Julie Johnson Quotes

You think you can change a guy, that he'll be different with you, that you'll finally be the one to tame him… and before you know it, you're alone in your underwear at nine o'clock on a Saturday night, crying to Adele songs, eating ice cream straight from the gallon, and wondering what the hell is the matter with you that you fell for such a goddamned man-child, after he explicitly warned you not to.

I don't care how you label yourself - friend, girlfriend, strange blonde girl who follows me around ... "
He laughed when I smacked him on the arm.
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm crazy about you,

know better than anyone that love isn't always perfectly balanced - it doesn't break even, doesn't weigh the scales equally on both sides.

I was alone, for twenty-five years. And I didn't give a shit, because I didn't know what I was missing.
Then, this stubborn, beautiful fucking brunette came barreling into my life and shoved her way through all the shadows.

Did you ever stop to think that even if I am a monster, I might be your soulmate anyway?

If you meet me on the street you should hurry on without a backward glance, and later when you climb into bed beside a happy girl with simple thoughts and stroke her perfect hair with fingers that are still shaky from our near-miss, you can whisper that you had a brush with death today, darling, and somehow lived.

You can't find your feet? I'll be there to pull you up. You can't walk? I'll fucking carry you.

You're my girl. I'm not going to let anything happen to us. That's a promise.

So I wouldn't run too far, Freckles," Bash added, his voice a blend of frustration and determination. "Because we're not finished. Not by a fucking long shot.

I only cut carbs when I'm using a pizza cutter.

There's a nonsensical dichotomy that exists within you after you break up with someone - especially if it's someone you loved deeply. A large part of you hopes they'll move on, be happy, follow their dreams to the fullest.
That's the side you show the world.
But a smaller part of you, whether you admit its existence or not, secretly and selfishly yearns for a reality in which that person would never move on. Never forget your love, or replace you with someone else; never be fully complete again, without you by their side.
That's the side we hide away, the innermost part of ourselves that we push down below the socially-acceptable responses to heartbreak.

I scowl at him. "I know what you're doing."
"Standing here being charming and irresistible?

There'll be moments in life, sweet pea, that stand out in your memories like a photograph. Scenes captured perfectly in your mind, frozen in time with each detail as colorful as it was that first time you saw it. 'Flashbulb memories,' some people call them," she'd told me, her eyes crinkling up and nearly disappearing in a face etched with too many laugh lines to count. "Most people don't recognize those moments as they happen. They look back fifty years later, and realize that those were the most important parts of their entire life. But at the time, they're so busy looking ahead to what's coming down the line or worrying about their future, they don't enjoy their present. Don't be like them, sweet pea. Don't get so caught up in chasing your dreams that you forget to live them.

You should know, whenever that happens – you falling apart – whether it's right now or tomorrow or next week or next year…fi you'll let me, I'll be here to pick up the pieces.

Words are pretty, useless things - butterflies behind glass. You may feel warm and bright as you stare at their beauty but you'll walk away empty and cold, clutching nothing but the painful realization that you never really had anything at all.

You're right. You're not a princess
you're Little Red. and I'm the Big Bad Wolf.

We stared at one another, two strangers bound eternally by a shared past of lies and broken promises.

I want him to bury himself so deep beneath my skin he'll never find his way out, so he knows exactly how it feels to have someone so enmeshed in your soul, it's impossible to remove them without tearing yourself in two.

Nate and me ... we aren't built for truces, for good times, for light jokes and giggles. We're meant for the shadows. For the dirty, ugly, secret parts of our souls, the parts we can't hide because we know each other too well.

His gaze flashes up to lock on mine. I see his intent a split second before it turns to action.
"Don't," I whisper.
He takes a step toward me anyway.
"We shouldn't," I say, not moving.
He prowls closer.
"No good can come of this," I point out.
His hands hit my shoulders and he hauls me into his chest.
"This is a bad idea," I breathe against his lips.
"This is a fucking great idea," he mutters.
And then I can't say anything else, can't even think of anything else, because his mouth is on mine.

Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam.

- I shall either find a way, or make one.

Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.

Without the dark, there's no light

Wait, you hate waffles?" He chuckles. "Is that a problem?" "Um, yes." I make my eyes bug out. "Only Satan hates waffles." "Maybe I'm the devil.

No amount of soul searching would fix my past. There was no magical Band-Aid I could stick on my heart, no special glue I could use to make myself whole again. I had shattered to pieces like a fragile vase on concrete; some fragments could be roughly cobbled back together, but many of my vital parts had simply turned to dust, pulverized and scattered by the first gust of wind.

There will be absolutely no macho-man, bossy-pants shenanigans allowed.

Of all the people in the world who could've won the seat next to mine at that playoff game ... it was you, Gemma. You. The one person on the planet who might just understand me.

What are you doi - " My words are swallowed up as his lips crash down on mine. It isn't a soft kiss - it's intense, furious, in a way I never knew a kiss could be, his lips hard and unforgiving against mine. It's a shut-up-I-hate-you kiss. A you-drive-me-crazy kiss. An if-I-don't-kiss-you-I'll-kill-you kiss. It's a battle - our mouths are opposite fronts, fighting for ground, warring for control. I shove his chest. He bites my lip. I nip his tongue. He tugs my hair. The kiss goes wild as my other arm winds around him, clutching the back of his shirt, my nails raking against the fabric.

When you start to fall, don't try to talk yourself out of it. The right man will be there at the bottom, to catch you.

Well, in my experience, it's usually the things we're most afraid of that end up being the most worthwhile.

You're mine, now." His mouth crushes mine in a carnal, brutal kiss. "This is where it starts. You and me … You hear me? No more running.

We were doomed from the start. A lost cause. A losing battle. And yet, in that narrow instant, I didn't give a single fuck.

I think we need sadness and pain and horror, otherwise all the joy we experience means nothing. If you never feel fear, you can't be courageous enough to overcome it.

You could have Charles Manson as a father and end up a saint; you could have Mother Theresa as a mother and end up a serial killer. At the end of the day, you define the person you become. Not a strand of DNA. Not the parents you didn't get to choose. You." I

Take a risk on messy. Live Fearlessly. Love recklessly. Most of all, just love.

I'm not going out with you."
"Come on, it can just be a friends thing. If we choose to get naked afterward, so be it.

Grief is a kick in the chest. It steals your breath, hits you so hard you think you'll never stand back up again. And it's not just because you're grieving death or heartbreak or loss – you're grieving change. You're grieving the life that might have been, if it hadn't all gotten fucked up along the way.

Loving someone isn't about wanting them to evolve into someone better. My mom taught me that.
Real love is saying: here, take my still-beating heart and hold it in your hands and please, please, please, promise not to squeeze too tight or drop it on the pavement. Love is being naked and afraid, but refusing to flinch.

I'd learned some hard lessons in my life, but perhaps the most important one was that you have to cherish the insignificant moments you have with your most significant people. To hold onto the times when you're happy. To smile often, and laugh loudly. To enjoy the ones you love, and hold them close to your heart while you still have them.

Quite the opposite actually. I think having hope is one of the most important things you can do. Once you let go of it, despair takes over. Despair will kill you quicker than hope ever could. So if you're going to hold onto something...I'm glad it's that.

I loved my mother. It took me a long time to forgive her for leaving us. It took me an even longer time to forgive my father for his part in making her leave. But I did, because when it comes down to it… you either die alone, surrounded by the ghosts of all the people who ever let you down, or you live a life full of flawed people whose imperfections you've made a choice to overlook. I don't know about you but if given the choice, I'll pick the imperfections every time. I choose understanding over resentment, love over hate, forgiveness over loneliness.' I look at Parker. 'Some of us are still working on the forgiveness part.'
His eyes are still red, but his lips tug up in a half smile.
I take a deep breath. 'You don't get to pick your family. You don't get to choose the people who work their way into your heart and build a home there.' My eyes move to Nate. 'And life is too damn short not to spend it with the people who matter. Not to say I love you when you still can. Not to hold each other close and admit, out loud, You matter to me. My life wouldn't be the same without you.

To those who would love me - I offer you a warning. Do no get to close. You won't survive.

Truthfully, I hate basketball - almost as much as I hate lying. But, can I admit that on live radio without the entire male population of the greater Boston area wanting to kill me for scoring the much-coveted tickets most of them would sell their souls for? Probably not. So, I do what any self-respecting girl does in this situation. "Oh, huge, huge fan," I lie through my teeth.

You're crazy," I whispered, attempting to tug my hand from Sebastian's grip.
"Crazy for you," he countered, leading me into his kitchen through the back patio
door.
"You're ridiculous." I rolled my eyes.
"Ridiculously infatuated with you," he revised, tugging me along behind him.

This is why I have trust issues.
-A girl realizing her shampoo will never make her look like the model in the advertisement

I should've fought for you. Instead, I spent a long time blocking out every emotion I felt for you. And when I finally stopped being hurt and confused and headstrong, when I started to let feeling back in ... six years had passed and I was alone, on the other side of the world, without the only person I'd ever wanted standing by my side.

I totally ignore the sheer number of bookshelves lining the far wall, even though I'm itching to explore them, because, well, as everyone knows, if the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, the way to a girl's is through a good book.

I find some small, twisted comfort in thinking that perhaps we used each other. Him, for a glimpse into what it would be like to live a life entirely different from the one he'd been raised to desire, and me for the steady diet of angst and emotional damage that seemed to make me better, sharper, like a sword against a whetstone.
I was his intellectual escape from a long parade of pretty, empty girls... and he was my drug of choice -- unhealthy, probably lethal, but ultimately so addictive it was hard to turn away.
The problem, of course, with this theory of mutual exploitation, is that it is the deepest of lies. There was nothing equal or mutual about the way we used each other. I barely scratched his surface while he sliced me limb from limb.
There's no comfort in that. None at all.

Until he taught me to fl, I didn't realize how deep beneath the earth I'd buried my hopes and dreams.

People say love isn't supposed to be painful. But maybe the best things in life are the ones that hurt the most after they're gone.

We're together. You're mine. Which means, I give a shit. I'm always going to give a shit. We're going to fight, we're going to make mistakes, we're probably going to drive each other fucking crazy because, like I said earlier, you're a loon." I open my mouth to protest, but he keeps on talking. "Don't tell me I don't care about you, because it's bullshit. Don't tell me I'm not in this with you, because I am. I'm in it, sunshine. And I care - a hell of a lot more than I ever thought I would." He drops his forehead to rest against mine, and his voice loses a tiny bit of its edge. "This relationship - it's happening. You and me - we're partners. Equal partners, with equal feelings, and equal fucking chances of getting hurt. You got me?

I've had hundreds of boyfriends. So what if they're fictional? Don't you dare judge our love.

When you've spent your whole life not being good enough, it takes time to let yourself believe that you finally are. Self-worth isn't a switch that flips inside you. It's a daily struggle not to sabotage your own success. Not to cave into the voices inside your head that whisper you're not good enough, or you'll fuck things up, or that someone else could do things better than you.

Grayson Dunn is in my head. He's under my skin. He's invaded me like a deadly disease and hijacked my immune system until I don't even bother fighting it anymore. I look at him, and I'm twisted into knots. Tangled into a messy spool of desire and desperation.

I pour another drink and wash the taste of dashed dreams from the back of my tongue. I feel half-dead, but my broken heart somehow still beats. What a stubborn, senseless organ, to keep going when all hope and happiness are lost.

Implication and instruction are vastly different creatures,

Life is one long series of punches to the gut. You either learn how to duck, or you figure out how to hit back. I've been hitting back so long, at this point I've got a mean left hook and more than my fair share of scars.

I can't stop myself - I reach out a hand and lay it against his knee. He tenses at the contact, but, after a few seconds, I feel his muscles relax under my fingers. He's unused to being comforted, I think to myself. Unused to the idea that someone might reach out to give rather than take, requiring nothing in return.

Certain people were simply meant to cross your path - to reach into your chest and leave an irreversible handprint on your heart, on your very soul.

I'd felt it – that moment when a person you need more than air or water or sustenance steps into your orbit and everything subtly shifts, like a camera finally sliding into focus. That person, who used to mean less than nothing, enters your life and rearranges your entire atmosphere around them, as if every atom and cell that makes you you isn't your property anymore. Suddenly, every part of you becomes theirs – your particles dissembled and rearranged to align perfectly with someone who you don't even know or understand yet. You cease to exist as you once were, and that person who meant nothing is suddenly, overwhelmingly, everything.

Nope.' He grabs my hand and places it over his heart. 'I already know the truth. We're dating.' His eyebrows waggle. 'Exclusively.'
'Gross.'
'Do you want to wear my letterman's jacket?'
'I'm going to vomit.'
'"Should I buy you a corsage?'
'Seriously. Gagging.'
'Okay, no corsage.' He laughs. 'Just the matching tattoos, then?'
'Seriously.' I fight the urge to stomp my foot. 'Let it go, Parker. Let it go.'
'Hey, Elsa, don't quote Frozen to me unless you're prepared to listen to the entire soundtrack in my car on the way to Seaport.' I stare up at him. 'I'm not sure whether I should be disturbed or turned on by the fact that you know all the words to Let It Go.'
He grins. 'Definitely turned on.'
'Downloaded in your iTunes library, no doubt.' I shake my head. 'This is nearly as disturbing as the time I learned the song A Whole New World from Aladdin is a metaphor for mind-blowing sex.'
'I'm sorry, what?'
'I can open your eyes? Lead you wonder by wonder? Over, sideways, and under?' I snort. 'Come on. That's basically soft-core porn.'
'Thank you, Zoe, for ruining a beloved Disney classic for me.'
'Anytime.'
'For the record…' He trails off.
I wince, anticipating the worst. 'What?'
'I'll take you on my magic carpet ride any time you
want, snookums.'
'Pass.'
'So, that's a no on rubbing my lamp then?'
'You know, I think I'll just find my own way to Nate's…' I turn an

Gemma." He shakes his head. "This is happening between us.

I think that if two people are meant to be together, nothing can ever truly separate them. Time, distance, other people - it doesn't matter. They'll circle back around to each other eventually.

Trouble, aren't you?"…
"No," I lie, heart still hammering.
His grin widens. He knows I'm full of shit.
"Too bad." His eyes flicker to my mouth. "I'm rather fond of trouble."
Gulp.

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Marriage (noun): betting someone half your stuff that you'll love them forever.

Your hearing is just fine. It's your listening that seems to be the problem.

The wildest stallions are the most fun to break.

Jesus Christ." I look up to the heavens, seeking divine intervention. "This is torture."
"This? No. This is a conversation between…friends."
"We aren't friends."
"You're right." He shakes his head. "We're so much more, snookums. Our connection…it's deeper than words."
"I loathe you."
"You love me.

Love isn't some unavoidable destiny, some fate you can't sidestep - It's a choice you make - and keep making - every day of your life.

Maybe there aren't any happily ever afters, or white knights who ride in on valiant steeds to save the day. Maybe, in real life, Prince Charming isn't always perfect – he's just as flawed as everyone else in the tale. And that princess, alone in her tower? She's not perfect either. Birds don't braid her hair every morning, she can't serenade wild forest creatures into servitude, and she doesn't even own a ball gown. But she's also smart enough to know not to accept poisoned apples from strangers, or prick her finger on deadly spindles.

She doesn't wait around for a prince to charge in and slay the dragon. Maybe she saves herself and in the end, rides off into her own goddamned sunset.

Chrissy, there's a baby currently coming out of your womb. Please focus.

You might think you're the villain in my story, Lux, but what you don't seem to realize is that I don't care. Princess or Evil Queen, I want you standing by my side when the tale comes to an end. So I'm not walking away - I'm going to wear you down, until you're ready - no, until you're dying - to tell me what happened back then." Another kiss landed on my lips, and I fought off a tremble of desire. "And Freckles?"
My eyes flickered up to meet his searing gaze.
"It's going to be a hell of a lot of fun.

You'd think the FBI could've come up with something a little better than Clover when they christened me last year.
Clovers are cute.
I take umbrage at being cute. I'm a god-damned criminal mastermind. Criminal masterminds are not cute.
Except Loki.
Shit, Loki is cute as hell.

I've loved you since the first moment I clapped eyes on you in Latin class. Since that day in the rain, when you climbed into my car and slipped my sweater over your head to get warm. Since the first time I watched you with Jamie, laughing and joking even though the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Since I saw you running in crazy, breathless circles around the circumference of my favorite tree, a look of absolute joy on your face." He traced a finger down my cheek. "I've loved you since before I even knew what love was.

His words clip out like bullets from a gun - sharp, staccato, shiver-inducing.

Sometimes, you have to raze things to the ground before you can start over. Sear away the past, to pave the way for a bright future.

People are always waiting around for that magical person who'll walk into their life and fix them, who'll offer up some vital piece they've been missing and make them complete. They spend years trying to fit their broken edges against another person's and call themselves whole and healed. The only problem with this, of course, is that expecting anyone else to fix you is an unequivocal disaster.

You can't wait for a man to come around and put you back together. You have to put yourself back together first, and become the kind of woman who deserves a good man.

Say the word and I'll go," I whispered in a broken voice, my watering eyes locked on his furious ones. "Say the word and I'll fade away, and this, right here, will be the last time you see me.

There's a song for every feeling, Bee. Every tear, every smile, every heartbreak and every victory. Music ignites the soul and strips us bare. It's our very essence. Even if you have no one else to turn to and you feel all alone, remember that you can always find comfort in ballads and melodies, serenades and love songs.

I've traveled across the world, trying to outrun my memories of you. But damned if I didn't get to every fucking continent and still see your face on the other side of my camera lens - in a crowded Tibetan market, on the cliffside of a snowy Himalayan peak, in the reflection of a muddy river in Thailand. You were always there, haunting me, around every corner.

True friends don't judge one another. They judge other people. Together.

You had my heart for all these years - you still have it, Bash.

People say God only gives us as much as we can handle. I say, his holiness thought spiders were a good idea. Point me toward a different authority.

Whatever." I shrug. "It's good, I guess, but if given the choice, I'd still pick, like, a Kristen Ashley book any day of the week.

And we were a box of fireworks. A sixty-gallon drum of gasoline. An unstable container of napalm.
One spark, one look, was all it took.
We went up in flames.

Easy as pie. Actually, come to think of it, not easy as pie. Easy as something else. Like ramen noodles. Or microwave popcorn. Because, what exactly about pie is easy?

He's a sculpture. Painstakingly chiseled into perfection over the course of years, until arias could be written about his eyebrows, his cheekbones, the freaking shape of his nostrils. And me? Well, I'm probably a finger-painting. Done by a three-year-old. Without supervision.