Lynn Painter Book Quotes

Also—thanks to Taylor Swift, for writing songs that feel like books.

For The Lonely, The Daydreamers, The ones who find their friends between the pages of books— YOU MATTER, and your happy ending WILL come. Sometimes the wait is just longer in real life than in fiction.

God, I wished I were in my room right now, rereading that Emily Henry book.

...for my beloved dad, who saw the cover but never got to read the book.

You get what I mean. On a normal day when you're feeling less than positive, force yourself to change your thinking. Instead of 'It sucks that I have to go to school,' think 'It's such a nice day that maybe after school I will recline the seat of my truck and read a good book while the breeze still smells like springtime.

Your fart books, hello? I need some relief, ma'am. Where are the books on gastrointestinal emergencies?

I realized at that moment that I wanted it. I wanted Wes. Michael had been my endgame, but I couldn't bring myself to care about that anymore. I wouldn't run through a train station for Michael. But I would do it for Wes. Holy shit.

She's not you. What? She. Isn't. You.

He was wearing a hoodie that said Mr. Nothing, with baggy shorts, and he didn’t have a single thing in his hands. No carry-on, no book, no coat; what kind of person traveled like that?

Your fart books. Hello?” He said it with great impatience, like I was the one acting strangely for just staring at him. “I need some relief, ma’am. Where are the books on gastrointestinal emergencies?

I’ve left my initials somewhere inside of every library book I’ve checked out since the second grade.

On a normal day when you’re feeling less than positive, force yourself to change your thinking. Instead of ‘It sucks that I have to go to school, think ‘It’s such a nice day that maybe after school I will recline the seat of my truck and read a good book while the breeze smells like springtime.

I fell in love with you Buxbaum

For The Lonely, The Daydreamers, The ones who find their friends between the pages of books- YOU MATTER, and your happy ending WILL come. Sometimes the wait is just longer in real life than in fiction.

No matter how much planning you did, and no matter how safe you played it, some intangible was always going to rear its head and shake things up.

I mean, we weren’t on a date and it was morning, but if I read about this coffee shop excursion in a book, I would be creating a whole Pinterest mood board on it because it was one of those kicking-and-screaming-into-my-pillow scenes in a book. They’re reading together in a coffee shop!

For the lonely, for the daydreamers, for those who find their friends in the pages of books

I don't have your present with me," he said, and it irked me that he wasn't being nice about it. At all. Because even though she was kind of acting bonkers at the moment, she was still Emilie. Emilie read books for fun, asked for extra credit, texted her grandma during Chemistry, and cackled like a child when her friends pummeled her with snowballs in the parking lot (I'd been parked one row over the previous week when they'd waged war). She hummed to the Taylor in her Air Pods while reading before the bell, for the love of God. She was ... all of that, yet he looked like he wished she'd disappear. Such an idiot.

I love you, Glasses I love you too, Mr. Nothing

work at Hex Coffee.” “Really? Huh—I’m surprised I’ve never seen you there.” “You go there a lot?” “No. I actually hate coffee.” That made me snort. “Of course you do.” “I’m more of a tea guy.” “Lying again?” “I seriously drink four to five cups of Sleepytime every day.” “You have to be lying.” “Swear to God.” I tried picturing him drinking tea and frankly, it was too adorable. He gave off strong Jess Mariano vibes when he talked about books, and the tea just made it bigger. I said, “I hate tea.” “You would.

Fine.” He made a growly sound and said, “Uh, something that mattered to her, I guess. I mean, if she was a bookish person like you, I’d try to find a special edition of her favorite book or something.

I blinked—what exactly was I trying to do? Michael was it—the guy. Just like in the book we were reading in Lit—The Great Gatsby—he was the green light across the bay, the symbol of the dream, the cohesive-thread-come-full-circle love interest that my mom had written into all of her scripts. I guess I was trying to put the happy ending on my script, so to speak. I said, “I just need to know that happily ever after really exists.

Shes not you." "What?" " She. Isnt. You" - Wes Bennet