Highly Suspicious And Unfairly Cute Quotes

You don't need to be special or significant to have value. You're just important, always, and people either see that or they don't.

You seem distracted." "I'm always distracted. It's an unfortunate side effect of being intelligent. You wouldn't know.

You're the bane of my existence. Did you know that?" She gins. "I hoped.

You're allowed anywhere you want, as long as you're right next to me.

Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.

You don't need to be special or significant to have value.

Give me five synonyms for hypocrite, and yes, you're allowed to use your own name.

Fairness is about you being happy, not him being punished.

Nothing changes if we don't make it change.

Even if neither of us ever did anything interesting in our entire lives, it wouldn’t matter. You don’t need to be special or significant to have value. You’re just important, always, and people either see that or they don’t. They either love you, or they don’t.

It's not a capital crime to have bad feelings when bad things happen to you.

My mind is a dramatic and often inaccurate place. Point is—you said we should talk.

Are you worried about me, love?

I have this small problem where my feelings leak out of my face, and my feelings are often intense.

One day you're going to leave education forever, and you'll have to face the fact that memorizing a thesaurus doesn't make you interesting.

Because I am committed to protecting my peace and you are so far from my inner circle you're basically a hexagon. Get thee behind me.

You’re the bane of my existence. Did you know that?” She grins. “I hoped.” I really can’t stand this girl. I wonder how long I get to walk with her.

She’s so sweet. She’s so lovely. She’s like everything I wanted to be as a child before I grew up and realized I was an incurable cow and it might be genetic.

Why the hell did you decide to argue with me about this? You impossible human being! Do you realize we could’ve been making out this whole time?” Her whole body perks up like a meerkat. “Well, do you want to?” “Of course I want to! Why do you think I even said anything?

I love Bradley Graeme. As in, would give him a kidney, would wash his socks, would turn into a supervillain if he died. I love him so much I almost want to say it out loud, a dangerous and horrifying prospect I am not remotely equipped to deal with right now.

You’re right,” she says. “I do like you too.” Fuck yeah.

Thinking I need to be good enough to study. But maybe studying is what’s supposed to make me good enough.

You just needed to figure out on your own that…that fairness is about you being happy, not him being punished.

Don’t judge. I have a theory that seventy percent of the global population wants to kiss you, and that’s a conservative estimate.” “But you’re the only one who gets to do it. Lucky you.

Don’t care,” I say, and then I’m kissing her. It’s like birthday cake, back when sugar felt like being high. It’s like laughing as you stumble through the dark under the stars. It’s like Celine loving me.

Parents love to say shit like that, as if their words, their looks, their expectations, aren’t as heavy as a small planet.

When I pulled you on top of me and, you know, gazed dreamily into your eyes and said I liked you, I did not mean as friends. Obviously.

Jesus H. Christ. It's like drowning in a bath of hormones.

He sounds like a warm little brook hidden partway through a hike on a summer’s day, an unexpected delight.

This thing we have, it’s like throwing a tangled chain into a drawer, hoping one day it’ll come out untangled again: the knot gets even bigger while you’re not looking.

No,” Celine says, so quick and sharp I’m almost hurt for a second, before I remember that I don’t like her, and she doesn’t like me, and we are enemies.

So Your Old Best Friend Admits She Was Wrong and Hating Her Is Getting Exhausting.

Hang on, let me consult with the mentally ill council.” Brad pauses. “Yes.

He’s not supposed to address me unless he’s calling me a know-it-all or challenging me to a duel.

Don't care,' I say, and then I'm kissing her. It's like birthday cake, back when sugar felt like being high. It's like laughing as you stumble through the dark under the stars. It's like Celine loving me.

You know? Here’s my new perspective: my mouth is dry, my heart is still thundering against my ribs, the difference between a smile and a scowl on her face is the difference between rainfall and drought and— Oh shit no no no no no… I am so into Celine.

But I have friends now,” she continues. “And I know they’re worth more than all the people who were…who were casually cruel to me, because they’re deliberately kind, and that makes them better people. My kind of people. Except I had to learn that. Don’t we all have to learn that?

She hates team building, and she’s always avoided the outdoors, which I didn’t understand until she let slip that her dad used to take her and Giselle camping. (God knows how he found the time, since he was so busy being a slimy, two-timing twat, but clearly he kept on top of his schedule.)

I love Bradley Graeme. As in, would give him a kidney, would wash his socks, would turn into a supervillain if he died. I love him so much I almost want to say it out loud, a dangerous and horrifying prospect I am not remotely equipped to deal with right now. Luckily, I have something else to distract me.

Being friends with Brad again is weird. Not bad weird. Just... you know when you were a little kid and you went to a birthday party and ate five times the amount of sugar your parents allowed, and you felt dangerously high? It's that kind of weird. And something in me is tense as if I'm waiting for the crash.

It’s because he’s ashamed of himself. He carries this pile of guilt around, caused by nothing but his own choices. And every day he doesn’t parent you, doesn’t treat you the way he should, that guilt gets heavier, and when he sees you, is reminded of you, it becomes unbearable. What he doesn’t realize is the difference between short-term and long-term pain. If he put up with his discomfort years ago in order to do right by you—if he had taken responsibility for his actions and tried to make it up to you—that guilt of his might have gone away. Instead, he’s doomed himself to slowly die beneath it.

Just kiss me. That's all. What's a little tongue between friends?

(My brain, in case I failed to mention this before, is kind of a dick.)

I roll my eyes. “You’re the bane of my existence. Did you know that?” She grins. “I hoped.

Also, my gaydar is excellent and she’s giving solar-powered rainbow strobe lights, but I won’t mention that.

I’m warm, but there’s still this core of ice in me with a searing, volcanic fissure right down the middle, and all kinds of terrible things are spilling out of that crack.

It feels like everything is slightly twisted, like my vision doesn’t align with the angle of the world around me. I thought I was someone strong. I might be the opposite.

I think I’ve had enough public self-reflection for one day. I feel uncertain, now—in my decisions, in myself. And if I can’t be sure of me, what exactly do I have to hold on to?

But I can’t tell you what to do,” he repeats. Parents love to say shit like that, as if their words, their looks, their expectations, aren’t as heavy as a small planet.

But I’ve experienced that before and I’m not doing it again. It hurt so much when we fell out years ago because we’d been so close. Close enough to feel like one person, and then we were ripped in two and I had to keep it together with blood gushing from my side and half of myself missing.

There’s a second of teetering uncertainty where the world wobbles or shimmers or shifts and I’m not quite sure if I’m protecting myself or committing serious sabotage. Then everything slams back into place and logic prevails: everything ends.

My fault for trying to ignore my thoughts instead of, you know, accepting them and grounding myself in the present or what-fucking-ever but—“Do you know how annoying it is that intrusive thoughts come almost every time you want things to go well?

But I have friends now,” she continues. “And I know they’re worth more than all the people who were… who were casually cruel to me, because they’re deliberately kind, and that makes them better people. My kind of people. Except I had to learn that.

In this shadowy, raindrop-stained blue universe, she is very soft and dark, like falling into bed at night after a long, hard day.

A little flame catches and crackles, flickers, grows in the darkness of my roiling gut.

I search for another issue and come up blank. “I don’t know. My brain is an unholy shitstorm of worst-case scenarios.

This thing we have, it’s like throwing a tangled chain into a drawer, hoping one day it’ll come out untangled again - the knot gets even bigger while you’re not looking. I couldn’t find the right piece to pull, couldn’t get a good grip on the links, even if I wanted to. We’re just too… done.

if I can't be sure of me, what exactly do I have to hold on to?

I must not fear. These are mental distortions. My life isn’t doomed to be a string of failures

I’ve decided no one’s reservations—including my own—will ever stop me from going after what I want.

I trust myself to deal with any outcome. I believe in me.

She doesn’t care about people easily, but once you’ve got her, you’ve got her.

My fault for trying to ignore my thoughts instead of, you know, accepting them and grounding myself in the present or what-fucking-ever but—“Do you know how annoying it is that intrusive thoughts come almost every time you want things to go well?

She's a pop of scarlet in the November fog.

This thing we have, it's like throwing a tangled chain into a drawer, hoping one day it'll come out untangled again: the knot gets even bigger while you're not looking. I couldn't find the right piece to pull, couldn't get a good grip on the links, even if I wanted to. We're just too... done.

It's like birthday cake, back when sugar felt like being high. It's like laughing as you stumble through the dark under the stars. It's like Celine loving me.

I don’t know. It must be the fading painkillers that are making my internal organs jump around like this.

I have control over that. I have control over myself. My dad doesn’t.

One day you’re going to leave education forever, and you’ll have to face the fact that memorizing a thesaurus doesn’t make you interesting.

Oh, sorry, back to the point: clearly, a broken wrist is absolutely nowhere in my plan.

that fairness is about you being happy, not him being punished.

You’re the bane of my existence. Did you know that?” She grins. “I hoped.

you know when you were a little kid and you went to a birthday party and ate five times the amount of sugar your parents usually allowed, and you felt dangerously high? It’s that kind of weird. And something in me is tense as if I’m waiting for the crash.

Isn’t there something in the Bible about sarcasm being a sin?” “No,” Mum says primly. “There should be.

You absolute living demon!

Oh well. She’s such a good girl. She could get into Cambridge with both hands broken—” “BOTH HER HANDS ARE BROKEN?” Dad stares at me. Understanding hits a second too late, because of course it does. “Oh! Right. You meant…You were…being…hypothetical,” I say. “Obviously. Haha! Ha.

I notice she doesn’t mention anything about being a writer. Probably because it doesn’t matter what you study or where you work—you can only write the book by writing the book. Spoiler alert: I still haven’t written the book.

Would you believe when my parents went to uni it was free? Injustice stalks my generation, I swear to God.

Relationship building?” I whisper. “Shut up,” she mouths. “Tell me the last relationship you built. Quickly.” “I could build one right now, between my foot and your arse.

Not my competition,” I say, “that’s for sure.” Her mouth forms a perfect little O. “Bradley! Have you finally accepted that I’m fundamentally superior to you in every way? Bravo. I knew this day would come.” “Oh, Celine,” I say, flashing the sweetest smile in my arsenal. “Some might say it’s cruel to let you live in this fantasy world you’ve created. But if it keeps you from sinking into the depths of despair, I’ll let you dream.

Existential crises should be saved for rainy days; happy sunshine just undermines the whole vibe.

For God’s sake, we are enemies. There are rules to this sort of thing.