Geek Girl Book Quotes

My idea of a fun night was diving into a massive pile of To Be Read pile of books stacked near my dresser... I was the girl who loved everything geeky.

Because here's the thing about a book: when you pick up a story, you put down your own

Book clubs are totally dope - like English class if you were allowed to read only books that you actually like and snack and sip while discussing them.

He was quiet for a moment. “So, in this analogy, you’re Mary Jane?” “You got that right, Tiger.

They say fiction is the closest well ever get from magic. Open a book and an entire world will pop out and it doesn't matter if it's dragons or Victorian children or wizards. You are immediately someone else and somewhere else

I can curl my hair and paint my nails and wear my hand-sewn summer dresses. I can roll dice and design costumes for heroes and flip through comic books. All as myself. Finally.

Alan shrugged. “I love the CBC, really, but being voted its president—” “Co-president,” Sputnik corrected. “—is kind of like being declared King of Nerds.” “Co-king,” Sputnik asserted.

He pinned me in place with a direct look, his dark brown eyes smoldering. “You’re Mary Jane,” he said finally. “And you have all these Flash Thompsons and Harry Osborns hovering around you, trying to make a move. Because...you’re basically amazing.

We were there too, the other geeks and weird kids whose lives were hellish at school, who escaped into books and computers, who stayed up all night scanning obscure forums, looking for transcendence, dreaming of elsewhere. We were there too, but you didn’t see us, because we were girls. And the costs of being the geek were the same for us, right down to the sexual frustration, the yearning, the being laughed at, the loneliness. […] We had to fight the same battles you did, only harder, because we were women and we also had to fight sexism, some of it from you, and when we went looking for other weird kids to join our gang, we were told we weren’t ‘real geeks’ because we were girls.

I’ve fought dragons, attended balls and chased a whale. I’ve won wars, lost court cases, travelled India, ridden broomsticks and stranded myself on numerous islands. I’ve died a dozen times. Because here’s the thing about a book: when you pick up a story, you put down your own.

They say fiction is the closest we ever get to magic. Forget top hats and rabbits: open a book and an entire world will pop out. And it doesn't matter if it's dragons or Victorian orphans or wizards. You are immediately somewhere else and someone else. Transported. It's not like that with textbooks.

Cinderella is always Cinderella, just in a nicer dress. The Ugly Duckling was always a swan, just a smaller version.

No weapon in my bag? No problem—my whole bag was a weapon. Grabbing it by the strap again, I swung it off my shoulder and through the air toward my assailant with as much force as I could muster.

Many would be surprised to find that there is a whole world of woemen and girls who dedicate a significant portion of theri energy and emotions into the concept of story found in countless genres. These woman are often left out when you limit your definition of fangirl to geek or musik culture. This book is a tribute to my fiction-loving tribe. It's for the law student who unearths strength from the strut of a TV attorney. For the mother who unwinds with a glass of wine and a little bit of zombie apocalypse. For the teenage rwho points to a novel's heroine and says, "Yes. I'll have more of that please." To the woman and girls who get that forming online friendships isn't a symptom of isolation from reality but an opportunity to from commmon bonds that will cheer us through our victories and comfort us when life gets rough.

You survived upon the companionship of your imagination. You survived upon the companionship of Conan of Cimmeria and Arwen Undómiel; you lived in a sea cave with Menolly and her little dragons; you were an apprentice of Polgara of the Belgariad and a friend to Sophie Hatter in her moving castle. You walked through a closet and found Aslan and pulled a sword from a stone, and you brought a legion of rogue princes back to life with a kiss. You had no Chinese heroes in books, but you imagined them there, and your dreams were filled with half-breeds, like you.

After placing everything in the backseat, Nadia buckled her seat belt and turned to him. “Corvon,” she addressed him by his in-game persona. “If I were to tell you that you get a prize for besting me, what would you want?” He slid closer, dragging his gaze over her without hiding it. Caleb could see her nipples peaking under her bra. She was as turned on as he was. “Anything I want?” “Perhaps. What would it be?” She wouldn’t commit, which meant she didn’t trust him. It was time to drop the asshole persona. He couldn’t help but let her in. She was his One. “I would want …” He reached for her chin. “...a kiss.” Caleb leaned in so far he could feel her breath on his face. Her pupils were dilated wide, and he ran his thumb over her plush bottom lip. “Would you award me such a prize, Asteria?” She nodded. Closing the distance between them, he claimed her lips. This kiss was even hotter than the one at laser tag, slow and languid, like they had all the time in the world. He wrapped his hand around the base of her head and leaned her body back as her arms wrapped around his waist. Her tongue slid along his in a tantalizing dance that stoked the fire within. She sighed softly into his mouth as he felt the walls between them melt away from the heat. One kiss, that’s all he’d asked for. But he never wanted it to end. This felt dangerous. But so right. Finally, he forced himself to break the kiss, moaning Nadia’s name. She looked dazed, like she was just waking up — or just had the most incredible orgasm. What he wouldn’t give to see Nadia’s afterglow. “Can you drive?” His mouth was bone dry but he managed to get the words out eventually. She nodded and started the motor. He buckled himself in but didn’t stop looking at her. That had been no ordinary kiss. He needed another. As she backed out to turn the truck around, Nadia looked over at him shyly. “I wanna do that again.” “Me, too.” Licking his lips at the idea of tasting her again, he broke the first of his rules. “Come upstairs when we get to my place and we can.

Ever since the 1960s, upon the urging of Dr. T. Berry Brazelton and the all-knowing Dr. Spock,* mothers have been encouraged to read to their children at a very early age. For toddlers and preschoolers who relish this early diet of literacy, libraries become a second home, story hour is never long enough, and parents can’t finish a book without hearing a little voice beg, “Again… again.” For most literary geek girls, it’s at this age that they discover their passion for reading. Whether it’s Harold and the Purple Crayon or Strega Nona, books provide the budding literary she-geek with a glimpse into an all-new world of magic and make-believe—and once she visits, she immediately wants to apply for full-time citizenship. “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” —author Joan Didion, in The White Album While some children spend their summers sweating on community sports teams or learning Indigo Girls songs at sleep-away camp, our beloved bookworms are more interested in joining their local library’s summer reading program, completing twenty-five books during vacation, and earning a certificate of recognition signed by their city’s mayor. (Plus, that Sony Bloggie Touch the library is giving away to the person who logs the most hours reading isn’t the worst incentive, either. It’ll come in handy for that book review YouTube channel she’s been thinking about starting!) When school starts back up again, her friends will inevitably show off their tan lines and pony bead friendship bracelets, and our geek girl will politely oblige by oohing and aahing accordingly. But secretly she’s bursting with pride over her summer’s battle scars—the numerous paper cuts she got while feverishly turning the pages of all seven Harry Potter books.

stop caring what people who don’t matter think of you.

See, now there’s an idea for an adult panel. Fifty Shades of Gallifrey. Scarf bondage and alternative uses for sonic screwdrivers.” Oh,

we make our good luck or bad luck with our choices, actions and how we deal with the results.

Annie, for the fleeting second before she remembered Sally’s warning, almost told him to go fuck himself, showing up late, watching her in an unguarded moment. Then she composed herself, let her breathing regulate, and became not herself. “Impressive, right?” she asked, smiling, wagging the mallet like some obscene instrument. “Very much so. I’ve already got the opening paragraph of the article,” he replied. “Want to hear it?” Annie could not think of a thing she would want less. “I’ll wait for the issue like everyone else,” she said. “Fair enough,” he said, “but it’s really good.” “Let’s get some more quarters,” Annie said, and began to walk away. Eric knelt down and tore the strip of tickets that had emanated from the game, an afterthought. “Don’t forget these,” he said. “Maybe I’ll win you a teddy bear,” Annie said, sliding the tickets into her purse. “That would be the best article ever.” On one of her first interviews for The Powers That Be, the blockbuster comic book adaptation where she played Lady Lightning, a reporter asked her if she had been a fan of comic books growing up. “I’ve never read a comic book in my life,” she responded. The reporter screwed up his face and then shook his head. “I’m going to write down that you loved comics as a girl. You were kind of a geek growing up. Is that okay?

The one thing you are not good at is playing dumb.

Have a conversation in your mind with a younger version of you!

Because here’s the thing about a book: when you pick up a story, you put down your own.

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