Colleen Hoover Books Quotes

My lack of access to the real world has been replaced completely by books, and it can’t be healthy to live in a land of happily ever afters.

If we’re going to kiss, it has to be book-worthy.

Reading is a hobby, but for some of us, it’s an escape from the difficulties we face. To all of you who escape into books, I want to thank you for escaping into this one.

I'm pretty sure my addiction to reading has just reached a whole new level.

Her eyes are like two open books and I suddenly want to devour every page

Whether or not the couple ends up together at the end of a book doesn’t determine whether that book has a happy ending or not. As long as the two people end up happy, it doesn’t really matter if they end up happy together.

If I took every romantic poem, every book, every song, and every movie I've ever read, heard or seen and extracted the breathtaking moments, somehow bottling them up, they would pale in comparison to this moment. This moment is incomparable.

Don't stop" I tease in a seductive voice. " Give me more, Ben. Did you read eBooks or..." I run my finger slowly down his chest."Hardbacks?" He pulls his hands behind his head and a smug look washes over his face. "Oh, they were hardbacks, all right. And I'm not sure if you're ready for this, but...I have my own TBR pile. You should read it, Fallon. It's huge"

Should it matter what genre it is if the book is good?

A writer should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they’re willing to separate every layer of protection between the author’s soul and their book. The words should come directly from the center of the gut, tearing through flesh and bone as they break free. Ugly and honest and bloody and a little bit terrifying, but completely exposed.

One of the things I love about books is being able to define and condense certain portions of a character's life into chapters. It's intriguing, because you can't do this with real life. You can't just end a chapter, then skip the things you don't want to live through, only to open it up to a chapter that better suits your mood. Life can't be divided into chapters... only minutes. The events of your life are all crammed together one minute right after the other without any time lapses or blank pages or chapter breaks because no matter what happens life just keeps going and moving forward and words keep flowing and truths keep spewing whether you like it or not and life never lets you pause and just catch your fucking breath. I need one of those chapter breaks. I just want to catch my breath, but I have no idea how.

Fallon, we have been dating for two hours now. I can read you like a book, and right now i do believe that book is full of erotica.

Because who wants an incredibly written book sitting on their bookshelf if they have to stare at a shitty cover?

I wish I could explain how I feel, but nothing can explain this moment. Not a vase of stars. Not a book. Not a song. Not even a poem. Nothing can explain the moment when the woman you would give your life for sees her daughter for the very first time.

I kind of like that Samson is a closed book. You can’t really dislike a book you haven’t read yet.

Sure. But if the book sucks, we’re re-evaluating the friendship.

You were just thinking dirty thoughts.” “Was not,” I quip. “Fallon, we’ve been dating for two hours now. I can read you like a book,and right now I do believe that book is full of erotica.

I’m the awkward writer who posts a picture of my book and says, “It’s an okay book. There are words in it. Read it if you want.

I feel vulnerable. I I try to mask my emotions, but I feel like everyone knows what I’m thinking and feeling, and I don’t like it. I don’t like being an open book. I feel like I’m up on the stage, pouring my heart out to him, and it scares the hell out of me.

I even read that book you liked so much. The one with the apple on the cover. Wow! That Edward is…how did you put it…dreamy? 

Seriously though. This female attraction to the alpha-male throws me off a little bit, because I’m not anything like the guys you read about.” Yeah. You’re better. “I could never drive a motorcycle, or fight another man just for fun. And as much as I’ve fantasized about having sex with you this year, I don’t think I could ever say, ‘I own you’, with a straight face. And I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but probably just a small one, because no way in hell I could endure the pain. Overall, the books were interesting but they also made me feel highly inadequate.

I try not to imagine what it would feel like if I leaned forward and kissed her, but with her this close, I’m really wishing I’d have already somehow read every romance novel ever written, because what the hell makes a kiss book-worthy? I need to know so I can make it happen.

I've never been so sure about the rest of my life than I am in this moment. This girl is the rest of my life.

Life can’t be divided into chapters...only minutes. The events of your life are all crammed together one minute right after the other without any time lapses or blank pages or chapter breaks because no matter what happens life just keeps going and moving forward and words keep flowing and truths keep spewing whether you like it or not and life never lets you pause and just catch your fucking breath. I need one of those chapter breaks. I just want to catch my breath, but I have no idea how.

People say not to judge a book by its cover, but what if you somehow read the inside of the book without seeing the cover first? And what if you really liked what was inside the book? Of course when you go to close the book and are about to see the cover for the first time, you hope it's something you'll find attractive. Because who wants an incredibly written book sitting on their bookshelf if they have to stare at a shitty cover?

Dozens of books. I wonder if she’s read them all, or if she just needs them for comfort. Maybe she uses them as an escape from her real life.

I also don't trust people who claim for a classic to be their favorite novel. I think they're lying just to sound educated, or they simply haven't read another book beyond high school English requirements.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Booksting?” “Yeah. When a hot guy talks books with a girl. It’s like sexting, but out loud and with books instead of sex. Nor does it have to do with texts. Okay, so it’s nothing like sexting, but it made sense in my head.

I think maybe she'll realize how fucked up her priorities are, because she's my passion. The book was just an excuse.

My favorite book is God-Shaped Hole. It’s not a classic. It’s better than a classic. It’s a modern-day tragedy. I’ve never read Moby-Dick but I can almost bet it doesn’t leave you feeling like you have less skin than before you opened the book.

Her eyes are like two open books and I suddenly want to devour every page.

I haven’t read any of them, either. Not since her first book.” I spin and look at him. “Really?” “I didn’t like being inside her head.

I enjoy reading books like that because it’s not at all the life I lead. It’s completely different than any situation I’ll ever be in, thank God. But I get entertainment out of it. Because as much as I like to read about a guy telling a girl she’s so, so wet for him...if anyone ever said that to me during sex, I wouldn’t be turned on by it. I would be terrified I accidentally peed on myself.' Ben laughs. 'And if you and I were having sex and you told me you owned me, I would literally crawl out from under you, put on my clothes, walk out of your house, and go puke in your front yard.

It's an actual book-book. Something I thought was lost on this generation of internet fiends.

This poem is very long So long, in fact, that your attention span May be stretched to its very limits But that’s okay It’s what’s so special about poetry See, poetry takes time We live in a time Call it our culture or society It doesn’t matter to me cause neither one rhymes A time where most people don’t want to listen Our throats wait like matchsticks waiting to catch fire Waiting until we can speak No patience to listen But this poem is long It’s so long, in fact, that during the time of this poem You could’ve done any number of other wonderful things You could’ve called your father Call your father You could be writing a postcard right now Write a postcard When was the last time you wrote a postcard? You could be outside You’re probably not too far away from a sunrise or a sunset Watch the sun rise Maybe you could’ve written your own poem A better poem You could have played a tune or sung a song You could have met your neighbor And memorized their name Memorize the name of your neighbor You could’ve drawn a picture (Or, at least, colored one in) You could’ve started a book Or finished a prayer You could’ve talked to God Pray When was the last time you prayed? Really prayed? This is a long poem So long, in fact, that you’ve already spent a minute with it When was the last time you hugged a friend for a minute? Or told them that you love them? Tell your friends you love them …no, I mean it, tell them Say, I love you Say, you make life worth living Because that, is what friends do Of all of the wonderful things that you could’ve done During this very, very long poem You could have connected Maybe you are connecting Maybe we’re connecting See, I believe that the only things that really matter In the grand scheme of life are God and people And if people are made in the image of God Then when you spend your time with people It’s never wasted And in this very long poem I’m trying to let a poem do what a poem does: Make things simpler We don’t need poems to make things more complicated We have each other for that We need poems to remind ourselves of the things that really matter To take time A long time To be alive for the sake of someone else for a single moment Or for many moments Cause we need each other To hold the hands of a broken person All you have to do is meet a person Shake their hand Look in their eyes They are you We are all broken together But these shattered pieces of our existence don’t have to be a mess We just have to care enough to hold our tongues sometimes To sit and listen to a very long poem A story of a life The joy of a friend and the grief of friend To hold and be held And be quiet So, pray Write a postcard Call your parents and forgive them and then thank them Turn off the TV Create art as best as you can Share as much as possible, especially money Tell someone about a very long poem you once heard And how afterward it brought you to them

I told him I wanted to major in creative writing and sit around in yoga pants and do nothing but write books eat ice cream every day.

It’s an okay book. There are words in it. Read it if you want.

I wish I could explain how I feel, but nothing can explain this moment. Not a vase of stars. Not a book. Not a song. Not even a poem. Nothing can explain the moment when the woman you would give your life for sees her daughter for the very first time. Tears are streaming down her face. She’s stroking our baby girl’s cheek, smiling. Crying. Laughing. “I don’t want to count her fingers or toes,” Lake whispers. “I don’t care if she has two toes or three fingers or fifty feet. I love her so much, Will. She’s perfect.” She is perfect. So perfect. “Just like her mom,” I say. I lean my head against Lake’s and we just stare. We stare at the daughter who is so much more than I could have asked for. The daughter who is so much more than I dreamt of. So much more than I ever thought I would have. This girl. This baby girl is my life. Her mother is my life. These girls are both my life. I reach down and pick up her hand. Her tiny fingers reflexively wrap around my pinky and I can’t choke back my tears any longer. “Hey, Julia. It’s me. It’s your daddy.

Please don’t tell me you’re one of those pretentious readers who judge people by the books they like.

That gives him pause. “Will it have a happy ending?” I’m still looking out the window when I say, “It’ll be a book about my life, so I don’t see how it could.

I enjoy reading books like that because it’s not at all the life I lead. It’s completely different than any situation I’ll ever be in, thank God. But I get entertainment out of it. Because as much as I like to read about a guy telling a girl she’s so, so wet for him . . . if anyone ever said that to me during sex, I wouldn’t be turned on by it. I would be terrified I accidentally peed on myself.

You have got to forgive yourself for falling in love with me. We’ve shared a lot of chapters that don’t need to be torn out of our book, simply because there are things in them you don’t like. It’s part of our story. Every single sentence counts toward our happy ending, good or bad.

Enamorarse puede no ser una decisión consciente, pero ahorrarse la situación antes de que suceda lo es. Así que si conozco a alguien del que creo podría enamorarme... voy a alejarme de su presencia hasta que esté lista para ello.

A writer should never have the audacity to write abut themselves unless they are willing to separate every layer of protection between the authors soul and their books.

Reading is a hobby, but for some of us, it's an escape from the difficulties we face.

You told me you read e-books because paperbacks take up too much space in your luggage.

For me, there are three steps to completing each of my books. 1) Start the book and hate everything I write. 2) Keep writing the book despite hating everything I write. 3) Finish the book and pretend I’m happy with it. There’s never a point in my writing process where I feel like I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish, or when I believe I’ve written something everyone needs to read.

Fallon, I don't care about the book. I don't even want to finish it. All I care about is you. Being with you every day. Seeing you every day. I'm not finished falling in love with you yet. But if you don't want to finish falling in love with me, then you need to tell me right now.

I read reviews a lot for the audiobooks I narrate, so I’ve seen the comments about how readers would do anything to make book boyfriends real. Here I am, convinced I’m standing in the arms of one, and I’m about to walk away from him.

Tonight you’re mine. I’ll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day after tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history.' She slaps me in the chest. 'That was a huge spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?' I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. 'Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after.' And then I kiss her. And it’s a twelve.

It pisses me off that you allow something so trivial to define such a huge part of you. I can’t make you pretty in this book, because that would be an insult. You’re fucking beautiful. And you’re funny. And the only times I’m not completely enamored by you are the moments you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Because I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but you’re alive, Fallon. And every time you look in the mirror, you don’t have the right to hate what you see. Because you survived when a lot of people don’t get that lucky. So from now on when you think about your scars, you aren’t allowed to resent them. You’re going to embrace them, because you’re lucky to be on this earth to see them. And any guy you allow to touch your scars better thank you for that privilege.

Normalmente, termino los libros en cuestión de horas, pero esto ha sido lo más difícil que he tenido que leer en mi vida

There was a before you and a during you. For some reason, I never thought there would be an after you.

For me, there are three steps to completing each of my books. 1) Start the book and hate everything I write. 2) Keep writing the book despite hating everything I write. 3) Finish the book and pretend I’m happy with it.

writer should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they’re willing to separate every layer of protection between the author’s soul and their book. The words should come directly from the center of the gut, tearing through flesh and bone as they break free. Ugly and honest and bloody and a little bit terrifying, but completely exposed. An autobiography encouraging the reader to like the author is not a true autobiography. No one is likable from the inside out.

I want to reach over and grab her hand to comfort her. I want to say something reassuring to her. If this were yesterday, I’m sure I would have done that without a second thought. But it’s not yesterday. It’s today, and Charlie and I are complete strangers today.

I’m trying to process the shift from last week to this week and I can’t get past the notion that we might just be too good. Whatever this is and whatever we’re doing seems too good and too right and too perfect and it makes me think of all the books I’ve read and how, when things get too good and too right and too perfect, it’s only because the ugly twist hasn’t yet infiltrated the goodness of it all and I suddenly—

I've spent the last couple of years trying to be a good role model for Diem, so I've read a few books on feminism. I learned that putting too much focus on a girl's looks can be damaging, so instead of telling Diem how pretty I think she is, I put the focus on all the things that matter, like how smart she is and how strong she is. I've tried treating you the same way. It's why I've never complimented your looks before, or told you how fucking beautiful I think you are, but I'm glad I've never told you before this moment, because you've never been more beautiful that you are right now.' I kiss the tip of her nose. 'Happiness looks good on you, Kenna.

I don’t know why I’m surprised when I set the manuscript back in the drawer. The contents of the drawer rattle as I slam it shut angrily. Why am I angry? This isn’t my life or my family. I’d trolled Verity’s reviews before coming here, and in nine out of ten of them, the reviewer referenced wanting to throw their Kindles or books across the room.

Good," I tell her. "Tonight you're mine. I'll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day after tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history." She slaps me in the chest. "That was a huge spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?" I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. "Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after." And then i kiss her. And it's a twelve. Not the end. Far from it.

A maioria das pessoas vem para Nova Iorque para ser descoberta. Nós, os outros, vimos para nos escondermos.

Não penses no motivo que te levou a entrar na corrida, concentra-te na meta.

Seja de que forma eu encare o assunto, é óbvio que a Verity era mestre em manipular a verdade. A única dúvida que fica é: que verdade estava a manipular?

A writer should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they’re willing to separate every layer of protection between the author’s soul and their book.

Get a peek at what married life is like for Layken and Will in This Girl, the third book

I told him I wanted to major in creative writing and sit around in yoga pants and do nothing but write books and eat ice cream every day.

It’s crap that you’re letting one bad year determine your fate for the rest of your life.

A crash. Books fall to the speckled linoleum floor. They

eyes are like two open books and I suddenly want to devour every page.

A writer should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they're willing to separate every layer of protection between the autor's soul and their book.

Os corações partidos ajudam a criar carácter.

Acredito em ti desde o momento em que te conheci. Acredito em mim agora que por fim te deixei.

Por vezes temos de virar as costas à luta para a ganhar.

I’m the awkward writer who posts a picture of my book and says, ‘It’s an okay book. There are words in it. Read it if you want.

As an author, I want to write what I’m inspired to write. Not what my readers want me to write. I feel like the books will ultimately be better if my heart is fully into what I’m writing.

For me, there are three steps to completing each of my books. 1) Start the book and hate everything I write. 2) Keep writing the book despite hating everything I write. 3) Finish the book and pretend I’m happy with it. There’s never a point in my writing process where I feel like I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish, or when I believe I’ve written something everyone needs to read.

I walk in the door to my quiet apartment. I change into my quiet pyjamas. I eat a quiet sandwich. And then I lie down in my quiet bedroom and open my quiet new book, hoping it can quiet my emotions.

Esquece. Não guardes o meu número com um nome falso. Não quero ser o Jason no teu telemóvel, e não quero ser a tua irmã a fingir no cinema. Telefona-me um dia, quando eu puder ser simplesmente a Clara.

No dia em que descobri que estava grávida, deixei de viver para mim. Acho que é chegada a altura de descobrir em quem deveria ter-me tornado antes de ter começado a viver a minha vida por todos os outros.

I’m the one who read your book. And it was good. Phenomenal. Which is why I suggested your name to her editor.” He lowers his head a little, looking me firmly in the eye. “Your writing matters to me, Lowen.

People say not to judge a book by its cover, but what if you somehow read the inside of the book without seeing the cover first? And what if you really liked what was inside that book? Of course when you go too close the book and are about to see the cover for the first time, you hope it's something you'll find attractive. Because who wants an incredibly written book sitting on their bookshelf if they have to stare at a shitty cover?

One of the things I love about books is being able to define and condense certain portions of a character's life into chapters. It’s intriguing, because you can’t do this with real life. You can’t just end a chapter, then skip the things you don’t want to live through, only to open it up to a chapter that better suits your mood. Life can’t be divided into chapters...only minutes. The events of your life are all crammed together one minute right after the other without any time lapses or blank pages or chapter breaks because no matter what happens life just keeps going and moving forward and words keep flowing and truths keep spewing whether you like it or not and life never lets you pause and just catch your fucking breath.

A crash. Books fall to the speckled linoleum floor. They skid a few feet, whirling in circles, and stop near feet. My feet. I don’t recognize the black sandals, or the red toenails, but they move when I tell them to, so they must be mine. Right?

One of the things I love about books is being able to define and condense certain portions of a characters' life into chapters. It’s intriguing, because you can’t do this with real life. You can’t just end a chapter, then skip the things you don’t want to live through, only to open it up to a chapter that better suits your mood. Life can’t be divided into chapters...only minutes.

1) Start the book and hate everything I write. 2) Keep writing the book despite hating everything I write. 3) Finish the book and pretend I’m happy with it. There’s never a point in my writing process where I feel like I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish, or when I believe I’ve written something everyone needs to read. Most of the time, I cry in my shower and stare at my computer screen like a zombie, wondering how so many other authors can promote their books with so much confidence.

This one is called So Be It. I flip through the first few pages, hoping I’ll get lucky and find that it’s an outline for the seventh book in the series. Almost immediately, I can tell that it isn’t. This seems…personal. I flip back to the first page of chapter one and read the first line. I sometimes think back on the night I met Jeremy and wonder, had we not made eye contact, would my life still end the same? As soon as I see Jeremy’s name mentioned, I scan a little more of the page. It’s an autobiography.

The thing I abhor most about autobiographies is the counterfeit thoughts draped over every sentence. A writer should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they’re willing to separate every layer of protection between the author’s soul and their book. The words should come directly from the center of the gut, tearing through flesh and bone as they break free. Ugly and honest and bloody and a little terrifying, but completely exposed. An autobiography encouraging the reader to like the author is not a true autobiography. No one is likable from the inside out.

Tonight you're mine. I'll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day *after* tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history." She slaps me in the chest. "That was a *huge* spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?" I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. "Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after." And then I kissed her *And it's a twelve.* *Not* the end. Far from it. -pg. 307

Tonight you're mine. I'll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day *after* tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history." She slaps me in the chest. "That was a *huge* spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?" I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. "Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after." And then I kissed her. *And it's a twelve.* *Not* the end. Far from it. -pg. 307

One of the things I love about books is being able to define and condense certain portions of a character’s life into chapters. It’s intriguing, because you can’t do this with real life. You can’t just end a chapter, then skip the things you don’t want to live through, only to open it up to a chapter that better suits your mood. Life can’t be divided into chapters… only minutes. The events of your life are all crammed together one minute right after the other without any time lapses or blank pages or chapter breaks because no matter what happens life just keeps going and moving forward and words keep flowing and truths keep spewing whether you like it or not and life never lets you pause and just catch your fucking breath. I need one of those chapter breaks. I just want to catch my breath, but I have no idea how.

I reach down and pick up the bag with my three-year-old gift inside of it. I pull it out and can easily tell it’s a book, wrapped in tissue paper. I tear the tissue paper away and fall against the back of my chair. There’s a picture of Ellen DeGeneres on the front. The title is Seriously… I’m Kidding. I laugh and then open the book, gasping quietly when I see it’s autographed. I run my fingers over the words of the inscription. Lily, Atlas says just keep swimming. —Ellen DeGeneres

People say not to judge a book by its cover, but what if you somehow read the inside of the book without seeing the cover first? And what if you really liked what was inside that book?

Tonight, you’re mine. I’ll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day after tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history.’ She slaps me in the chest. ‘That was a huge spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?’ I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. ‘Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after.’ And then I kissed her. And it’s a twelve. Not the end. Far from it.” -pg. 307

book and says, “It’s an okay book. There are

Since I’ve been trying to win Charlotte back.” Wyatt slugged Joe’s shoulder. “I’ve been reading a lot of them Colleen Hoover romance books while I’m working speed traps. Ain’t no one getting tickets, but I’m learning a lot.” He swigged his beer. “And that lady sure can make me cry,” Wyatt said, shaking his head.

My wife reads all my books first and is my biggest fan, hands down. We have two daughters: thirteen and nine.” Lyra’s response comes after she’s taken a sip of her wine, the glass fogged over with steam from the hot tub’s heat. “Our oldest is just starting to read my books, but she prefers Colleen Hoover.” She snorts.

in the future, by some miracle if you ever find yourself in a position to fall in love again.. fall in love with me

One of the things I love about books is being able to define and condense certain portions of a character’s life into chapters. It’s intriguing, because you can’t do this with real life. You can’t just end a chapter, then skip the things you don’t want to live through, only to open it up to a chapter that better suits your mood. Life can’t be divided into chapters...

You bury me." - Sagan Kattan

A writer should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they are willing to separate every layer of protection between the authors soul and their books.

It’s like reading a book. How you can read an entire page before you realize you didn’t process any of what you read because your thoughts were somewhere else entirely. That’s how it is being in her head. If I want to, I can focus harder and intentionally take in all the information. But I’d rather just be distracted.

I’d trolled Verity’s reviews before coming here, and in nine out of ten of them, the reviewer referenced wanting to throw their Kindles or books across the room.

Verity by Colleen Hoover and The Book of Accidents by Chuck Wendig.’ ‘Ooh, Verity is a bit disturbing but great. I haven’t read the other.

Le acaricio la espalda durante un rato, y luego deslizo los dedos en su pelo, preguntándome cómo es posible que me haga sentir completo, cuando no tenía idea de que solo era la mitad de mí mismo en su ausencia.

Through all of these books, she concluded that girls change more between the ages of sixteen and twenty-three than at any other time in their lives. And it’s important to her that I don’t spend any of these years in love with some guy, because if I do, she fears I’ll never learn how to fall in love with myself.

The problem is love and happiness are not concordant. One can exist without the other.

You don’t need a backup plan because in a few years, you’ll have a bestselling novel to pay your bills.” I hope she doesn’t actually think that. “What’s it called?” she asks. “What’s what called?” “Our book. What’s the title going to be?” “November Nine.

Books and theater," she says, explaining the tattoo. "My two favorite things." - Fallon O'Neil, November 9

People say not to judge a book by its cover, but what if you somehow read the inside of the book without seeing the cover first? And what if you really liked what was inside that book? Of course when you go to close the book and are about to see the cover for the first time, you hope it's something you'll find attractive. Because who wants an incredibly written book sitting on their bookshelf if they have to stare at a shitty cover?

I read a lot of romance, so I know when the timing is right, If we're going to kiss, it has to be book-worthy. After you kiss me, I want you to forget all about that Abitha chick you keep talking about.

A mom isn’t the only thing I want to be. I want to write a book someday.

i read a lot of romance, so i know when the timing is right. if we're going to kiss, it has to be book-worthy.

During the process of writing both Hopeless and Losing Hope, I never expected the type of support and feedback I have received from readers. So many of you have shared your stories with me and have taken the time to let me know how these books helped you overcome your own struggles and “chapter breaks.” For that, I thank each and every one of you who have reached out to me. It’s why I continue to write… because you continue to support me.

My future daughter. I've already named her. Still working on a boy name, though." I roll my eyes. "What if your future wife hates that name?" He slides his hands up my neck and grips my cheeks. "You won't.? Then he kisses me.” (Page 13 “REGRETTING YOU” )

Bare fordi vi ikke endte opp på den samme bølgen, betyr det ikke at vi ikke er del av det samme havet.

Tenk deg alle menneskene man møter i løpet av livet. Det er så mange. De kommer inn som bølger, renner inn og ut med tidevannet. Noen bølger en mye større og gjør større inntrykk enn andre. Noen ganger fører bølgene med seg ting dypt nede fra havbunnen, ting som de siden etterlater seg på stranden. Avtrykk mot sandkornene som beviser at bølgene en gang har vært der, lenge etter at tidevannet har trukket seg tilbake.

Vi er alle bare mennesker som av og til gjør dårlige ting. Ingen er bare dårlige, og ingen er bare gode. Noen er bare nødt til å jobbe hardere med å undertrykket det dårlige.

Enjoy Colleen Hoover’s first two New York Times bestselling books, Slammed and Point of Retreat, and become

It pisses me off that you allow something so trivial to define such a huge part of you. I can’t make you pretty in this book, because that would be an insult. You’re fucking beautiful. And you’re funny. And the only times I’m not completely enamored by you are the moments you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Because I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but you’re alive, Fallon. And every time you look in the mirror, you don’t have the right to hate what you see. Because you survived when a lot of people don’t get that lucky. So from now on when you think about your scars, you aren’t allowed to resent them. You’re going to embrace them, because you’re lucky to be on this earth to see them. And any guy you allow to touch your scars better thank you for that privilege

Some of my favorite scenes from the books I read are those pivotal points in the arc of the story when the guy declares his love for the girl in a huge way. But the way this one little kiss from Ben just left me feeling, I think I’ve been overlooking the best parts of romance novels. Maybe the grand gestures don’t matter nearly as much as all the inconsequential things between the two main characters. It makes me want to go back and reread everything I’ve ever read, now that I’m experiencing these things with someone in real life

That's how Layla made me feel. It was like someone let all the air back into my life when I had no idea I was even suffocating.

My new favorite flavor is Rachel. My new favorite thing is Rachel. I want Rachel for my birthday. I want Rachel for Christmas. I want Rachel for graduation. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. I’m gonna fall in love with you anyway, Rachel.

Lust wants what lust can’t have. My skin feels better with her touching it. My hair feels better with her hands in it. My mouth feels better with her tongue inside of it. I wish we could breathe like this. Live like this. Life would feel better with her like this. Too.

Ugly love becomes you. Consumes you. Makes you hate it all. Makes you realize that all the beautiful parts aren't even worth it. Without the beautiful, you'll never risk feeling the ugly. So you give it all up. You give it all up. You never want love again, no matter what kind it is, because no type of love will ever be worth living through the ugly love again.” ― Colleen Hoover, Ugly Love

I sit down on the bed and pull the book up in my Kindle app.

I don't understand why she woul;d stay with such a cruel person." "I understand her now.

Most of the time, I cry in my shower and stare at my computer screen like a zombie, wondering how so many other authors can promote their books with so much confidence.

Verity never read your book.

I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to be a good role model for Diem, so I’ve read a few books on feminism. I learned that putting too much focus on a girl’s looks can be damaging, so instead of telling Diem how pretty I think she is, I put the focus on all the things that matter, like how smart she is and how strong she is.

I’m suprised to feel tears running down my cheeks. Everytimes I pick up this journal I think I’ll be fine— that it all happened so long ago and I won’t still feel what I felt back then.

I realized maybe Atlas wasn’t supposed to be my whole life. Maybe he was supposed to be a part of it. Maybe love isn’t something that comes full circle. It just ebbs and flows, in and out, just like the people in our lives.

Please do know that this book is not in any way appropriate for children and young teens. This book deals with much darker subjects than my others and includes extreme adult content. Proceed with caution.

You're still my favourite person, Lily. Always will be

It stops here. With me and you. It ends with us. ❤️

The only impressive thing about this apartment is the bookshelf in the living room. It’s lined with dozens of books, which is more of a turn-on to me than anything else that could potentially line his barren walls.

The thing I abhor most about autobiographies is the counterfeit thoughts draped over every sentence. A writer should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they’re willing to separate every layer of protection between the author’s soul and their book. The words should come directly from the center of the gut, tearing through flesh and bone as they break free. Ugly and honest and bloody and a little bit terrifying, but completely exposed. An autobiography encouraging the reader to like the author is not a true autobiography. No one is likable from the inside out. One should only walk away from an autobiography with, at best, an uncomfortable distaste for its author.

It’s like reading a book. How you can read an entire page before you realize you didn’t process any of what you read because your thoughts were somewhere else entirely. That’s how it is being in her head.

It’s like reading a book. How you can read an entire page before you realize you didn’t process any of what you read because your thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

bring my hand back up to her face and touch her impeccable mouth again. “I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to be a good role model for Diem, so I’ve read a few books on feminism. I learned that putting too much focus on a girl’s looks can be damaging, so instead of telling Diem how pretty I think she is, I put the focus on all the things that matter, like how smart she is and how strong she is. I’ve tried treating you the same way. It’s why I’ve never complimented your looks before, or told you how fucking beautiful I think you are, but I’m glad I’ve never told you before this moment, because you’ve never been more beautiful than you are right now.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Happiness looks good on you, Kenna.

I grip the door of her car and lean in to the open window. "Fuck the book, Fallon. It was never about the book. It was about you, it always was.

1) Start the book and hate everything I write. 2) Keep writing the book despite hating everything I write. 3) Finish the book and pretend I’m happy with it.

flip to the next page, but then slam the book shut. There’s only one more entry and I don’t know that I really feel like reading it right now. Or ever. I put the journal back in my closet, knowing that my chapter with Atlas is over. He’s happy now. I’m happy now. Time can definitely heal all wounds. Or at least most of them.

I reach down and pick up the bag with my three-year-old gift inside of it. I pull it out and can easily tell it’s a book, wrapped in tissue paper. I tear the tissue paper away and fall against the back of my chair. There’s a picture of Ellen DeGeneres on the front. The title is Seriously… I’m Kidding. I laugh and then open the book, gasping quietly when I see it’s autographed. I run my fingers over the words of the inscription. Lily, Atlas says just keep swimming. —Ellen DeGeneres I run my finger over her signature. Then I drop the book on my desk, press my forehead against it, and fake cry against the cover.

You're my favorite person too Lily

But most of all, thank you to you, the reader, for reading this book. This year has proven to be a challenging one for the world, so thank you for continuing to turn to art for comfort.

NORA AND LIBBY’S ULTIMATE READING LIST Incense and Sensibility by Sonali Dev The Roughest Draft by Emily Wibberley and Austin Siegemund-Broka Yinka, Where Is Your Huzband? by Lizzie Damilola Blackburn Arsenic and Adobo by Mia P. Manansala A Special Place for Women by Laura Hankin A Thorn in the Saddle by Rebekah Weatherspoon Just Last Night by Mhairi McFarlane An Extraordinary Union by Alyssa Cole The Editor by Steven Rowley The Siren by Katherine St. John A Lot Like Adiós by Alexis Daria Verity by Colleen Hoover The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang Portrait of a Scotsman by Evie Dunmore The Fastest Way to Fall by Denise Williams So We Meet Again by Suzanne Park By the Book by Jasmine Guillory Payback’s A Witch by Lana Harper A Week to Be Wicked by Tessa Dare

This was in the Acknowlegements at the end and I thought it was beautiful! "No matter how whole our neighbors appear on the outside, we have no idea how many broken pieces they're made up of on the inside." "Reading is a hobby, but for some of us, it's an escape from the difficulties we face. To all of you who escape into books, I want to thank you for escaping into this one.

Falloon, we've been dating or two hours now. I can read you like a book, and right now I do believe that book is full of erotica.

You're being selfish by keeping your songs to yourself. It's better to be a selfless somebody than to be a selfish nobody

Will it have a happy ending?” I’m still looking out the window when I say, “It’ll be a book about my life, so I don’t see how it could.

Find what you love and let it kill you

I bend down and pick one up. The cover is dark, of a house and a girl, merging together as one. It’s creepy. I can’t imagine sitting up here alone, reading books like this in the dark.

Who am I? It seems so natural to think thoughts that contain the word I. But each of my thoughts are hollow and weightless, because the word “I” is attached to no one. No name, no face. I am… nothing.

This book is for all of you who love happy ever afters and forgave me for the ending of part one. It was Tarryn’s fault. ~Colleen Hoover

Ela «amou-me» entre aspas Ela beijou-me em negrito Tentei MANTÊ-LA em caixa alta Foi-se embora com reticências... - Benton James Kessler

Quando se encontra o amor, fica-se com ele. Segura-se com as duas mãos e faz-se tudo o que está ao alcance para não o deixar escapar. Não se pode fugir dele e esperar até se estar pronto.

Uma das coisas de que tento sempre lembrar-me é que todos temos cicatrizes. Muitas delas piores que as minhas. A única diferença é que as minhas são visíveis e as da maioria das pessoas não são.

Nunca serás capaz de te encontrar, se estiveres perdida noutra pessoa.

Segundo 9 de Novembro: " As minhas lágrimas e a alma dela vivem vidas paralelas. Correr, sofrer, queimar. Repetir. As minhas lágrimas e a alma dela Vivem vidas paralelas.

Primeiro 9 de Novembro: Sou Translúcido, aquático, À deriva, sem rumo, Ela é uma âncora, afundando no meu mar. " - Benton James Kessler

Quinto 9 de Novembro Tenho os defeitos envoltos na sua compaixão Venerados pela sua falsa perceção E com os seus lábios na minha pele Despirá a minha ilusão. - Benton James Kessler

Mas eu não sabia. E não sei.Por isso, desculpa, Less. Lamento tanto ter-te deixado fingir permanentemente que estavas bem quando era óbvio que estavas longe de o estar. - H

A minha atenção está constantemente direccionada para ela como se eu fosse uma bússola e ela o meu norte.

Não quero que não sinta nada quando a beijo. Quero que sinta tudo. - H

- Eu vivo-te, Sky - digo eu junto dos seus lábios - Vivo-te tudo. - H

Continuaria a amar-te a partir de um planeta diferente.

Amo-te simplesmente porque não o consigo evitar, e sabe-me bem amar-te.

Ela é incrível. Épica.

this kiss is just the beginning of a whole new book. A book where maybe miracles aren’t that far-fetched.

The thing I abhor most about autobiographies are the counterfeit thoughts draped over every sentence. A write should never have the audacity to write about themselves unless they're willing to separate every layer of protection between the author's soul and their book. The words should come directly from the center of the gut, tearing through flesh and bone as they break free. Ugly and honest and bloody and a little bit terrifying but completely exposed. An autobiography encouraging the reader to like the author is not a true autobiography. No one is likeable from the inside out. One should only walk away from an autobiography with, at best, an uncomfortable distaste for its author.

My favorite group on Facebook, Colleen Hoover’s CoHorts. We’re close to eighty thousand members now, yet it still feels like such a close-knit community. When someone is having a bad day, you encourage them. When someone can’t afford a book, you help them. When someone has something to celebrate, you celebrate with them. There is nothing but absolute love and support in this group, and I will defend that ‘til the end. We have no room for negativity or (metaphorical) dicks. But we do have plenty of room for new readers if you want to come check us out. I LOVE YOU, COHORTS!

There’s a picture of Ellen DeGeneres on the front. The title is Seriously… I’m Kidding. I laugh and then open the book, gasping quietly when I see it’s autographed. I run my fingers over the words of the inscription. Lily, Atlas says just keep swimming. —Ellen DeGeneres

And this kiss is just the beginning of a whole new book. A book where maybe miracles aren’t that far-fetched.

When you find love, you take it. You grab it with both hands and you do everything in your power not to let it go. You can't just walk away from it wand expect it to linger until you're ready for it.

I personally think books and movies can be very powerful tools. They can change minds

road as the cabin I’m staying in. I looked up the satellite images for this place before I booked it just to make sure it’s not near another cabin. I don’t want to have to listen to someone else’s loud children screaming at all hours of the day and night. The place where I’m staying looked to be secluded on this road

But I think you’re wrong about books just being for entertainment. I personally think books and movies can be very powerful tools. They can change minds