Restore Me Tahereh Mafi Quotes

Idiots are highly flammable, love. Let them all burn in hell.

I love that the girl who blushes so easily in my arms is the same one who would kill a man for hurting me.

I'm having a panic attack, you inconsiderate ass.

Who says you can’t be cute and kick ass at the same time?” Kenji winks at me. “I do it every day.

I cannot let the broken girl inside of me inhale all that I've become. I cannot revert back to another version of myself. I will not shatter, not again, in the wake of an emotional earthquake.

People are idiots, love. Their opinions are worthless.

So this— This is agony. This is what they talk about when they talk about heartbreak. I thought I knew what it was like before. I thought I knew, with perfect clarity, what it felt like to have my heart broken, but now—now I finally understand.

Go to hell, Kishimoto.” “I'm right behind you, bro.” He winks at me.

It hits me with a painful force, the reminder. Of just how much I love her. God, I love all of her. Her impossibilities, her exasperations. I love how gentle she is with me when we’re alone. How soft and kind she can be in our quiet moments. How she never hesitates to defend me. I love her.

I mean , I’ve always known I had a great face. But now I know, like, for sure that I’ve got a great face. And it’s just so validating.

Shit, man, if I didn’t know you were in a world of pain right now, I’d be filming this.

In the steady thrum that accompanies quiet, my mind is unkind to me. I think too much. I feel, perhaps, far more than I should. It would be only a slight exaggeration to say that my goal in life is to outrun my mind, my memories.

Loneliness is a bitter, wretched companion. Sometimes it just won't let go

But — why would she break up with you? Why was she crying?” At this, I laugh again. “ Because I,” I say, pointing at myself, “am a monster." Kenji looks confused. “ And how is that news to anyone?” I smile. He’s funny, I think. Funny guy.

The destruction of the world didn’t happen overnight, and neither will saving it,

I mean, I deserve to be happy, don't I?" (...) "You deserve to be the happiest

Right now I feel certain that my imagination is much more dangerous than any of his truths.

The world tried to crush you,” I say, gently now, “and you refused to be shattered.

I think you’re wonderful.” “Wonderful, huh?” “Yep,” I say, and link my arm in his. “You’re smart and funny and kind and — ” “Handsome,” he says. “Don’t forget handsome." “And very handsome

Men are always so baffled by women’s clothing. So many opinions about a body that does not belong to them. Cover up, don’t cover up - no one can seem to decide.

And I pull her in. Press my forehead to hers. “Those who do not understand you,” I say softly, “will always doubt you.” She leans back, just an inch. Looks up. “And I,” I say, “I have never doubted you.” “Never?” I shake my head. “Not once.

This," he says, touching the air between us, “is an exception to a very hard rule.

You’re a total catch.” “I know, right? I keep trying to tell people.

What the hell is wrong with you, man? I thought we were cool.” “We were,” Warner says icily. “Until you touched my hair.” “You asked me to give you a haircut—” “I said nothing of the sort! I asked you to trim the edges!” “And that’s what I did.” “This,” Warner says, spinning around so I might inspect the damage, “is not trimming the edges, you incompetent moron—” I gasp. The back of Warner’s head is a jagged mess of uneven hair; entire chunks have been buzzed off.

Oh, you are in for a world of pain, bro. A world. Of. Pain.

This , I think , is the way to die. I could drown in this moment and I’d never regret it. I could catch fire from this kiss and happily turn to ash. I could live here, die here, right here, against his hips, his lips. In the emotion in his eyes as he sinks into me, his heartbeats indistinguishable from mine. This. Forever. This.

Here in the dark, dusty corners of my mind I feel a strange relief. I am always welcome here in my loneliness, in my sadness in this abyss, there is a rhythm I remember. The steady drop of tears, the temptation to retreat, the shadow of my past the life I choose to forget has not will never ever forget me

The world I remember was tired and racist and volatile as hell, ripe for a hostile takeover by a shit regime. We were already divided. The conquering was easy.

I have a great fear of drowning in the ocean of my own silence.

You know what? Who cares what you’re wearing?” Kenji says. “It’s all in the attitude, anyway. It’s about how you carry yourself.” I look up at him, feeling the height difference between us more acutely than ever. “But I’m so short.” “Napoleon was short, too.” “Napoleon was horrible,” I point out. “Napoleon got shit done, didn’t he?” I frown.

But the fire of true hatred, I realize, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much,

I’m sorry I ever asked you guys to be friends. You don’t have to be friends. You don’t even have to like each other. Forget I said anything.” Warner drops his crossed arms. Kenji raises his eyebrows. “I promise,” I say. “No more forced hangout sessions. No more spending time alone without me. Okay?” “You swear?” Kenji says. “I swear.” “Thank God,” Warner says. “Same, bro. Same.” And I roll my eyes, irritated. This is the first thing they’ve managed to agree on in over a week: their mutual hatred of my hopes for their friendship.

I touch his face, almost without meaning to, gently , like he might be a ghost, like this might be a dream and the tips of my fingers graze his cheek, trail the line of his jaw and I stop when his breath catches, when his body shakes almost imperceptibly and we lean in as if by memory eyes closing lips just touching “Give me another chance, ” he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. My heart aches, throbs in my chest. “Please,” he says softly, and he’s somehow closer now, his lips touching mine as he speaks and I feel pinned in place by emotion, unable to move as he presses the words against my mouth, his hands soft and hesitant around my face and he says, “I swear on my life,” he says, “ I won’t disappoint you” and he kisses me Kisses me right here, in the middle of everything, in front of everyone.

Do you know how much I love you?” I say. “I love—loved you so much. So much

There is a strange kind of freedom in giving up.

But the fire of true hatred, I realize, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much, if I did not care.

Arrogance is false confidence. It is born from insecurity.

Juliette will never, ever forgive me. I will lose her. And it will kill me.

But now Warner’s eyes are moving, studying me. He looks at me with such intensity I wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. I wonder if he knows that when he looks at me like that I can feel it as acutely as if his bare skin were pressed against my own, that it does things to me when he looks at me like that and it makes me crazy.

And then he’s up up and away and I’m counting on one hand the number of men I’ve killed and marveling at how little it’s done to help me hold it together in Warner’s presence.

She reaches down, her fingers trailing along the zipper of my pants, and the movement sears through me. My vision goes white. For a moment I hear nothing but my heart, pounding in my head. “You are trying to kill me,” I say. “Aaron.” I can feel her smile as she whispers the word in my ear. She’s unbuttoning my pants. “Please.” And I, I am gone.

And I pull her in, press my forehead to hers. “Those who do not understand you,” I say softly, “will always doubt you.

He kisses me again, his occasional gasps for air hot against my skin, and I taste him, his mouth, his neck, the hard line of his jaw and he fights back a groan, pulls away, pain and pleasure twinning together as he moves deeper, harder, his muscles taught, his body rock solid against mine. He has one hand around the back of my neck, the other around the back of my thigh and he wraps us together, impossibly closer, overwhelming me with an extraordinary pleasure that feels like nothing I've ever known. It's nameless. Unknowable, impossible to plan for. It's different every time.

I love the sight of his naked body. especially in these quiet, vulnerable moments. These brackets of time stapled between dreams and reality are my favorite. There's a sweetness in this hesitant consciousness - a careful, gentle return of form of function, I've found I love these minutes most for the delicate way in which they unfold. It's tender. Slow motion. Time tying its shoes.

Politics, it turns out, is a science I don’t yet understand . Killing things, breaking things — destroying things? That, I understand. Getting angry and going to war, I understand. But patiently playing a confusing game of chess with a bunch of strangers from around the world? God, I’d so much rather shoot someone.

How did I allow myself to imagine that a supernatural ability to kill things with my skin would suddenly grant me a comprehensive understanding of political science?

you know what I think, she says, still smiling, about somebody telling me what's legal and illegal of the way i dress? she holds up two middle fingers.

Arrogance is false confidence. It is born from insecurity. Haider pretends to be unafraid. He pretends to be crueler than he is. He lies easily. Than makes him unpredictable and, in som ways, a more dangerous opponent. But the majority of the time his actions are inspired by fear. And that makes him weak.

t’s a torrent of feeling, a simultaneous, ephemeral taste of death and bliss and my eyes close, white - hot heat flashes behind my eyelids and I have to fight the need to call out his name even as I feel us shatter together, destroyed and restored all at once and he gasps He says, “ Juliette —

But the fire of true hatred, I realise, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much, if I did not care.

I wonder if she knows that I would do anything for her.

If I ever catch you putting your hands on him again, I will tear open your chest,” she says, “and rip out your heart.

She's never lived anywhere but in books and memories.

But how?” she says, her voice breaking on the word. “How do I get them out of my head?” “Set them on fire.” Her eyes go wide. “In your mind,” I say, attempting a smile. “Let them fuel the fire that keeps you striving.” I reach out, touch my fingers to her cheek. “Idiots are highly flammable, love. Let them all burn in hell.

Kenji,” I say, only half hearing him, “I’ve just realized I’ve never met any foreign officials before.” “I know, right? Me neither,” he says, mussing my hair. “But it’ll be okay. You just need to calm down. Anyway, you look cute. You’ll do great.” I slap his hand away. “I may not know much about being a supreme commander yet, but I do know that I’m not supposed to be cute.” Just then, the elevator dings open. “Who says you can’t be cute and kick ass at the same time?” Kenji winks at me. “I do it every day.

Right now I can see her, this other version of myself. I can see her dragging her dirty fingernails against the chambers of my heart, drawing blood. And if I could reach inside myself and rip her out of me with my own two hands, I would. I would snap her little body in half. I would toss her mangled limbs out to sea. I would be rid of her then, fully and truly, bleached forevermore of her stains on my soul. But she refuses to die. She remains within me, an echo. She haunts the halls of my heart and mind and though I'd gladly murder her for a chance at freedom, I cannot.....So I close my eyes and beg myself to be brave. I take deep breaths. I cannot let the broken girl inside of me inhale all that I've become. I will not shatter, not again, in the wake of an emotional earthquake.

So I lie here, marinating in a sorrow I can never speak of, while regret consumes my heart.

I'm very tired," I say to him. "Please go directly to hell

Let them fuel the fire the keeps you striving. Idiots are highly flammable, love. Let them all burn in hell.

This horrible half-grief has made me feel complicit in darkness. I worry that my sadness will be interpreted as an endorsement of his choices—of his very existence—and in this matter I don’t want to be misunderstood, so I cannot admit that I grieve him, that I care at all for the loss of this monstrous man who raised me. And in the absence of healthy action I remain frozen, a sentient stone in the wake of my father’s death. I hated him. I hated him with a violent intensity I’ve never since experienced. But the fire of true hatred, I realize, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much, if I did not care. And it is this, my unrequited affection for my father, that has always been my greatest weakness. So I lie here, marinating in a sorrow I can never speak of, while regret consumes my heart. I am an orphan.

But I’ve been trying so hard to be a different man; to be, if not kinder, then at the very least, better. I don’t want to lose the love I’ve come to cherish.

Me pregunto si ella sabe que haría cualquier cosa por ella.

I worry that my sadness will be interpreted as an endorsement of his choices—of his very existence—and in this matter I don’t want to be misunderstood, so I cannot admit that I grieve him, that I care at all for the loss of this monstrous man who raised me. And in the absence of healthy action I remain frozen, a sentient stone in the wake of my father’s death.

You have to get it together, girl, or you're not going to get through this alive. You have no idea what's going on behind the scenes or what the other commanders have in store for you. Lena won't be the last of us to arrive here, you know. And no one is coming here to play nice." "Good. Let them come.

I have a great fear of drowning in the ocean of my own silence. In the steady thrum that accompanies quiet, my mind is unkind to me. I think too much. I feel, perhaps, far more than I should.

I have a great fear of drowning in the ocean of my own silence. In the steady thrum that accompanies quiet, my mind is unkind to me. I think too much. I feel, perhaps, far more than I should. It would be only a slight exaggeration to say that my goal in life is to outrun my mind, my memories. So I have to keep moving.

The world tried to crush you, and you refused to be shattered. You've recovered from every setback a stronger person, rising form the ashes only to astonish everyone around you. And you will continue to surprise and confuse those who underestimate you. It is an inevitability. A forgone conclusion. But you should know now that being a leader is a thankless occupation. Few will ever be grateful for what you do or for the changes you implement. Their memories will be short, convenient. Your every success will be scruntinized. Your accomplishments will be brushed aside, breeding only greater expectations from those around you. Your power will push you further away from your friends. You will be made to feel lonely. Lost. You will long for validation from those you once admired, agonizing between pleasing old friends and doing what is right. But you must never, ever let the idiots into your head. They will only lead you astray.

If i'm upset right now, it's becuase I've just discovered that everyone closest to me has been lying to me. Using me. Manipulating me for their own needs. My parents, are still alive, and apparently they're no better than the abusive monsters who adopted me. I have a sister being actively tortured by The Reestablishment-- and I never even knew she existed. I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that nothing is going to be the same for me, not ever again, and I have no idea who to trust or how to move forward. So yeah, right now I don't care about anything. Because I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore. And I don't know who my friends are. Right now, everyone is my enemy, including you.

Clothes used to perplex me. I could never understand how to piece together an outfit the way Warner did. I thought it was a science I'd never crack; a skill beyond my grasp. But I'm realizing now that my problem was that I never knew who I was; I didn't understand how to dress the imposter living in my skin. What did I like? How did I want to be perceived? For years my goal was to minimize myself-- to fold and refold myself into a polygon of nothingness, to be too insignificant to be remembered. I wanted to appear innocent; I wanted to be thought of as quiet and harmless; I was worried always about how my very existence was terrifying to others and I did everything in my power to diminish myself, my light, my soul. I wanted so desperately to placate the ignorant. I wanted so badly to appease the assholes who judged me without knowing me that I lost myself in the process. But now? Now, I laugh. Out loud. Now, I don't give a shit.

So you have to keep it together, kid. Because if you start losing it now? The Reestablishment is going to eat you alive. It's what they want. In fact, it's probably what they're expecting-- they're waiting for you to self-destruct all this shit for them. So you can't let them see this. You can't let these cracks show.

Does it really matter? Don't we have more important things to contend with than the staid details of my previous relationships?" "Normally? Yes. But when the supreme commander of North America is your ex-girlfriend, and she's already feeling really stressed about the fact that you've been lying to her? And then all of a sudden you other ex-girlfriend shows up and Juliette doesn't even know about her? And she realizes there are, like, a thousand other things you've lied to her about and then our very powerful supreme commander gets, like, super, super pissed? I don't know man, I don't see that ending well.

The world tried to crush you,'' I say, gently now, ''and you refused to be shattered.

The life a choose to forgive has not will never ever forget me

Arrogance is false confidence,” he says. “It is born from insecurity.

In the steady thrum that accompanies quiet, my mind is unkind to me. I think too much. I feel, perhaps, far more than I should.

Y luego estoy sobrio, todo a la vez, por la comprensión de que Juliette ya no es mía. Ella ya no es mía para amar, mía para adorar.

No puedo creer que haya logrado perderla. Dos veces. Y que ella me amo. Una vez.

Te amo, mi amor por ti nunca ha sido una mentira.

I’m not sure I could ever say no to her.

I chained the terrified little girl of my past in some unknowable dungeon inside of me where she and her fears had been carefully stored, sealed away. Her memories, suffocated. Her anger, ignore. I do not speak to her. I don’t dare look in her direction. I hate her. But right now I can hear her crying.

This, I think, is the way to die. I could drown in this moment and I’d never regret it. I could catch fire from this kiss and happily turn to ash. I could live here, die here, right here, against his hips, his lips. In the emotion in his eyes as he sinks into me, his heartbeats indistinguishable from mine. This. Forever. This.

Me?" I said, stunned. "How do I have leverage?" Castle sighed. "You certainly are brave for your age, Ms. Ferrars, but I'm sorry to see your youth so inextricably tied to inexperience. I will try to put it plainly: you have superhuman strength, nearly invincible skin, a letal touch, only seventeen years to your name, and you have single-handedly felled the despot of this nation. And yet you doubt that you might be capable of intimidating the world?" I cringed. "Old habits, Castle," I said quietly. "Bad habits. You're right, of course. Of course you're right.

i'm holding only one photo now, and I have to force myself, beg myself to look at it, the square polaroid shaking in my trembling hand. It's a picture of a little boy standing next to a little girl. she's sitting in a stairwell. He looks at her as she eats a piece of cake. I flip it over Aaron and Ella

I only know now that the scientists are wrong. The world is flat.

There’s a strange kind of freedom in giving up.

I have a great fear of drowning in the ocean of my own silence

Loneliness is a bitter, wretched companion. Sometimes it just won’t let go.

Those who do not understand you will always doubt you

I will never again apologize for surviving

But you must never, ever, let the idiots into your head. They will only lead you astray.

Arrogance is false confidence. It is born from insecurity

I know you want it back,” he says, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep it forever.” He holds it up, shows it to me. Grins. And then puts it in his pocket. The one place I’d never dare to reach. “Why?” I can’t help but ask. “Why do you want it so much?” He spends far too long just looking at me. Not answering my question. And then he says “On the darkest days you have to search for a spot of brightness, on the coldest days you have to seek out a spot of warmth; on the bleakest days you have to keep your eyes onward and upward and on the saddest days you have to leave them open to let them cry. To then let them dry. To give them a chance to wash out the pain in order to see fresh and clear once again.” “I can’t believe you have that memorized,” I whisper. He leans back again. Closes his eyes again. Says, “Nothing in this life will ever make sense to me but I can’t help but try to collect the change and hope it’s enough to pay for our mistakes.

Men” she says, “are always so baffled by women’s clothing. So many opinions about a body that does not belong to them. Cover up, don’t cover up”- she waves a hand- “but no one can seem to decide.

How did I think people ruled the world? Did I really imagine it would be so simple? That I might control the fabric of society from the comfort of my boyfriend's bedroom? I'm only now beginning to understand the breath of this delicate, intricately developed spiderweb of people, positions, and power already in place. I said I was up for the task. Me, a seventeen-year-old nobocy with very little life experience; I volunteered for this position. And now-- basically overnight-- I have to keep up. And I have no idea what I'm doing. But if I don't learn how to manage these many relationships? If I don't at least pretend to have even the slightest idea of how I'm going to rule? The rest of the world could so easily destroy me. And sometimes I'm not sure I'll make it out of this alive.

I feel empty, like there is nothing inside of me but this broken heart, the only organ left in this shell. I feel the bleats echo within me, I feel the thumping reverberate around my skeleton. I have a heart, says science, but I am a monster, says society. And I know it, of course I know it. I know what I've done. I'm not asking for sympathy. But sometimes I think - sometimes I wonder - if I were a monster - surely, I would feel it by now?

I feel cold all the time. I feel empty, like there is nothing inside of me but this broken heart, the only organ left in this shell. I feel the beats echo within me. I feel the thumping reverberate around my skeleton. I have a heart, says science, but I am a monster, says society. And I know it, of course I know it. I know what I've done. I'm not asking for sympathy. But sometimes I think - sometimes I wonder - if I were a monster - surely, I would feel it by now?

What the hell kind of soap opera did I just walk into here?” He runs a hand through his hair and says, “Why am I always getting involved in other people’s personal shit? Why can’t I just mind my own business? Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?

So I close my eyes and beg myself to be brave. I take deep breaths. I cannot let the broken girl inside of me inhale all that I've become. I cannot revert back to another version of myself. I will not shatter, not again, in the wake of an emotional earthquake.

The world tried to crush you,' I say, gently now, "and you refused to be shattered. You've recovered from every set back a stronger person, rising from the ashes only to astonish everyone around you. And you will continue to surprise and confuse those who underestimate you.

Kenji goes suddenly still. At the creak of the door Kenji’s eyebrows shoot up; a soft click and his eyes widen; a muted rustle of movement and suddenly the barrel of a gun is pressed against the back of his head. Kenji stares at me, his lips making no sound as he mouths the word psychopath over and over again. The psychopath in question winks at me from where he’s standing, smiling like he couldn’t possibly be holding a gun to the head of our mutual friend. I manage to suppress a laugh. “Go on,” Warner says, still smiling. “Please tell me exactly how she’s failed you as a leader.” “Hey—“ Kenji’s arms fly up in mock surrender. “I never said she failed at anything, okay? And you are clearly over-react—“ Warner knocks Kenji on the side of the head with the weapon. “Idiot.” Kenji spins around. Yanks the gun out of Warner’s hand. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? I thought we were cool.” “We were,” Warner says icily. “Until you touched my hair.” “You asked me to give you a haircut—“ “I said nothing of the sort! I asked you to trim the edges!” “And that’s what I did.” “This,” Warner says, spinning around so I might inspect the damage, “is not trimming the edges, you incompetent moron—“ I gasp. The back of Warner’s head is a jagged mess of uneven hair; entire chunks have been buzzed off. Kenji cringes as he looks over his handiwork. Clears his throat. “Well,” he says, shoving his hand in his pockets. “I mean—whatever, man, beauty is subjective—“ Warner aims another gun at him. “Hey!” Kenji shouts. “I am not here for this abusive relationship, okay?” He points to Warner. “I did not sign up for this shit!” Warner glares at him and Kenji retreats, backing out of the room before Warner has another chance to react; and then, just as I let out a sign of relief, Kenji pops his head back into the doorway and says “I think the cut looks cute, actually” and Warner slams the door in his face.