Fangirl Quotes

I don’t trust anybody. Not anybody. And the more that I care about someone, the more sure I am they’re going to get tired of me and take off.

In new situations, all the trickiest rules are the ones nobody bothers to explain to you. (And the ones you can't Google.)

To really be a nerd, she'd decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one.

Just... isn't giving up allowed sometimes? Isn't it okay to say, ‘This really hurts, so I’m going to stop trying’?” “It sets a dangerous precedent.” “For avoiding pain?” “For avoiding life.

It's the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and mildly socially retarded, I'm a complete disaster.

Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not cheesy,” Wren said. “It’s the noblest, like, the most courageous thing two people can shoot for.

Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision.

I choose you over everyone.

I miss you." "That's stupid," she said. "I saw you this morning." "It's not the time," Levi said, and she could hear that he was smiling." It's the distance.

You’ve read the books?” “I’ve seen the movies.” Cath rolled her eyes so hard, it hurt. (Actually.) (Maybe because she was still on the edge of tears. On the edge, period.) “So you haven’t read the books.” “I’m not really a book person.” “That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said to me

You give away nice like it doesn't cost you anything.

Reagan was sitting up at Cath's desk when Cath woke up. "Are you awake?" "Have you been watching me sleep?" "Yes, Bella. Are you awake?" "No.

You’re never going to find a guy who’s exactly like you—first of all, because that guy never leaves his dorm room.

I feel sorry for you, and I'm going to be your friend." "I don't want to be your friend," Cath said as sternly as she could. "I like that we're not friends." "Me, too. I'm sorry you ruined it by being so pathetic.

How do you not like the Internet? That's like saying, 'I don't like things that are convenient. And easy. I don't like having access to all of mankind's recorded discoveries at my fingertips. I don't like light. And knowledge.

Sometimes writing is running downhill, your fingers jerking behind you on the keyboard the way your legs do when they can’t quite keep up with gravity.

She smiled, and her eyes started to drift downward. "Cather..." Back up to his eyes. "You know that I'm falling in love with you, right?

That moment," she told Cath, "when you realize that a guy's looking at you differently—that you're taking up more space in his field of vision. That moment when you know he can't see past you anymore.

Because I'm the kind of girl who fantasizes about being trapped in a library overnight.

But you're so helpless sometimes. It's like watching a kitten with its head trapped in a Kleenex box.

It's okay if you're crazy," he said softly. "You don't even know-" "I don't have to know," he said. "I'm rooting for you.

I don’t just kiss people. Kisses aren’t... just with me.

Cath felt like she was swimming in words. Drowning in them, sometimes.

There are other people on the Internet. It's awesome. You get all the benefits of 'other people' without the body odor and the eye contact.

I don't want to do anything. I don't even want to start this day because then I'll just be expected to finish it.

No," Cath said, "Seriously. Look at you. You’ve got your shit together, you’re not scared of anything. I’m scared of everything. And I’m crazy. Like maybe you think I’m a little crazy, but I only ever let people see the tip of my crazy iceberg. Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and socially inept, I’m a complete disaster.

You look so blindingly cute right now, I feel like I need to make a pinhole in a piece of paper just to look at you.

That's the ultimate kind of broken. The kind of damage you never recover from.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," he said.

I touch the tip of my finger to his lips. "There are secrets in here," I say. "I want them out." He tries to bite my finger. I steal it back.

What's the plan?" she asked. He grinned. "My plan is to do things that make you want to hang out with me again tomorrow. What's your plan?" "I'm going to try not to make an ass of myself." He grinned. "So we're all set.

Smiling is confusing, she thought. This is why I don’t do it.

You can’t take back texts. If you come off all moody and melancholy in a text, it just sits there in your phone, reminding you of what a drag you are.

Take off your glasses." "Why? I thought you liked my glassess." "I love your glasses. I especially love the moment when you take them off.

I'd rather be broken than wasted.

Months are different in college, especially freshman year. Too much happens. Every freshman month equals six regular months—they're like dog months.

And sometimes you held somebody’s hand just to prove that you were still alive, and that another human being was there to testify to that fact.

It’s just... everything. There are too many people. And I don’t fit in. I don’t know how to be. Nothing that I’m good at is the sort of thing that matters there. Being smart doesn't matter—and being good with words. And when those things do matter, it’s only because people want something from me. Not because they want me.

Don't make me angry-kiss you.

I'd rather pour myself into a world I love and understand than try to make something up out of nothing.

Are you on drugs?” “No.” “Maybe you should be.…

How do you feel when I smile at you?" he asked - and then he did smile at her, just a little. Not like myself, Cath thought. "Like an idiot," she said softly. "And I never want it to stop.

Maybe 'Okay' will be our 'always'...

I don't like hello. It makes me sound like I have dementia, like I've never heard a phone ring before and I don't know what's supposed to happen next. Hello?

I always get lost in the library,' he said, 'no matter how many times I go. In fact, I think I get lost there more, the more that I go. Like it's getting to know me and revealing new passages.

Emergency dance party--go away.

I’d give you the moon right now,” she said. Levi’s eyes flashed happily, and he hitched up an eyebrow. “Yeah, but would you slay it for me?

Why do we write fiction?" Professor Piper asked. Cath looked down at her notebook. To disappear.

I wonder…,” she said, “if there was such a thing as time machines, would anyone ever use them to go to the future?

She was tired of being the one who cried.

I just want to know—are you rooting for me? Are you hoping I pull this off?" Cath's eyes settled on his, tentatively, like they'd fly away if he moved. She nodded her head. The right side of his mouth pulled up. "I'm rooting for you," she whispered. She wasn't even sure he could hear her from the bed. Levi's smile broke free and devoured his whole face.

You can park your snark at the gate, Omaha.

Cath couldn't stop thinking about Levi and his ten thousand smiles.

She didn't have words for what Levi was. He was a cave painting. He was The Red Ballon. She lifted her heels and pulled him forward until his face was so close, she could look at only one of his eyes at a time. "You're magic," she said.

I don’t think I’m any good at this. Boy–girl. Person–person. I don’t trust anybody. Not anybody. And the more that I care about someone, the more sure I am they’re going to get tired of me and take off.

The small hand of a clock taps me at one and two, three and four, whispering hello, get up, stand up, it's time to wake up wake up "Wake up," he whispers.

Reading is not lonely.

That was the beauty in stacking up words--they got cheaper, the more you had of them.

No, I know,” Levi said. “But it’s not you. You don’t push through every moment. You pay attention. You take everything in. I like that about you—I like that better.” Cath closed her eyes and felt tears catch on her cheeks. “I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather.” He kissed her mouth. “Look at me.” She did. “I choose you over everyone.

You flirt with everything." She could tell that her eyes were popping-- her eyeballs actually felt cold around the edges. "You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between.

I mean, it's not like he's Damon Salvatore hot

The squirrels on campus were beyond domestic; they were practically domestically abusive.

What if I promise not to touch you?" "Cath laughed. "Now I have zero incentive to come." "What if I promise to let you touch me first?" "Are you kidding? I'm the untrustworthy person in this relationship. I'm all hands." "I've seen no evidence of that, Cath." "In my head, I'm all hands." "I want to live in your head.

Drunk nerds. Not my thing.” “You like nerds.” “Not nerds who join fraternities,” Cath said. “That’s a whole subclass of nerds that I’m not interested in.

You win when no one finds you, even if they're not looking.

I'm just really active in the fandom." "What the fuck is 'the fandom'?

Reagan scowled at Cath. "Are you Zack, or are you Cody?

I didn't want to like him back. I tried to be mean to him." "I thought you were just mean," Reagan said. "I liked that about you.

Well,” she said. “I’m frustrated.” “Don’t make me angry-kiss you.” “Give me the laundry.” “Tempers rising, faces flushed … This is how it happens.

In some cases, she was actively trying not to make friends, though she usually stopped short of being rude. (Uptight, tense, and mildly misanthropic? Yes. Rude? No.)

So why aren’t you living with your sister?” “She wanted to meet new people,” Cath said. “You make it sound like she broke up with you.

When I’m writing my own stuff, it’s like swimming upstream. Or … falling down a cliff and grabbing at branches, trying to invent the branches as I fall.

Have you ever heard sculptors say that they don’t actually sculpt an object; they sculpt away everything that isn’t the object?

I know what it’s like to be distracted. To seek out distractions. To exhaust yourself doing every other little thing rather than face a blank page

I object to every single thing you just said.

Levi's eyebrows were pornographic. If Cath were making this decision just on eyebrows, she would have been "up to his room" a long time ago.

If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends.

What about him?” she’d say, finding an attractive guy to point out while they were standing in the lunch line. “Do you want to kiss him?” “I don’t want to kiss a stranger,” Cath would answer. “I’m not interested in lips out of context.

She carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be.

The whole point of fanfiction is that you get to play inside somebody else's universe. Rewrite the rules. Or bend them. The story doesn't have to end. You can stay in this world, this world you love, as long as you want, as long as you keep thinking of new stories.

Drinking tequila is more about the journey than the destination

I spent four months trying to kiss you and the last six weeks trying to figure out how I managed to fuck everything up.

You're wearing at least four different kinds of sweater." "This is a scarf." "You look tarred and sweatered.

What’s wrong with Starbucks?" “It's a big, faceless corporation.” He raised a good-natured brow. “So far, they've let me keep my face.

What's that thing you wrote about Simon once, that his eyes followed Baz 'like he was the brightest thing in the room, like he cast everything else into shadow'? That's you. You can't look away from him.

Knowing they were in the same city again made the missing him flare up inside her. In her stomach. Why were people always going on and on about the heart? Almost everything Levi happened in Cath’s stomach.

The professor leaned forward. “But there’s nothing more profound than creating something out of nothing.” Her lovely face turned fierce. “Think about it Cath. That’s what makes a god—or a mother. There’s nothing more intoxicating than creating something from nothing. Creating something from yourself.

He already knows what I look like," Cath said. "There's no point in being tricky about it now." "How is doing your hair--and maybe putting on some lip gloss--being tricky?" "It's like I'm trying to distract him with something shiny.

Maybe we should go on lots of double dates,” Cath said, “and then we can get married on the same day in a double ceremony, in matching dresses, and the four of us will light the unity candle all at the same time.” “Pfft,” Levi said, “I’m picking out my own dress.

That's not the point," he said. "What kind of creep would I be if I let my girl carry something heavy while I walked along, swinging my arms?" Your girl? "The kind that respects my wishes," she said. "And my strength, and my... arms." Levi grinned some more. Because he wasn't taking her seriously. "I have a lot of respect for your arms. I like how they're attached to the rest of you.

Never give up on your dreams, and never let anyone tell you that what you love is inconsequential or useless or a waste of time. Because if you love it? If that OTP or children's card game or abridged series or YA book or animated series makes you happy? That is never a waste of time. Because in the end we're all just a bunch of weirdos standing in front of other weirdos, asking for their username.

He's looking at the wall and at the floor and at the bedsheets and at the way his knuckles look when he clenches his fist but no not at me he won't look at me and his next words are so, so soft. "Because they're dead, love. They're all dead.

You look ridiculous,” Wren said. “What?” “That shirt.” It was a Hello Kitty shirt from eighth or ninth grade. Hello Kitty dressed as a superhero. It said SUPER CAT on the back, and Wren had added an H with fabric paint. The shirt was cropped too short to begin with, and it didn’t really fit anymore. Cath pulled it down self-consciously. “Cath!” her dad shouted from downstairs. “Phone.” Cath picked up her cell phone and looked at it “He must mean the house phone,” Wren said. “Who calls the house phone?” “Probably 2005. I think it wants its shirt back.

Honey, I've watched a lot of 90210. The parents weren't even on the show once Brandon and Brenda went to college. This is your time - you're supposed to going to frat parties and getting back together with Dylan." "Why does everybody want me to go to frat parties?" "Who wants you to go to frat parties? I was just kidding. Don't hang out with frat guys, Cath, they're terrible. All they do is get drunk and watch 90210.

The ultimate act of heroism shouldn’t be death. You’re always saying you want to give Baz the stories he deserves... So you’re going to kill him off? Isn’t the best revenge supposed to be a life well-lived? The punk-rock way to end it would be to let them live happily ever after.

I adore the way fan fiction writers engage with and critique source texts, by manipulating them and breaking their rules. Some of it is straight-up homage, but a lot of [fan fiction] is really aggressive towards the source text. One tends to think of it as written by total fanboys and fangirls as a kind of worshipful act, but a lot of times you’ll read these stories and it’ll be like ‘What if Star Trek had an openly gay character on the bridge?’ And of course the point is that they don’t, and they wouldn’t, because they don’t have the balls, or they are beholden to their advertisers, or whatever. There’s a powerful critique, almost punk-like anger, being expressed there—which I find fascinating and interesting and cool.

Cath ran her fingers along the cover, over the raised gold type. Then someone else ran right into her, pushing the book into Cath's chest. Pushing two books into her chest. Cath looked up just as Wren threw an arm around her. "They're both crying," Cath heard Reagan say. "I can't even watch." Cath freed an arm to wrap around her sister. "I can't believe it's really over," she whispered. Wren held her tight and shook her head. She really was crying, too. "Don't be so melodramatic, Cath," Wren laughed hoarsely. "It's never over... It's Simon.

As far as Reagan was concerned, Cath was already problematically weird. "It's bad enough that you have homemade Simon Snow posters," Reagan had said last night while she was getting ready for bed. "Do you have to have gay homemade Simon Snow posters?" Cath had looked up at the drawing over her desk of Simon and Baz holding hands. "Leave them alone," she said. "They're in love.

You don’t have any friends, your sister dumped you, you’re a freak eater..and you’ve got some weird thing about Simon Snow." "I object to every single thing you just said." Reagan chewed. And frowned. She was wearing dark red lipstick. "I have lots of friends," Cath said. "I never see them." "I just got here. Most of my friends went to other schools. Or they’re online." "Internet friends don’t count." "Why not?" Reagan shrugged disdainfully. "And I don’t have a weird thing with Simon Snow," Cath said. "I’m just really active in the fandom." "What the fuck is ‘the fandom’?