Colleen Hoover Weird Quotes

I love how you aren't weird and awkward, despite the fact that you've been severely cut off from socialization to the point where you make the Amish look trendy.

It’s weird how your whole life can completely change in the hours between waking up and going to bed.

I know that’s weird, but that’s what you love about me. You love how much I love you. Because yes. I love you way too much. More than anyone deserves to be loved. But I can’t help it. You make normal love hard. You make me psycho-love you.

He laughs with relief. “Yes.” The word yes is so much more beautiful coming from his mouth, laced with that voice. He could probably make any word beautiful. I try to think of a word I hate. I kind of hate the word ox. It’s an ugly word. Too short and clipped. I wonder if his voice could make me love that word. “Say the word ox.” His eyebrow rises, like he’s wondering if he heard me right. He thinks I’m weird. I don’t care. “Just say it,” I tell him. “Ox,” he says, with slight hesitation. I smile. I love the word ox. It’s my new favorite word.

Before, when I looked at her, she was just the girl who as experiencing this weird phenomenon with me. Now when I look at her, she's the girl I've apparently made love to for a while. The girl I apparently still love. I just wish I could remember what it's supposed to feel like.

It’s weird, though, isn’t it? Why do people judge other people based on how tightly their skin clings to their bones?

I had fun today,” he says. “You’re kind of weird.

Hey!" I yell. Everyone turns around and looks at us. I glance at Six and her eyes are wide. I inhale a deep breath, then turn back to the table. Specifically to Holder. "She fist bumped me,"I say, pointing at Six. "It's not my fault. She hates purses and she fist bumped me, then she made me push her on the damn merry-go-round. After that, she demanded to see where I had sex in the park, then she forced me to sneak into my own bedroom. She's weird and half the time I can't keep up with her, but she thinks I'm funny as hell. And Chunk asked me this morning if I wanted to love her someday, and I realized I've never hoped I could love someone more than I want to love her. So every single one of you who has an issue with us dating is going to have to get over it because..." I pause and turn toward Six. "Because you fist bumped me and I could care less who knows we're together. I'm not going anywhere and I don't want to go anywhere so stop thinking I'm into you because I'm not supposed to be into you." I lift my hands and tilt her face toward mine. "I'm into you because you're awesome. And because you let me accidentally touch your boob." She's smiling wider than I've ever seen her smile. "Daniel Wesley, where'd you learn those smooth moves?" I laugh. "Not moves, Six. Charisma.

It’s weirding me out, to be honest. Is this the moment you break the ultimate boyfriend illusion and tell me you knocked up my cousin while we were on a break?

It’s weird, having thoughts of divorcing someone I’m in love with.

It’s weird and normal and hot and sad and strange and I don’t really want to let go.

You got a tattoo?” It’s the third time I’ve asked Holder the same question, but I just don’t believe it. It’s out of character for him. Especially since I’m not the one who encouraged it. “Jesus, Daniel,” he groans on the other end of the line. “Stop. And stop asking me why.” “It’s just a weird thing to tattoo on yourself. Hopeless. It’s a very depressing term. But still, I’m impressed.” “I gotta go. I’ll call you later this week.” I sigh into the phone. “God, this sucks, man. The only good thing about this entire school since you moved is fifth period.

Elaborate. Lots of things could be considered weird, so I’m not sure what you’re referring to.

Weird how his potential discomfort brings me comfort.

Everything you do is weird,” he says. But before I can reflect too much on that comment, he says, “It’s my favorite thing about you.

Life is weird. One day you’re staring at your dead mother and a few days later you’re building a sandcastle on the beach by yourself in the dark with a dog named after a cheese.

you have the most incredible bone structure, and I know that's a weird compliment, but it's true.

I hate that things are weird between us, even though nothing has happened that I’m aware of that would make them weird.

So? Who’s the lucky guy?” “He’s…” My voice falters. This is all so weird. My chest is still constricted and my stomach is flipping, and I can’t tell if it’s leftover nerves from kissing Ryle or if it’s the presence of Atlas. “His name is Ryle. We met about a year ago.” I instantly regret saying we met that long ago. It makes it sound like Ryle and I have been dating that long and we aren’t even officially dating. “What about you? Married? Have a girlfriend?” I’m not sure if I’m asking to extend the conversation he started, or if I’m genuinely curious. “I do, actually. Her name is Cassie. We’ve been together almost a year now.” Heartburn. I think I have heartburn. A year? I place my hand on my chest and nod. “That’s good. You seem happy.” Does he seem happy? I have no idea. “Yeah. Well… I’m really glad I got to see you, Lily.” He turns around to walk away, but then spins and faces me again, his hands shoved in his back pockets. “I will say… I kind of wish this could have happened a year ago.” I wince at his words, trying not to let them penetrate. He turns and walks back toward the restaurant.

But I get it. It’s weird, though, isn’t it? Why do people judge other people based on how tightly their skin clings to their bones?

I’m just . . . nothing. I’m thoughts. Feelings. But they’re not really attached to anything tangible. It’s weird, I guess, but it’s all I know.

We’re so weird,” he says. “I know.

Let’s just be Sloan and Luke today, okay?” I raise an eyebrow. “Luke? Who is Luke? Are we role playing?” His jaw twitches and he says, “I mean Carter. I used to go by my middle name when I was younger. Hard habit to break.” I shake my head and laugh. “Do I make you that flustered that you can’t even remember which name you go by?” He grips my hand tighter and smiles. “Stop making fun of me. And don’t ever call me Luke. Only my grandfather called me Luke and it’s weird.” “Okay, but I’m not gonna lie. I kind of like Luke. Luke.” He reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Sloan and Carter. Let’s be Sloan and Carter today,” he corrects again. “Which one am I?” I tease. “Sloan or Carter?” He laughs, then unbuckles his seatbelt and leans across the seat. He presses his mouth to my ear and slides the palm of his hand over my thigh. I hold my breath and grip the steering wheel when he whispers, “You be Sloan. I’ll be Carter. And on our way home this afternoon, we’ll pull over somewhere quiet and you can be Sloan in the back seat with Carter. Sound good?” I exhale with my nod. “Uh-huh.

Ridge: Don’t apologize. I like that you’re interested enough to ask me about it. Most people are a little weirded out by it, so they don’t say anything at all. I’ve noticed it’s kind of hard to make friends, but that’s also a good thing. The few friends I do have are genuine, so I look at it as an easy way of weeding out all the shallow, ignorant assholes.

Weird how his potential discomfort brings me comfort. I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.

It's weird, I used to be fine when I was alone. But now that I have you, I'm lonely when I'm alone.