Roommates Series Quotes

Every body is different, but none of them are wrong.

I guess it's hard, being apart all the time." "It really is. If Lucas were still here, everything would be different." Vic's smile turned smug. "Yeah, I'd have a roommate who could beat me at chess instead of the other way around." Ranulf never looked up from the chessboard. "I hear your insults and plan to silence them with my victory." "Keep dreaming," Vic called.

Isn’t that what all of us want deep down? Someone to hold us at the end of the line?

the scary things, the ones you spend the most time and energy talking yourself out of, are the ones that make life worth living.

Loving you is like sinking into a warm bath after a lifetime of feeling cold down to my bones.

Some fears kill us. They drain us our whole lives, and we die filled with regret. But this isn’t one of those fears. Make a plan.

Change always comes with a closing cost. But it's still worth trying. Not because the odds are particularly good, mind you, but considering the alternative. There's value in the struggle. Value in touching the raw and bloody parts of our souls, opening them up to the sunlight, and hoping they heal.

In your rush to protect yourself from heartache, you’re always the first to jump to conclusions.

I always thought love was supposed to make you itchy. A crawling-out-of-your-skin kind of obsession. I thought love was synonymous with pining and longing. That it had to hurt.

Art belongs to the audience, not the artist.

You coming?” “I mean, I’m gonna try not to,” Josh muttered.

Josh could hardly spend more than fifteen minutes with her without wanting to eat her out until he sprained his jaw.

His molecules had rearranged to give him this shot at loving her.

Unfortunately, like grain alcohol, unrequited love grows more potent with time.

And you seem like the kind of girl who would take notes.

Acknowledging your pain doesn’t take away from anyone else’s.

You wanna be right more than you wanna be happy

Change always comes with a closing cost,” Naomi said. “But it’s still worth trying. Not because the odds are particularly good, mind you, but considering the alternative. There’s value in the struggle. Value in touching the raw and bloody parts of our souls, opening them up to the sunlight, and hoping they heal.

It didn’t matter how many reasons she could list why Everett should love her. He didn’t. Not in the way she’d always wanted. And until she stopped waiting for a love she felt she was due, she’d never be able to imagine the future with anyone else.

It was strange to want something for so long, to turn it over so many times in your mind, that the image became as faded and worn as an old Polaroid. To become so consumed by the yearning in your heart that when you got what you’d always longed for, you could hardly recognize it.

No one ever died from an overdose of desire.

I make myself really sick over not meeting other people’s expectations

Sometimes we think we want something until it’s time to live with the consequences

people are more important than things.

Speaking of banging, when’s McSailor getting home?” Kirsten’s smirk was the size of Texas. Sophie had to smile. “Crude. You’re crude, roomie.

Right,” I muttered to myself, impaling the tiny positive-mental-attitude goblin who lived inside the deep, dark, super-black castle fortress of my soul. It was roommates with my silent love for The Sound of Music and cat memes.

Yet, as Brandon explained with a mixture of bitterness and regret, college proved to be the start of a long series of disappointments. Unable to pass calculus or physics, he switched his major from engineering to criminal justice. Still optimistic, he applied to several police departments upon graduation, excited about a future of “catching crooks.” The first department used a bewildering lottery system for hiring, and he didn’t make the cut. The second informed him that he had failed a mandatory spelling test (“I had a degree!”) and refused to consider his application. Finally, he became “completely turned off to this idea” when the third department disqualified him because of a minor incident in college in which he and his roommate “borrowed” a school-owned buffing machine as a harmless prank. Because he “could have been charged with a felony,” the department informed him, he was ineligible for police duty. Regrettably, his college had no record of the incident. Brandon had volunteered the information out of a desire to illustrate his honest and upstanding character and improve his odds of getting the job. With “two dreams deferred,”2 Brandon took a job as the nightshift manager of a clothing chain, hoping it would be temporary. Eleven years later, he describes his typical day, which consists of unloading shipments, steaming and pricing garments, and restocking the floor, as “not challenging at all. I don’t get to solve problems or be creative. I don’t get to work with numbers, and I am a numbers guy. I basically babysit a team and deal with personnel.” When his loans came out of deferment, he couldn’t afford the monthly payments and decided to get a master’s degree—partly to increase his earning potential and partly to put his loans back into deferment. After all, it had been “hammered into his head” that higher education was the key to success. He put on twenty-five pounds while working and going to school full-time for three years. He finally earned a master’s degree in government, paid for with more loans from “that mean lady Sallie Mae.”3 So far, Brandon has still not found a job that will pay him enough to cover his monthly loan and living expenses. He has managed to keep the loans in deferment by continually consolidating—a strategy that costs him $5,000 a year in interest. Taking

I don’t suppose you’re going to be able to—” She looked around for lurking roommates and leaned in a little closer. “Fuck with that? Especially if it’s broken.” Ryder smiled. “I can fuck with all but a broken dick and even then, I’d give it a red hot try.” He lunged, grabbing her arm and she squealed playfully as he dragged her towards him. “Come and sit in my lap and I’ll show you.

No one would believe she’d earned two advanced degrees from Ivy League institutions only to end up this stupid.

She wanted to call a doctor.

Somehow, it feels better than the day I got her.

I moved out here because I’m pushing thirty and I’ve spent my entire life in the cocoon of academia, avoiding the real world.

no matter how bad we mess up, eventually we get a clean slate.

After a few moments' consideration I decided the seaside landscape project I did the previous summer after my trip up to Saugatuck, on the eastern coast of Lake Michigan, would look great in that spot. While landscapes weren't my usual thing, I thought I did a decent job with that series. I'd been in a rare mood for watercolors on that trip, and I thought the warm, sandy tones I'd used would go well with the color scheme of the room. As would the seashells and pieces of beach trash I'd glued to the canvas once the paint had dried.

Women deserve this.” She stood up. This felt like the kind of moment when a person should stand up. “Women need to know that their pleasure matters.

I don’t suppose you’re robbing me?

It’ll be totally clinical. Scout’s honor.

I’m more than my job.

Discarding old dreams was surprisingly liberating.

I once met an eighty-nine-year-old woman who had, of her own volition, checked herself into a Boston nursing home. Usually, it’s the children who push for a change, but in this case she was the one who did. She had congestive heart failure, disabling arthritis, and after a series of falls she felt she had little choice but to leave her condominium in Delray Beach, Florida. “I fell twice in one week, and I told my daughter I don’t belong at home anymore,” she said. She picked the facility herself. It had excellent ratings and nice staff, and her daughter lived nearby. She had moved in the month before I met her. She told me she was glad to be in a safe place—if there’s anything a decent nursing home is built for, it is safety. But she was wretchedly unhappy. The trouble was that she expected more from life than safety. “I know I can’t do what I used to,” she said, “but this feels like a hospital, not a home.” It is a near-universal reality. Nursing home priorities are matters like avoiding bedsores and maintaining residents’ weight—important medical goals, to be sure, but they are means, not ends. The woman had left an airy apartment she furnished herself for a small beige hospital-like room with a stranger for a roommate. Her belongings were stripped down to what she could fit into the one cupboard and shelf they gave her. Basic matters, like when she went to bed, woke up, dressed, and ate, were subject to the rigid schedule of institutional life. She couldn’t have her own furniture or a cocktail before dinner, because it wasn’t safe.

It is the same all the time. It is unbearable,” the roommate cried. “The screaming seems to go right through my body. It feels like it is drawing all happiness out of me. It feels horrible. Please make it stop.

The weather is colder here. I’m tired because of the time change. My room is a little small, and I have a roommate from New York. Leo? Yeah? I don’t care about any of that crap. How’s the SOCCER? At the LONDON DRAGONS training camp?

You're everything I never knew I needed, but can't imagine my life without you, and frankly, I don't want to.

Sometimes, when I get into ridiculous movie-worthy moments, usually at the hands of my best friends and college roommates, I have to close my eyes, take a deep breath and think WWTSD? What would Taylor Swift do?