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes,” and only recently did I learn it’s spelled o-​u-​i and not w-​e-​e.

Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to not make the same mistake twice.

Madame Guillotine gets mad at me. Not because I told them to shove it, but because I didn’t say it in French. What is wrong with this school?

It's easy to talk about things we hate, but sometimes it's hard to explain exactly why we like something.

Each of our lives is a Shakespearean drama raised to the thousandth degree.

But I'm glad you'll see me as I am. Above all, I wouldn't want people to think that I want to prove anything. I don't want to prove anything, I just want to live; to cause no evil to anyone but myself. I have that right, haven't I?

I often think that men don't understand what is noble and what is ignorant, though they always talk about it.

Anna prods St. Clair's shoulder. "Come on. Weren't you gonna show me that thing?" "What thing?" She stares at him. He stares back. She cocks her head toward Cricket and me. "Ah, yes." St. Clair stands. "That thing." They rush out. The door shuts, and St. Clair shouts, "Lola, Cricket wants to show you his thing, too-oo!

I didn't want to see her because it would make me feel better. I came because without her, it's hard to remember who I am...

Why do I care so much about him, and why do I wish I didn't? How can one person make me so confused all of the time?

Har. Bloody. Har." He smiles. "Oh, I see. Known me less than a day and teasing me about my accent. What's next? Care to discuss the state of my hair? My height? My trousers?" Trousers. Honestly.

Because that’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.

But hey, at least we’ll have this strange story to tell, love and death and blood and daddy-issues. And holy crap, I’m a psychiatrist’s wet dream.

He was a mystery to her, and every time she tried to solve him it caused her a little more pain. But when she tired to give him up he pursued her in her thoughts, stronger each time.

He soon felt that the fulfillment of his desires gave him only one grain of the mountain of happiness he had expected. This fulfillment showed him the eternal error men make in imagining that their happiness depends on the realization of their desires.

Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever forget...

I am hard on myself. But isn’t it better to be honest about these things before someone else can use them against you? Before someone else can break your heart? Isn’t it better to break it yourself?

My grandfather would have loved to have met you," he told her huskily. "He would have called you 'She Moves Trees Out of His Path.' " She looked lost, but his da laughed. He'd known the old man, too. "He called me 'He Who Must Run into Trees,'" Charles explained, and in a spirit of honesty, a need for his mate to know who he was, he continued, "or sometimes 'Running Eagle.' " " 'Running Eagle'?" Anna puzzled it over, frowning at him. "What's wrong with that?" "Too stupid to fly," murmured his father with a little smile.

I trail my fingers across his cheek. He stays perfectly still for me. “Please stop apologizing, Étienne.” “Say my name again,” he whispers. I close my eyes and lean forward. “Étienne.” He takes my hands into his.Those perfect hands, that fit mine just so. “Anna?” Our foreheads touch. “Yes?” “Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.” And then we’re laughing. And then I’m in his arms, and we’re kissing, at first quickly—to make up for lost time—and then slowly, because we have all the time in the world. And his lips are soft and honey sweet, and the careful, passionate way he moves them against my own says that he savors the way I taste, too. And in between kisses, I tell him I love him. Again and again and again.

Once upon a time in the dead of winter in the Dakota Territory, Theodore Roosevelt took off in a makeshift boat down the Little Missouri River in pursuit of a couple of thieves who had stolen his prized rowboat. After several days on the river, he caught up and got the draw on them with his trusty Winchester, at which point they surrendered. Then Roosevelt set off in a borrowed wagon to haul the thieves cross-country to justice. They headed across the snow-covered wastes of the Badlands to the railhead at Dickinson, and Roosevelt walked the whole way, the entire 40 miles. It was an astonishing feat, what might be called a defining moment in Roosevelt’s eventful life. But what makes it especially memorable is that during that time, he managed to read all of Anna Karenina. I often think of that when I hear people say they haven’t time to read.

I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 a.m., gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who talked to the moon. And she was mysterious and she was perfect, in that way that girls who talk to moons are. In the house next door, there lived a boy. And the boy watched the girl grow more and more perfect, more and more beautiful with each passing year. He watched her watch the moon. And he began to wonder if the moon would help him unravel the mystery of the beautiful girl. So the boy looked into the sky. But he couldn't concentrate on the moon. He was too distracted by the stars. And it didn't matter how many songs or poems had already been written about them, because whenever he thought about the girl, the stars shone brighter. As if she were the one keeping them illuminated. One day, the boy had to move away. He couldn't bring the girl with him, so he brought the stars. When he'd look out his window at night, he would start with one. One star. And the boy would make a wish on it, and the wish would be her name. At the sound of her name, a second star would appear. And then he'd wish her name again, and the stars would double into four. And four became eight, and eight became sixteen, and so on, in the greatest mathematical equation the universe had ever seen. And by the time an hour had passed, the sky would be filled with so many stars that it would wake the neighbors. People wondered who'd turned on the floodlights. The boy did. By thinking about the girl.

Most people in Atlanta don't have an accent. It's pretty urban. A lot of people speak gangsta, though," I add jokingly. "Fo' shiz," he replies in his polite English accent. I spurt orangey-red soup across the table. St. Clair gives a surprised ha-HA kind of laugh, and I'm laughing too, the painful kind like abdominal crunches. He hands me a napkin to wipe my chin. "Fo'. Shiz." He repeats it solemnly. Cough cough. "Please don't ever stop saying that. It's too-" I gasp. "Much." "You oughtn't to have said that. Now I shall have to save it for special occasions." "My birthday is in February." Cough choke wheeze. "Please don't forget.