Daisy Whitney Quotes

I would be a freak with you anytime, anywhere.

He leans back on the bed, rests his head on the pillow.

"Want to go again?"

I narrow my eyes at him, crush my lips together, shake my head quickly. He thinks I'm easy.

Do you need anything?" she asks. A mom A dad. Someone. Anyone. Can you arrange for that? "Nah, I'm good.

Because this is what I believe - that second chances are stronger than secrets. You can let secrets go. But a second chance? You don't let that pass you by.

To come to peace with the moving on. It is a gift, in a way. We spend so much of our time fighting death, as we should. But sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves, and in turn the ones we love, is to know when to let go. To know when it is time - and to be at peace with that.

I don't tell her that my grasp on truth, on words, on people, has slipped. I was getting close, so close to normal again, and that's been snatched away. I'm not even back where I started. I'm somewhere else entirely, so far off the map I don't know where to turn next.

No, I am not all right, I want to say. Have you been to my house? Have you seen how empty it is?

Sometimes, when we are sad, we have to do the opposite of sad. Sometimes we have to sing.

I was exactly the person I am not.

I don't give a shit how many guys you hook up with as long as you use a condom. What I care about is whether you said yes. That's the only thing that matters.

Yeah, I'm just here for - I stop for a second, because I'm not sure how to finish the line out loud. To see if I can ever be happy, or even remotely human, again. Would you happen to have the magic cure?

Get away from my house and all its rooms that echo, all the rooms I don't enter anymore.

Some decisions are hard, some are easy, but either way it's our choices that matter. Who we chose to align with. What we choose to give in to. What we choose to resist. And most of all, who we choose to be. Because it is always our choice.

She expected a lot of me. When I was in fourth grade working on a book report, she made me start the whole thing over when she read it and said it was barely even legible. "What's wrong with it?" I asked her. "It's not good enough yet. You have to try harder," she said, her voice gentle. "You have to try hard at everything you do. That's all I ask." I rolled my eyes and revised it, and over time her approach wore off on me and I became like her too - wanting to do my best, expecting my best.

Life is short, and life is beautiful, and everything is lovely. Love it, embrace it, smell the lilacs, play with the dog, and love endlessly and fiercely with everything you've got. Live without regret.

He gets that sometimes you just need to guard the door without knowing why

I scan his features, his nose, his lips, searching for something, anything that rings a bell. A clue to connect me to him. But remembering last night is like looking frosted glass.

Natalie, who's built like Serena Williams. Natalie, who slaughters track records in the spring, who smashes lacrosse sticks in the fall, who could crush me with her thigh muscle alone even though I'm no pipsqueak. I'm five-seven, but she's over six feet and really, what would I defend myself with? My long slinder fingers?

We are what we love. We are the things, the people, the ideas we spend our days with. They center us, they drive us, they define us to our very core.
Without them, we are empty.

Even though I know Miranda is suppose to jam her heel - she wears leather boots with four-inch spikes in my version - into his shin, sending Caliban to the floor in a crippline mess, I don't do that.
Instead, like I'm some sort of primitive creature, an animal operating only on instinct, I whip around, lift my knee and jam it into his balls.
Henry grabs his crotch and falls to the ground. He moans, the class gasps, and Ms. Peck stands motionless. - 240

Why she was the happy one when she was dying, and I just can't seem to manage anything when I'm living.

... if you have someone who wants to heal, sometime they will respond to the unconventional. Their minds are more open to healing, so their bodies become more willing too. I believe that medication, while a wonderful thing, has its limits. That there are answers to be found in the unconventional.

As I looked at the matted bedsheets twisting around this boy and me, snaking across his naked waist, curling around my exposed chest, a draft rushes through the room, bringing a fresh chill with it.

That must be it. It's chilly. It's cold. It's January.

Maybe it was snowing. We went sledding, I took a spill, changed out of my ice-cold clothes and then crashed here in Carver's room.

No, it's Carter.
Definitely Carter.

I'm naked in bed with a boy and I can't even get his name right.

When someone you love has died, there is a certain grace period during which you can get away with murder. Not literal murder, but pretty much anything else.

[Referring to rape] It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it.

My heart hammers and my head hurts and there's this taste in my mouth. This dry, parched taste. This taste of a night I don't remember with….

I squeeze my eyes shut. This can't be hard. What's his name?

Remember, Goddamn it, remember.

Carver.

His name is Carver.

Hey Alex!" Natalie's voice calls out. "Nice clothes from last night."

There's no jamming with the band, no all-night music. Just me in my boots and bedhead, and the whole girls' track team now knows I didn't sleep in my room last night.

I want to yell back, "You know nothing!"

But she obviously knows something. She was there. At the club. And I'm the one who knows nothing.

This boy, this bed, this room, me. We are like clumsy fingers on the piano, crashing across the wrong keys and over the jarring music, I hear that one word again.

Leave.

As you see, context is everything and nothing at the same time. Words stand alone and with each other.

Three things I know this second: I have morning breath, I'm naked and I'm waking up next to a boy I don't know.

Love and Other Theories challenged my assumptions, dared me to think differently and burrowed into my heart. A heart-achingly beautiful story about whether it is better to protect your heart or to take the biggest risk of all.

And we're all good, everything is forgiven between Beethoven and me because this is the part of me that hasn't changed. In this monent I'm not defined by the other things, the things that happened to me, the things I didn't choose. This is the part of me that defines me for all time, for always. The thing I choose completely.

I risk a grin at the thought. Because there's a part of me that likes that idea. Get out of town and never look back.

I pull the door open and do the one thing I should have done last night.

Leave.

Because you're supposed to remember your first time.

Because maybe it's in the stories that the people we love are still alive.

I am no longer the left behind. I am the living. And I want everything this life has to offer. I stop for a second and look around at all the shops and stores and stalls. At all the people, going about their days, at all the moments they're living. This is what I want. I want to live every moment. I want to feel everything.

A cup of chamomile tea before bed might just do the trick," he says.

Right. That'll fix everything. And while we're at it, do you have anything that'll help me remember losing it with a guy I don't even know?