Harrington Quotes

He took his pain and turned it into something beautiful. Into something that people connect to. And that's what good music does. It speaks to you. It changes you.

Hate is... It's too easy. Love. Love takes courage.

It's so stupid because all I wanted was space and now that I have it, there's this part of me that's achingly lonely I could die.

Whatever you decide, don't let it be because you don't think you have a choice.

Sometimes people think they want to know things, but then they hear the answer and realize they'd prefer to be in the dark.

I want to stop running away from everything. I want to find something to run toward.

It always struck me in years after how bizarre it was, how two people could look at one another with such tenderness and complete love, and how quickly that could dissolve into nothing but bitterness.

It's harder than you think, to find someone who truly believes in your unequivocal, unconditional awesomeness

If you really want things to change, you can make them change no matter where you are.

There is so much beauty in just existing. In being alive.

It must be comforting, to have a faith like that. To believe so concretely that there’s someone—something— out there watching guard, keeping us safe, testing us only with what we can handle.

It was rumored she held grudges till they died of old age, then had them stuffed and mounted.

It's just nice, I guess. Knowing that someone else can put into words what I feel. That there are people who have been through things worse than I have, and they come out on the other side okay. Not only that, but they made some kind of twisted, fucked-up sense of the completely senseless. They made it mean something. These songs tell me I'm not alone. If you look at it at that way, music... music can see you through anything.

I've never been good at emotional stuff. Except anger. Anger, I'm good at.

You can be surrounded by people and still be lonely. You can be the most popular person in school, envied by every girl and wanted by every boy, and still feel completely worthless. The world can be laid at your feet and you can still not know what you want from it.

Some people are just sad, all of the time. Too sad to deal with - everything. Life, I guess. I don't know. There doesn't always have to be a reason.

Look, it’s not ever going go stop hurting. That’s the reality. But after a while, it’ll get…easier. You’ll get used to living with it.

I hate organized religion. I hate that people use it to justify their crappy, bigoted beliefs.

Jake was right - I'm strong in a way June never was. Because I know that I want to be here. Even with the pain. Even with the ugliness.

Listen, I gather you have a problem working with a psychic. Believe me, I don't like working with a jackass any better.

The dumbass?' Justin asked. 'Yes, you're not the only one in town. Who knew?

I love the way he says my name, like it’s something he wants to keep safe.

The truth is, the person I’ve been hating more than anyone is myself. It is so easy. So easy to look in the mirror at all my imperfections and think of all the ways I fall short of someone...

I don’t want to be so scared all the time. So alone. I want to believe something can be worth it. Worth the pain. Worth the risk.

I still go to bed sad, and wake up sad, and it still hurts like hell, but there are moments during the day when it hurts less. Sometimes I can think of June and not want to burst into tears or put my fist through a wall. Sometimes I'm close to happy and it doesn't even hurt. Much. I'll never be the way I was before, but maybe that's okay. Life goes on, I'm going on, even without her. Not every day hurts. Not every breath hurts. Maybe that's all we can really ask for.

Sketchy black van? Weird stalking of my house? What are you going to do next, offer me some candy?

Measurement is the first step that leads to control and eventually to improvement. If you can’t measure something, you can’t understand it. If you can’t understand it, you can’t control it. If you can’t control it, you can’t improve it.

Some people think that a place can save them... Like if they could just be somewhere else, their lives would be totally different. They could finally be the people they always wanted to be. But to me, a place is just a place. If you really want things to change, you can make them change no matter where you are.

Things get to me all the time—I just don’t see the point in making a big deal out of it.

Gabriel Toscano. Damn. Even his name was sexy.

How you can already miss someone when you are in the same room with them, I have no idea. But I do.

As to methods there may be a million and then some, but principles are few. The man who grasps principles can successfully select his own methods. The man who tries methods, ignoring principles, is sure to have trouble.

Deciding to kiss Jake is like standing on the edge of a pool, staring down and wanting to take the leap, but fearing how cold the water will be. I hold my breath and jump.

You know, I'm atheist, but I get it. I get why people have faith in a higher power. Some people need it. They need to believe they're not alone.

It's not really a practical dream to have, is it? He stares right at me. It's intense, being under the weight of his full attention. "Dreams have to be practical?

These songs tell me I'm not alone. If you look at it that way, music...music can see you through anything.

Your Grace," she said, "I have only one question. Do you wish this man crippled, or dead?

Everything on the radio is crap...It's fast food for your ears. It doesn't make you think. It isn't even about anything - not anything real. Don't you think music should say something?

I walk to my car without looking back, and as I drive away, I'm hit with a sudden wave of sadness. But it's a distant kind of sad - like when you look at your Barbies and realize you don't want to play with them anymore, because you're growing up and you've moved on, and in your heart you know it's time to make room for other things.

I guess that’s the thing about riding on cloud nine—it can’t last forever. And that particular fall was hard and fast.

You cannot be in love with someone you've really only known for barely a week and on top of that someone who drives you crazy most of the time. No matter how goodlooking and charming and interesting and understanding he may be. Not even if he's the one person who makes you feel like yourself. Right?

You're nothing like your sister," he tells me. "She meant a lot to me, okay? It's true. But the things I like about you have nothing to do with her. You - you are so strong and stubborn it drives me crazy. You're the one going through all this and you still put Laney first every time, instead of throwing yourself the pity party we both know you deserve. You call me out on my shit, and I like that, because sometimes I need someone to call me out on my shit. And you get Johnny Cash, and you take these incredible photos, and everything about you makes me hurt, in a good way, and it blows my mind that someone can be so amazing and not even see it.

Hate is...it's too easy," he says. His face calm, calmer than it has any right to be, his eyes not wavering from mine, like he's so completely sure of what he's saying. "Love. Love takes courage.

Treason doth never prosper: what ’s the reason? Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

We must never forget that we are cosmic revolutionaries, not stooges conscripted to advance a natural order that kills everybody.

Did you know that ninety-eight percent of statistics are made up on the spot?

That's my brother," I said. "Saving the world, one girl at a time.

It's like he knows everything. And I don't have to say a word.

But even though I know my flaws are many (many many many), and there are always ways I could be better, and I should never stop working for that—I also need to give myself a break. I can cut myself some slack sometimes. Because I’m a work in progress. Because nobody is perfect. At least I acknowledge the mistakes I’ve made, and am making. At least I’m trying. That means something, doesn’t it? And just because I have room for improvement doesn’t mean I’m worthless, or that I have nothing to offer to, like, the world.

So really, it isn't as if noticing something like his well-toned biceps or his seriously long eyelashes means anything - other than a confirmation of the fact that I'm not blind.

It’s harder than you think, to find someone who truly believes in your unequivocal, unconditional awesomeness, especially when you’re like me: unspectacular in every way.

Ugh. I was going for ‘crazy ex filled with hate" not "isn’t she cute when she’s mad?

Maybe she's suicidal? That's why she keeps inviting me to kill her?

The gossip mill runs on estrogen.

He had a matching bandage on his head. We looked like two idiots who’d decided to have a head-butting competition

I gaze out at the glittering sea, the breathtaking sky above it, and think of birds and the moment before the fall, and how my sister as a child had been strong enough for the both of us, and I wonder when exactly that changed. I don't know when, but it did. Jake was right - I'm strong in a way June never was. Because I know that I want to be here. Even with the pain. Even with the ugliness. I've seen the other side - marching side by side down city streets with people who all believe they can change the world and the view of the sunset from Fridgehenge and Tom Waits lyrics and doing the waltz and kisses so hot they melt into each other and best friends who hold your hand and stretching out underneath a sky draped with stars and everything else. There is so much beauty in just existing. In being alive. I don't want to miss a second.

Hate is easy, but love takes courage.

You can date every girl in town as far as I’m concerned. I hate you. I pray every night that you’ll fall victim to some strange and unusual castration accident.

WAGs... That's a technical term we engineers use. It means 'Wild-Assed Guess'.

I had books and music and the ocean to swim in.

Awesome." "Awesome squared." "Awesome cubed." "Awesome to the power of infinity." "The square root of awesome is-" "-Asha." We finish at the same time and laugh.

I think the correct term for this was ‘pissing contest’, and though I was flattered, I didn’t have time for it.

I'm not saying he was, like, crying tears of man pain over the phone, but he sounded upset.

I may have at some point referred to him as a douche nozzle.

Not every day hurts. Not every breath hurts. Maybe that's all we can really ask for.

We want who we want, right? No matter what other people say. No matter what reason or reality we’re faced with. No matter what facts our brains process. The heart’s a stubborn organ.

The house is eerily quiet. All this time I thought silence would be a welcome reprieve, but it's less comforting than I imagined. The house feels so much bigger and colder than it ever has.

It seems so impossible that someone could look at [Andy and Noah], see how plainly they care for each other, and find anything ugly or shameful or worthy of hatred in it, when all I see is something beautiful.

Clare. Give me a reason to stay.

Kissing Gabriel was like an exotic vacation. Kissing Justing was like coming home again. I wanted this.

People like that? People who don't want to be found? They're usually really good at staying lost.

Nothing in the universe had a shorter half-life than a politician's memory for inconvenient facts,

my love for June and Jake is an anchor, bound with unbreakable chains. Weighing me down, but at the same time... keeping me grounded. Keeping me here. Tying me to the world. It hurts, but it's supposed to, because that's what it means to be alive. And that's comforting, actually. The realization that I'm not some robot devoid of emotions. That I still have the ability to feel things this brutally, this immediate and sharp.

I don't know what I need, or even what I want, from her or from anybody. There's no way to tell her the truth, because the truth is that my heart is broken, and I don't think there''s any chance of it being sewn back together. This is permanent. It can't be fixed.

What’s important is the time we spent working on it together. What’s important is that Sam is the kind of guy who will trade notes on a sketchpad and teach me how to make tuna melts and drop everything to drive to a parking lot when I need him and throw stones at my window to make sure I’m okay.

Running my mouth has hurt enough people already - the least I can do is to shut up.

There are two sides to every dialogue, but if you accept the other side's terms without demanding equal time for your own, then they control the debate and its outcome.

I want the faith that there will be some kind of an answer, something more than these endless questions taking up so much space in my head, this feeling that nothing matters and nothing has a point.

There is so much beauty in just existing. In being alive. I don't want to miss a second.

Please, someone tell me I wouldn‘t be that annoying if I had girlfriends.

I think. Some people are just sad, all of the time. Too sad to deal with—everything. Life, I guess. I don’t know. There doesn’t always have to be a reason.

I pictured him in uniform. Let's just say the picture was...nice.

You know where you can shove your joke. Just get me a new drink and try not to include and of your STD-laced body fluid in it this time.

Come, fruit of my loins, we’re going for a walk.

All of them are the same type; girls with overprocessed hair and too much makeup and way too much access to Daddy’s credit cards. Girls who, if you took away the designer labels, hair dye and cover-up, wouldn’t be more than average-looking, but with all that stuff look too plastic to be pretty.

We left behind this small town But we couldn't leave behind the ghosts As we headed for the coast, yeah, and you know There was something in the way she told me How my hair looked stupid, and How she couldn't hold her tequila, and How she was broken and beautiful and Still standing, and how was I supposed to know All along we were saving June Saving June, yeah She had flowers in her hair and one powerful glare My modern day Rubik's Cube, she made me feel Like maybe we could have it all But you can never have it all And now I've gone and lost All these things that they always sang about All the things that I still dream about Now I'm counting up the days, counting all the ways I never said what it means, but it's too late 'cause June is over and so are we And I'm the one left, with nothing to save

Except that night didn't change my life. I changed it. I have to stop acting like I have no control over these things. Like I'm letting them just happen to me. These are my choices. For better or worse.

No problem. Just drop it back off before you go," he says, procuring a brass key. "And if he puts on Bowie's early stuff and starts sweet-talking, dammit, you run. You run as fast as you can.

You know, just because you think bubblegum pop on the radio represents all that is wrong with society, that doesn’t mean there’s not someone out there who needs that shitty pop song. Maybe that shitty pop song makes them feel good, about themselves and the world. And as long as that shitty pop song doesn’t infringe upon your rights to rock out to, I don’t know, Subway Sect, or Siouxsie and the Banshees, or whichever old-ass band it is you worship, then who cares?

Therapy is my mother's solution to everything. I'm sure she thinks there'd be peace in the Middle East if every country were forced to sit down on a stiff leather couch with a box of Kleenex and talk about their feeeeelings.

It's the best kind of devastating there is. He took his pain and he turned it into something beautiful. Into something that people connect to. And that's what good music does. It speaks to you. It changes you. What I'm trying to say is, it's just nice, I guess, knowing that someone else can put into words what I feel. That there are people who have been through things worse than I have, and they came out on the other side okay. Not only that, but they have made some kind of twisted, effed up sense of the completely senseless. They made it mean something. These songs tell me I'm not alone. If you look at it that way, music...music can see you through anything.

Excuse me, Mr. Ludefance. Just so you are aware, we are a tightknit group here. We all had knowledge of what happened prior to midnight. You can speak to all of us if you want, but you’ll be hearing the same story. It’s what happened between midnight and eight AM that’s very much in question. Not one officer on that shift saw or heard anything unusual. But if you wish to speak to any of the officers from that shift, we can arrange for you to do so. Now, I suppose you can start with Officer Harrington here. When you finish with her, I’ll call Rhodes. He doesn’t live that far away. The other officers are here on campus.

It's like what those cheesy action-movie heros always say before they finish taking out the bad guys: I started this, and I'm going to finish it. Except even in the movie of my own life, I've never been the heroine. I've never been Action Girl. I've only ever been Kristen's supporting character.

Stupid bitch," he spits, and that's when I mentally punch him in the face. Except it isn't just mentally—it's for real, my closed fist is actually moving. It hits him square in the nose with a sickening crunch. "Oh my God," Laney breathes from behind me. "Oh my God," Jake says from the floor. My eyes widen. "Oh my God.

Listening to Eminem makes me feel like a badass. Or at least as though I have the potential for badassery. I mean, the way he sings, it’s like he’d probably punch out a puppy if it looked at him wrong. Obviously I’m not glorifying animal cruelty here, I’m just saying, I could use some of that attitude.

June is gone. For the first time, the enormity of that hits me. Every muscle aches, my heart most of all. I am throbbing with how much I miss her. It hurts worse than anything. I don't know how I'm supposed to be expected to live day to day carrying this kind of pain. I don't know how I'm supposed to go out there, spread her ashes, and let her go. I want to stop running away from everything. I want to find something to run toward.

So what if he's hot, sometimes. Like every time I look at him. Besides, annoying he may be, but he's had his shining White Knight Moment, what with the whole saving-me-and-my-best-friend-from-a-brawl-and-probable-jail-time thing. Even if I'm no damsel in distress and he's miles away from Prince Charming, such displays of gallantry, combined with his not-bad-okay-actually-pretty-good looks, make my strange lusty feelings completely justified. Practically obligatory, even.

I don't know what I believe anymore. If God does exist, then He's just an asshole, creating this world full of human suffering and letting all these terrible things happen to good people, and sitting there and doing nothing about it. At June's memorial service, a few people came up to me and said some really stupid things, like how everything happens for a reason, and God never gives us more than we can handle. All I could think was, does that mean if I was a weaker person, this never would've happened? Am I seriously supposed to buy that June's death was part of some stupid divine plan? I don't believe that. I can't. It just doesn't make sense.

It feels weird, being out in the real world again. Around people just living their lives like normal. Their presence is oppressive. The very fact that the world is going on as usual, like nothing ever happened, makes me want to scream. I know it's irrational to expect everything to grind to a halt because of June, but still. A wave of anxiety builds in my chest, my head pounding so loud it drowns out the noise of people talking and tapping away on their laptops.

He leans close and says, "It matters to me," right against my mouth, and then kisses me like he means it. I've thought about what it'd be like to kiss Jake over the past few days, way more than I'd care to admit. But I don't even have time to register the firm press of his lips against mine, without breath, before he pulls back. His face freezes, eyes wide with oh shit written across them. Maybe I'd be offended if I wasn't so sure that my own expression matches his perfectly. "I shouldn't have done that," he blurts out. "I'm an idiot." "Yeah," I agree, "you really are." I grab the collar of his shirt and tug him back to me. He makes a muffled sound of surprise in the back of his throat, hesitating for a heartbeat before his mouth opens against mine. Suddenly, we're kissing for real - clumsy at first as we feel each other out, but then I shirt forward into his lap, fall against his chest and tip my head down, and it's like two puzzle pieces snapping into place. He tastes exactly the way I thought he would, of cigarettes and citrus and salt. The ocean. And he kisses like I thought he would, too, hard and hot and urgent, and way better than anyone I've made out with before.