Below Zero Ali Hazelwood Quotes

Caring what others think is a lot of work, and—with a handful of exceptions—I’m not a huge fan of work.

Who would have figured that being a little shit for the first one and a half decades of my life would bring lasting consequences? Not me.

Wow. A male engineer who’s not an asshole. The bar is pretty low, but I’m nevertheless impressed.

He is fully smiling now. He has a heart-stopping dimple on his left cheek, and . . . Okay, fine: he’s aggressively hot.

Hey, he’s my cousin-or-something.” Sadie pats her on the shoulder. “It’s the or something that gets me every time. You can really feel the unbreakable family ties.

I always knew I was an asshole, but I’d never quite realized the extent of it.

And yet, I find the strength to roll my eyes. At least the cranky bitch inside my heart is holding strong.

He says it–you–like I am a remarkable and important thing. The most precious data point; his favorite town; the loveliest, starkest Martian landscape. Even though I pushed him away, over and over, he still came in a rocking boat in the middle of the coldest ocean on planet Earth, just to keep me warm.

My eyes spring open. I’m not dreaming anymore.

He’s a way better person than I’ll ever be.

I promise I won’t reply with unsolicited nudes.

Rejections are the bread and butter of all academic journeys. [..,] The good thing is, the more rejections you get, the easier they are to swallow.

I wanted to stop feeling as though I were rotting in my own aimlessness, and I wanted my head to stop spinning all the time.

Dignity is overrated

Mara on either side of me in my queen-size bed, and my heart is so full, I’m afraid it’ll overflow. Apparently this is what I am now, a unicorn rainbow marshmallow kitten creature. Bah.

I wanted to stop feeling as though I were rotting in my own aimlessness.

Then write a report about it. Due by the end of the semester. Don’t come to me bitching about it during office hours, because I will call security to escort you out.

My hair, eyes, sometimes even my soul, are black-hole dark. And here he is, Martian red and ocean blue.

Because you have been secretly pining for years?” He meets my eyes squarely. “I don’t know that there was anything secret about that.

So, I graduate, and I decide that I want to work at NASA and not for some weirdo billionaire who treats space exploration like it’s his own homemade penis-enlargement remedy.

He is, very simply, a never-before-experienced mix of cute and overwhelmingly masculine. With a complex, layered air about him. It spells simultaneously Do not piss me off because I don’t fuck around and Ma’am, let me carry those groceries for you.

His hair is messy, and bright, and beautiful. Not nearly as disgustingly hat-squished as mine, an inexplicable phenomenon that should be the object of several research studies.

The oldies radio station plays pop songs that I remember from the early 2000s, and I stare at the yellow glow of the streetlights, wondering if I, too, am an oldie.

I’m twenty-two.

I watch him scratch his—big—neck, then cross his—wide—biceps on his—broad—chest.

Before, I’d never really tried.

The oldies radio station plays pop songs that I remember from the early 2000s,

You just seem . . . I don’t know. Extremely emotionally unavailable.” I think maybe he was right, because it’s barely been a year and I can’t quite recall his face.

Dude, dates are amazing.” “No, they’re not.” “Yes. Try wrapping them in bacon.

But maybe I want to play with the Herschel Crater first.

And as far as crevasses go, it’s a good one to get stuck in.

At least the cranky bitch inside my heart is holdingstrong

He smiles, and the thought that I could have died -- I could have died-- without being smiled sat like this, by this man, has my lips trembling.

Can I ask you a question?

Okay. So he’s not my type. I do like him, though.

This one right here is the Solis Lacus. The Eye of Mars. Getting all worked up during dust storms.

I started out convinced that chewing on glass would surely be preferable.

Maybe I overestimated my flirting skills

I’m rapidly developing a thing for the contrast between his eyelashes (red!) and his

His smile is so unabashedly, genuinely happy for me, my heart leaps in my throat.

The good thing is, the more rejections you get, the easier they are to swallow. What had me punching pillows and plotting murder in the first year of my Ph.D. barely fazed me in the last.

And there’re people like me: what we want—oftentimes what we’ve wanted since our frontal lobes were still undeveloped enough to have us thinking that toe shoes are a good fashion statement—is to know about space.

Hannah, if that changes. If you ever find yourself able to believe that someone could care about you that much. And if you wanted to actually . . . have dinner with that someone.” He lets out a laugh. “Well . . . Please, consider me. You know where to find me.

He says it—you—like I am a remarkable and important thing. The most precious data point; his favorite town; the loveliest, starkest Martian landscape. Even though I pushed him away, over and over, he still came in a rocking boat in the middle of the coldest ocean on planet Earth, just to get me warm.

Is that why you came to rescue me?” I tease. “Because you were thinking about it? Because you have been secretly pining for years?” He meets my eyes squarely. “I don’t know that there was anything secret about that.