Lj Shen Book Quotes

Life is like a book, a long chain of scenes threaded together by circumstances and fate. You never know how thick or thin your book is, so you better make the most out of every scene, enjoy each chapter.

Life is like a book, a long chain of scenes threaded together by circumstances and fate. You never know how thick or thin your book is, so you better make the most out of every

You are that girl. My safe place. My asymmetric happiness. My Edgar Allan Poe poem. You are my Smiths, and my favorite fantasy book, my brownie, and summer vacations in lush places. There will never be anyone else like you. And that’s exactly why you deserve someone better than me.

Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it” – Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Angel’s Game.

You only get one life, Luna. One stab at this thing called happiness. Why deprive yourself of things you want just because they weren’t given to you the way you hoped for them to come? Life is like a book, a long chain of scenes threaded together by circumstances and fate. You never know how thick or thin your book is, so you better make the most out of every scene, enjoy each chapter.

I wanted you to look at me the way you look at your fantasy book—with a mixture of awe, anticipation and warmth.

You never know how thick or thin your book is, so you better make the most out of every scene, enjoy each chapter.

For all Chase’s faults (and there were many; I could write a War and Peace–length book about all of them),

The days after the funeral stuck together like pages in an unread book.

Red rolls on the sand until her shoulder bumps into mine. She is laughing hysterically, and even though I keep a stoic face, I’m anything but. God, I fucking love this girl. “So…” She nuzzles into the crook of my neck, her arms flung over me. “Are you taking me to that fancy restaurant you booked for us last time we were in Miami?” “Hell no,” I snort. “That was before I realized you’re a McMeal kind of girl. I can treat you to a hot, sexy dinner date at Wendy’s if you’re up for it.” “Make it IHOP and you’re on. They have pancakes and hot chocolate.” “Classy girl. And I bet you’ll still put out afterwards.” “Damn right I will. I’m only using you for your body, Mr. Brennan.” “And for the cash. Don’t forget the cash.” “Nah, I make my own money, thank you very much.” She plants a kiss on my jaw, and I beam like an idiot, because she’s right.

He tries to chuckle, but it splits the cut on his lip again. “There.” I take a step back. “Bet you’re feeling brand new.” “How was New York?” he asks. I can’t even think about that city without wanting to throw up. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to set foot in it again. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Don’t pretend we’re friends.” I close the first-aid kit, push it back into the cabinet, and make my way upstairs to finish my entry. When I get to my bed, the little black book is not there anymore.

How was I supposed to stand my ground when he looked like a book boyfriend?

I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” ―F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby In this book, she isn’t.

Is that the only reason you’re helping me?” “Isn’t it enough?” “It is. I’m just wondering if there’s something else.” “No,” he harrumphed. “Wait, yes. Now I remember—I also want to fuck you again.” I tripped over my own feet, about to dive into the ground. He caught me by the hem of my shirt, jerking me upright. I’ll always catch you. When have I ever let you take the hit for something, Dot? “You did not just say that.” I slapped branches out of my way as I regained my balance. “Did too. Fair warning—I want much more than fucking this time around. I want dates. I want laughs. I want you to be honest with me. All the stuff that freaks you out for some reason. No strings attached. No commitment. Just fun. A perfect do-over.” “Why do you need a do-over?” “So my last memory of us won’t be you almost vomiting because we had sex.” “I almost vomited because your sister caught us!” I shrieked. “Which is exactly why this won’t happen again. You’re high if you think I’m betraying her trust a second time around.” “Thought you’d say that. I have great news for you.” “What?” “She no longer gives a fuck.” “That’s not tru—” “It is. Ask her yourself.” The confidence with which he’d said that made my heart twist like Play-Doh. What had changed between then and now? Why was she okay with us hooking up all of a sudden? “Why wouldn’t she care?” I asked in a panic. “Because it no longer matters.” “How c—” “Come on, Bitchy. Put two and two together.” Bitchy. He’d called me Bitchy. The rain intensified, knocking on our faces. I skidded to an abrupt stop. A wave of memories crashed into me all at once, nearly knocking me down on my ass. Everything became crystal clear in one swift moment. Row defending me when Dylan caught us having sex. Row teaching me how to slow dance in his room before my very first prom because I knew I would be too terrified to ever dance with anyone else and didn’t want to miss out. Row and I sitting on the hood of his car, in front of an endless ocean, the moon, and the stars. Me saying, “Isn’t it beautiful?” and him answering, “Yes, you are.” Row being essentially in love with me. I couldn’t even touch the other revelation right now. It was too much to process. Bitchy. Bitchy. Bitchy. McMonster. Selfless, sweet McMonster. Who seemed to know me inside out. Who could read me like an open book. Could it be? But it couldn’t be. No. It couldn't. Not him. not the shinest boy in Staindrop. "No more running." I planted my feet on the pavement, clutching my knees, panting. Tears prickled the back of my eyeballs. Row looked on high alert. Neither of us seemed ready to acknowledge the fact that he was McMonster and I was Bitchy. For the first time since I'd known him, he looked like a boy. Not a heartthrob, not a world-famous chef, not a formidable boss-- just a boy.

Ugly or not, I could still kiss you if I wanted to, and you’d let me.” I choked on the rich cocoa in my mouth, my book dropping to the ground and closing without a bookmark. Shoot. “Why would you ever think that?” I’d turned to him, scandalized. He’d leaned close, one flat chest to another. He’d smelled of something foreign and dangerous and wild. Of golden California beaches, maybe. “Because my dad told me good girls like bad boys, and I’m bad. Really bad.

You value your good looks and hold on to them. Well, let me tell you, sister, one day you are goin’ to wake up and find out you’re not the prettiest girl on campus. Or at your workplace. Or—know what? Even in your household. Your beauty is just one brief chapter in your history book. Nothin’ but a sweet, elusive lie. Elegant wrapping paper, wrapped around a mysterious gift. And while it is true beautifully wrapped gifts are more appealing to the eye” —I cocked my head sideways, giving her body a quick, cold scan—“I’m sure whatever I have to offer under my wrapping paper’s worth more than your ugly words tonight.

My father always said that people are paper and memories are ink. Little did I know, my book would be dipped in tar, then ripped to shreds.

I know what you think when you look at me, Tess, and it’s not that I take good care of my grandmomma. You’re thinkin’, thank God it didn’t happen to me. You value your good looks and hold on to them. Well, let me tell you, sister, one day you are goin’ to wake up and find out you’re not the prettiest girl on campus. Or at your workplace. Or—know what? Even in your household. Your beauty is just one brief chapter in your history book. Nothin’ but a sweet, elusive lie. Elegant wrapping paper, wrapped around a mysterious gift. And while it is true beautifully wrapped gifts are more appealing to the eye” —I cocked my head sideways, giving her body a quick, cold scan—“I’m sure whatever I have to offer under my wrapping paper’s worth more than your ugly words tonight.

The girl hasn’t met a book she didn’t want to read,

I slid into one of my black suits (why other colors existed was beyond me. Black was suitable for every occasion. The only exception I made was with gray sweatpants, because those were practically considered lingerie for men) and wandered out of the master bedroom. I descended down the three marble steps to the living room. Black, sleek chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, and upholstered black leather couches and recliners filled the room. The three walls that weren’t floor-to-ceiling windows were bare, raw concrete. Everything about my place was dark, indulgent, and dangerous. An apartment carefully designed in the aesthetic of a modern douchebag.

These two had the sexual chemistry of a tampon and a ketchup stain together. I couldn’t fathom how she didn’t see it. Madison was fire, and Ethan was . . . what the fuck was he, anyway? Not water. Not earth. He was a shadow. A by-product of something else.

I did my best not to laugh at that. They had lengthy conversations about my obsession with Sam. Behind my back. I always knew that Sailor, Emmabelle, and Persephone were one unit, and I was an addition. A bonus epilogue to an already perfectly finished book. They’d all met at elementary school, while I’d been added to their girl-gang when I was seventeen.

I am hell bound, and you are heaven sent. You’re the first girl I ever looked at and thought…I want to kiss her. I want to own her. I wanted you to look at me the way you look at your fantasy book—with a mixture of awe, anticipation, and warmth. I gave you a brownie, hoping you’d remember me sweetly, praying the sugar rush would spin a positive feel around that vacation. I remember how you looked at me when you saw me killing jellyfish. I never wanted you to look at me like that ever again.

You make me feel brave. Powerful. You make staring at myself in the mirror without flinching slighty easier. And I want to, Bane. I want those things I read about in the books. So, by all means, kiss me.

it. The girl hasn’t met a book she didn’t want to read,