Mcgregor Forever Quotes

Once people realize how easy it is to make a difference, they’re forever changed

You can come with me to the McGregor Room,” I say. “But you have to promise to be quiet.” Affectionately Peter says, “Lara Jean, only you would look forward to hanging out in a library.

In fact, sometimes she looks at me in this way I can’t really describe but it does things to my heart. It warms me up, from head to toe and my chest is the epicenter. I just want to bottle that look and hold onto forever, open it on a cold, foggy day and feel bright and alive all over again.

I want to be the only man who witnesses that look. I want it to be mine forever.

You can come with me to the McGregor Room,” I say. “But you have to promise to be quiet.” Affectionately Peter says, “Lara Jean, only you would look forward to hanging out in a library.” Actually, judging by Pinterest alone, I’m pretty sure a lot of people would look forward to hanging out in such a beautiful library. Just not people Peter knows. He thinks I’m so quirky. I’m not planning on being the one to break the news to him that I’m actually not that quirky, that in fact lots of people like to stay home and bake cookies and scrapbook and hang out in libraries. Most of them are probably in their fifties, but still. I like the way he looks at me, like I am a wood nymph that he happened upon one day and just had to take home to keep.

I don’t think I will ever be the same. No. I know I won’t be. I can’t be, not after this. There is no going back. And then I’m hit with a sledgehammer made of heart and truth that feels like its blowing me to smithereens. I don’t want to ever be with anyone else. I can’t be with anyone else. I want Linden and I want him forever. Tears spring to my eyes as I clamp them shut and think, You’re it, you’re it, you’re it. All this time you’ve been it.

Tell me something else instead. Tell me what you’re looking forward to most about going to school here.” “You go first. What are you most excited about?” Right away, Peter says, “That’s easy. Streaking the lawn with you.” “That’s what you’re looking forward to more than anything? Running around naked?” Hastily I add, “I’m never doing that, by the way.” He laughs. “It’s a UVA tradition. I thought you were all about UVA traditions.” “Peter!” “I’m just kidding.” He leans forward and puts his arms around my shoulders, rubbing his nose in my neck the way he likes to do. “Your turn.” I let myself dream about it for a minute. If I get in, what am I most looking forward to? There are so many things, I can hardly name them all. I’m looking forward to eating waffles every day with Peter in the dining hall. To us sledding down O-Hill when it snows. To picnics when it’s warm. To staying up all night talking and then waking up and talking some more. To late-night laundry and last-minute road trips. To…everything. Finally I say, “I don’t want to jinx it.” “Come on!” “Okay, okay…I guess I’m most looking forward to…to going to the McGregor Room whenever I want.” People call it the Harry Potter room, because of the rugs and chandeliers and leather chairs and the portraits on the wall. The bookshelves go from the floor to the ceiling, and all of the books are behind metal grates, protected like the precious objects they are. It’s a room from a different time. It’s very hushed--reverential, even. There was this one summer--I must have been five or six, because it was before Kitty was born--my mom took a class at UVA, and she used to study in the McGregor Room. Margot and I would color, or read. My mom called it the magic library, because Margot and I never fought inside of it. We were both quiet as church mice; we were so in awe of all the books, and of the older kids studying. Peter looks disappointed. I’m sure it’s because he thought I would name something having to do with him. With us. But for some reason, I want to keep those hopes just for me for now. “You can come with me to the McGregor Room,” I say. “But you have to promise to be quiet.” Affectionately Peter says, “Lara Jean, only you would look forward to hanging out in a library.

the McGregor Room whenever I want.” People call it the Harry Potter room, because of the rugs and chandeliers and leather chairs and the portraits on the wall.

I want to watch her face change and for that wonderful vulnerability to take hold. I want to be the only man who witnesses that look. I want it to be mine forever.

I had already gathered some of the intellectual and artistic tools that would help me navigate her death: black lipstick, the art of people who had just lived through the First World War, and a deeper sense of the Earth’s history as a series of apocalypses big and small, from extinction events to continents smashing into each other and creating mountain ranges. Each of these apocalypses had been both terrifying and world-making. I couldn’t imagine living after my mother died, but people did, it turned out; they lived through all kinds of things, things that changed them forever. This was the beauty and the horror at the heart of chaos. The ordered world I’d been promised if I was good enough turned out to be a lie. That realization was horrifying, but it also set me free in a way; if being a good girl couldn’t protect me from chaos, then maybe being good wasn’t the point.