Eleanor And Park Quotes

Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.

I want everyone to meet you. You're my favorite person of all time.

I just want to break that song into pieces and love them all to death.

I just can’t believe that life would give us to each other,’ he said, ‘and then take it back.’ ‘I can,’ she said. ‘Life’s a bastard.

What are the chances you’d ever meet someone like that? he wondered. Someone you could love forever, someone who would forever love you back? And what did you do when that person was born half a world away? The math seemed impossible.

He made her feel like more than the sum of her parts.

You can be Han Solo," he said, kissing her throat. "And I'll be Boba Fett. I'll cross the sky for you.

You saved me life, she tried to tell him. Not forever, not for good. Probably just temporarily. But you saved my life, and now I'm yours. The me that's me right now is yours. Always.

I don’t like you, Park. Sometimes I think I live for you

..I love your name. I don't want to cheat myself out of a single syllable.

The first time he'd held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt.

If you can’t save your own life, is it even worth saving?

Nothing before you counts," he said. "And I can't even imagine an after." She shook her head. "Don't." "What?" "Don't talk about after." "I just meant that... I want to be the last person who ever kisses you, too.... That sounds bad, like a death threat or something. What I'm trying to say is, you're it. This is it for me.

Nothing was dirty. With Park. Nothing could be shameful. Because Park was the sun, and that was the only way Eleanor could think to explain it.

It was the nicest thing she could imagine. It made her want to have his babies and give him both of her kidneys.

My girlfriend is sad and quiet and keeps me up all night worrying about her.

Can't you just like a girl who likes you back?' 'None of them likes me back. I may as well like the one I really want.

He wound the scarf around his fingers until her hand was hanging in the space between them. Then he slid the silk and his fingers into her open palm. And Eleanor disintegrated.

But it’s up to us …’ he said softly. ‘It’s up to us not to lose this

I don't like you, Park," she said, sounding for a second like she actually meant it. "I..." - her voice nearly disappeared - "think I live for you." He closed his eyes and pressed his head back into his pillow. "I don't think I even breathe when we're not together," she whispered. "Which means, when I see you on Monday morning, it's been like sixty hours since I've taken a breath. That's probably why I'm so crabby, and why I snap at you. All I do when we're apart is think about you, and all I do when we're together is panic. Because every second feels so important. And because I'm so out of control, I can't help myself. I'm not even mine anymore, I'm yours, and what if you decide that you don't want me? How could you want me like I want you?" He was quiet. He wanted everything she'd just said to be the last thing he heard. He wanted to fall asleep with 'I want you' in his ears.

And because I’m so out of control, I can’t help myself. I’m not even mine anymore, I’m yours, and what if you decide that you don’t want me? How could you want me like I want you?

Don't bite his face, Eleanor told herself. It's disturbing and needy and never happens in situation comedies or movies that end with big kisses.

You think that holding someone hard will bring them closer. You think that you can hold them so hard that you'll still feel them, embossed on you, when you pull away. Every time Eleanor pulled away from Park, she felt the gasping loss of him.

Bono met his wife in high school," Park says. "So did Jerry Lee Lewis," Eleanor answers. "I’m not kidding," he says. "You should be," she says, "we’re sixteen." "What about Romeo and Juliet?" "Shallow, confused," then dead. "I love you, Park says. "Wherefore art thou," Eleanor answers. "I’m not kidding," he says. "You should be.

Maybe Park had paralyzed her with his ninja magic, his Vulcan handhold, and now he was going to eat her. That would be awesome.

...and his eyes were so green they could turn carbon dioxide into oxygen.

He'd stopped trying to bring her back. She only came back when she felt like it anyway, in dreams and lies and broken-down déjà vu.

I'm sorry about yesterday," she said. He hung on to his straps and shrugged. "Yesterday happens.

I miss you, Eleanor. I want to be with you all the time. You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, and the funniest, and everything you do surprises me. And I wish I could say that those are the reasons I like you, because that would make me sound like a really evolved human being …‘But I think it’s got as much to do with your hair being red and your hands being soft … and the fact that you smell like homemade birthday cake

I look like a hobo?" "Worse," he said. "Like a sad hobo clown." "And you like it?" "I love it." As soon as he said it, she broke into a smile. And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him. Something always did.

And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him. Something always did.

Or maybe, he thought now, he just didn't recognize all those other girls. The way a computer drive will spit out a disk if it doesn't recognize the formatting. When he touched Eleanor's hand, he recognized her. He knew.

She wanted to lose herself in him. To tie his arms around her like a tourniquet. If she showed him how much she needed him, he'd run away.

Damn, damn, damn," she said. "I never said why I like you, and now I have to go." "That's okay," he said. "It's because you're kind," she said. "And because you get all my jokes..." "Okay." He laughed. "And you're smarter than I am." "I am not." "And you look like a protagonist." She was talking as fast as she could think. "You look like the person who wins in the end. You're so pretty, and so good. You have magic eyes," she whispered. "And you make me feel like a cannibal." "You're crazy." "I have to go." She leaned over so the receiver was close to the base. "Eleanor - wait," Park said. She could hear her dad in the kitchen and her heartbeat everywhere. "Eleanor - wait - I love you.

You think I'm cute?" He said thinkly, pulling on her hand. She was glad he couldn't see her face. "I think you're..." Beautiful. Breathtaking. Like the person in a Greek myth who makes one of the gods stop caring about being a god.

I might not use capital letters. But I would definitely use an apostrophe…and probably a period. I’m a huge fan of punctuation.

The me that's me right now is yours. Always.

He tried to remember how this happened—how she went from someone he’d never met to the only one who mattered.

There’s no such thing as handsome princes, she told herself. There’s no such thing as happily ever after.

You look like a protagonist.

Park was never going to love her more than he did on the day they said goodbye. And she couldn’t bear to think of him loving her less.

Then Park reached up and wrapped one of her red curls around his honey finger. "Back to missing you," he said, letting it go.

You act like there are two kinds of girls,' she said. 'The smart ones and the ones that boys like.

You look different. You look unsettling.’ ‘You look like you,’ he said. ‘You with the volume turned up.

What do you want to show me?" "Nothing, really. I just want to be alone with you for a minute." He pulled her to the back of the driveway, where they were almost completely hidden by a line of trees and the RV and the garage. "Seriously?" she said. "That was so lame." "I know," he said, turning to her. "Next time, I'll just say, 'Eleanor, follow me down this dark alley, I want to kiss you.'" She didn't roll her eyes. She took a breath, then closed her mouth. He was learning how to catch her off guard. She pushed her hands deeper in her pockets, so he put his hands on her elbows. "Next time," he said, "I'll just say, 'Eleanor, duck behind these bushes with me, I'm going to lose my mind if I don't kiss you.'" She didn't move, so he thought it was probably okay to touch her face. Her skin was as soft as it looked, white and smooth as freckled porcelain. "I'll just say, 'Eleanor, follow me down this rabbit hole...'" He laid his thumb on her lips to see if she'd pull away. She didn't. He leaned closer. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn't trust her not to leave him standing there.

It was like their lives were overlapping lines, like they had their own gravity. Usually, that serendipity thing felt like the nicest thing the universe had ever done for her.

But the explanations fell apart in her hands. Everything true was too hard to write--he was too much to lose. Everything she felt for him was too hot to touch.

Dumb. He should have gotten the pen. Jewelry was so public... and personal, which was why he'd bought it. He couldn't buy Eleanor a pen. Or a bookmark. He didn't have bookmarklike feelings for her.

Nothing before you counts,” he said. “And I can’t even imagine an after.

She bent her neck back and kissed him like she never had before. Like she wasn't scared of doing it wrong.

Eleanor,” he said, just because he liked saying it, “why do you like me?” “I don’t like you.” He waited. And waited… Then he started to laugh. “You’re kind of mean,” he said. “Don’t laugh. It just encourages me.

We're going to listen music in my room.' 'Fine,' his dad said from underneath the sink. 'Just don't get anybody pregnant.

It's our last chance. No. No, I can't... I, no, I need to believe that it isn't our last chance... Eleanor? Can you hear me? I need you to believe it, too.

Everytime, he breaks your heart. And everytime, he expects me to pick up the pieces.

He wished that they could go through life like this. That he could physically put himself between Eleanor and the world.

Eleanor hadn't written him a letter. It was a postcard. GREETINGS FROM THE LAND OF 10,000 LAKES it said on the front. Park turned it over and recognized her scratchy handwriting. It filled his head with song lyrics. He sat up. He smiled. Something heavy and winged took off from his chest. Eleanor hadn't written him a letter, it was a postcard. Just three words long.

I love you," he said. She looked up at him, her eyes shiny and black, then looked away. "I know," she said. He pulled one of his arms out from under her and traced her outline against the couch. He could spend all day like this, running his hand down her ribs, into her waist, out to her hips and back again.... If he had all day, he would. If she weren't made of so many other miracles. "You know?" he repeated. She smiled, so he kissed her. "You're not the Han Solo in this relationship, you know." "I'm totally the Han Solo," she whispered. It was good to hear her. It was good to remember it was Eleanor under all this new flesh. "Well, I'm not the Princess Leia," he said. "Don't get so hung up on gender roles," Eleanor said.

Goodbye. Just tonight. Not ever.

There was something about the music on that tape. It felt different. Like, it set her lungs and her stomach on edge. There was something exciting about it, and something nervous. It made Eleanor feel like everything, like the world, wasn't what she'd thought it was. And that was a good thing. That was the greatest thing.

Looks like somebody's got jungle fever.' 'That's not even the right kind of racist.

And you look like a protagonist...You look like the person who wins in the end

Eleanor's hair caught fire at dawn. Her eyes were dark and shining, and his arms were sure of her. The first time he touched her hand, he'd known.

It’s going to be okay,” Park said. She nodded. “Right.” “Because I love you.” She laughed. “Is that why?” “It is, actually.

She never felt like she belonged anywhere,except for when she was lying on her bed, pretending to be somewhere else.

She saw him after seventh hour in a place she'd never seen him before, carrying a microscope down the hall on the third floor. It was at least twice as nice as seeing him somewhere she expected him to be.

The world turned itself into a better place around him.

Art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

Park had the sort of face you painted because you didn't want history to forget it.

Eleanor had never thought about killing herself – ever – but she thought a lot about stopping. Just running until she couldn’t run anymore. Jumping from something so high that she’d never hit the bottom.

There's no reason to think we're going to stop loving each other,' he said. 'And there's every reason to think that we won't.

All of her bones seemed more purposeful than other people’s. Like they weren’t just there to hold her up, they were there to make a point.

But he kept finding new pockets of shallow inside himself. He kept finding new ways to betray her.

Because being assaulted with maxi pads is a great way to win friends and influence people.

I'm not even mine anymore, I'm yours, and what if you decide that you don't want me? How could you want me like I want you?

Me has salvado la vida, trató de decirle. No para siempre, no para bien. Probablemente sólo temporalmente. Pero me has salvado la vida y ahora soy tuya. Todo lo que soy ahora es tuya. Por siempre.

She didn't know there were things worse than selfish.

There's only one of him, she thought, and he's right here. He knows I'll like a song before I've heard it. He laughs before I even get to the punch line. There's a place on his chest, just below his throat, that makes me want to let him open doors for me. There's only one of him.

I don’t think there’s enough of her left.

His eyes missed her as much as the rest of him.

His parents never talked about how they met, but when Park was younger, he used to try to imagine it. He loved how much they loved each other. It was the thing he thought about when he woke up scared in the middle of the night. Not that they loved him--they were his parents, they had to love him. That they loved each other. They didn't have to do that.

Oh, fine, Eleanor thought. The children of hell shan’t go hungry on my watch.

They agreed about everything important and argued about everything else.

I'm not ready for you to stop being my problem.

I don’t know how to say good-bye to you,” she said. He smoothed her hair off her face. He’d never seen her so fair. “Then don’t.” “But I have to go.…” “So go,” he said with his hands on her cheeks. “But don’t say good-bye. It’s not good-bye.

Ophelia was bonkers, right? And Juliet was what, a sixth-grader?

Hey,' he said. It came out hard and frustrated. 'I told you to smile because you're pretty when you smile.' She walked to the bottom of the steps, then looked back at him. 'It'd be better if you thought I was pretty when I don't.

Ah...' Park said, pained. 'What?' 'Those are alphabetized.' 'It's okay. I know the alphabet.' 'Right.' He looked embarrassed. 'Sorry.

Ever since the first day they'd met, Eleanor was always seeing him in unexpected places. It was like their lives were overlapping lines, like they had their own gravity. Usually, that serendipity felt like the nicest thing the universe had ever done for her.

Until this moment, she’d kept Park in a place in her head that she thought Richie couldn't get to. Completely separate from this house and everything that happened here. (It was a pretty awesome place. Like the only part of her head fit for praying.)

That girl--all of them--hated Eleanor before they'd even laid eyes on her. Like they'd been hired to kill her in a past life.

¿Cuáles son las posibilidades de que alguna vez conozcas a alguien así?, se preguntó. ¿Alguien a quien podrías amar para siempre, alguien que siempre te amaría en respuesta? ¿Y qué hacías cuando esa persona nacía al otro lado del mundo?

Eleanor tenía razón. Ella nunca se veía bien. Se veía como el arte, y no se suponía que el arte se viese bien, sino que se suponía que te hiciese sentir algo.

This is new to us, you know? Your mother's sorry. She's sorry that she hurt your feelings, and she wants you to invite your girlfriend over for dinner." "So that she can make her feel bad and weird?" "Well she is kind of weird, isn't she?" Park didn't have the energy to be angry. He sighed and let his head fall back on the chair. His dad kept talking. "Isn't that why you like her?

You can ask me why I need you, but I don’t know. I just know that I do … I miss you, Eleanor. I want to be with you all the time. You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, and the funniest, and everything you do surprises me. And I wish I could say that those are the reasons I like you, because that would make me sound like a really evolved human being … But I think it’s got as much to do with your hair being red and your hands being soft … and the fact that you smell like homemade birthday cake.

Stop asking that," she said angrily. There was no stopping the tears now. "You always ask that. Why. Like there’s an answer for everything. Not everybody has your life, you know, or your family. In your life, things happen for reasons. People make sense. But that’s not my life. Nobody in my life makes sense …

All through first and second and third hour, Eleanor rubbed her palm. Nothing happened. How could it be possible that there were that many never ending all in one place? And were they always there, or did they just flip on wherever they felt like it? Because, if they were always there, how did she manage to turn doorknobs without fainting? Maybe this was why so many people said it felt better to drive a stick shift.

They’re still going to make fun of me," she blurted. "This fight doesn’t change that. You can’t start kicking people every time someone thinks I’m weird or ugly … Promise me you won’t try. Promise me that you’ll try not to care." He pulled on her hand again, and shook his head, gingerly. "Because it doesn’t matter to me, Park. If you like me," she said, "I swear to God, nothing else matters.

There were moments - not just today, moments every day since they'd met - when Eleanor made him self-conscious, when he saw people talking and he was sure they were talking about them. Raucous moments on the bus when he was sure that everyone was laughing at them. And in those moments, Park thought about pulling back from her. Not breaking up with her. That phrase didn't even seem to apply here. Just ... easing away. Recovering the six inches between them. He'd roll the thought over in his head until the next time he saw her alone in the cafeteria. Whenever he saw Eleanor, he couldn't think about pulling away. He couldn't think about anything at all. Except touching her.

—No me gustas, Park —dijo ella, sonando por un segundo como si lo dijera realmente en serio—. Yo… —Su voz casi desapareció—, a veces creo que vivo por ti. Él cerró los ojos y arqueó la cabeza en su almohada. —No creo que siquiera pueda respirar si no estamos juntos —susurró—. Lo que quiere decir, que cuando te vea el lunes a la mañana, habrán pasado como sesenta horas desde que he respirado. Esa es probablemente la razón por la que estoy tan gruñona, y por qué te grito. Todo lo que hago cuando estamos separados es pensar en ti, y todo lo que hago cuando estamos juntos es entrar en pánico. Porque cada segundo se siente tan importante. Y porque estoy tan fuera de control, no puedo evitarlo. Ni siquiera me pertenezco, soy tuya, ¿y qué si decides que no me quieres? ¿Cómo podrías quererme como te quiero?