Laura Buzo Quotes

He may well be my nemesis. And my antithesis! How about that?

Oh, well. Love is pain. Or is it beauty is pain? I wouldn't know about the latter, but the former makes my sternum ache.

You're very passionate about your unhappiness aren't you, Chris?' I responded with, If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well.

Finishing Year Twelve had been a blessed relief. Although, having read Looking for Alibrandi several times since Year Eight, I was disappointed when Year Twelve did not bring me a handsome, salt-of-the-earth boyfriend and ultimate emancipation from all that ailed my teenage soul.

Amelia is Jeremy's opposite. She's real. She's literate. I like her a lot. Or maybe I just like the idea of her. Because she's so young that she's out of the question, I can mentally make her into the Perfect Woman in Waiting. Is that what I'm doing?

And then you come along with your perfect skin, your freckled shoulders, your glorious laugh, and you lay my entire life to waste.

He would learn to accept his defeat gracefully – unlike Gatsby
with the shotgun – and decide to get on with his life.

The air in my home is heavy with my mom's unhappiness. And her exhaustion. And her sheer dissatisfaction with her life. And I hate it. I can be up in my room when she's in the kitchen below and I feel her despair seeping up through the floorboards. You can hear her banging pots and pans or cursing the vacuum cleaner

I don't watch scary movies. I mean it. Not ever. They make me scared. Scared of being alone in the house. Scared of being alone upstairs at night. Scared of walking home from work in the dark.

She even takes the goings-on of fictitious characters personally.

Thanks for dinner," I say. "It almost makes up for the bastardry.

I am getting nostalgic about this night and it hasn't even finished yet.

Do you know that granola bars are apparently worse for you than chocolate bars? We've been had, Chris, had by the Quaker Oats man.

You spoke like me. You got my jokes. You got me. You fucked me senseless. Then you left.

Don't try to understand other people's marriages, darling, even your parents'. You'll be lucky if you understand your own.

I wonder briefly if I could somehow broker a deal with God whereby if I put both my arms around Chris, his suffering would be transferred to me via skin-to-skin osmosis at a rate inversely proportionate to how much I love him.

A nurse and a social worker took fifteen minutes out of their shitty thankless job in the roughest corner of town, sat on a couple of milk crates drinking coffee, flopped their real selves out of the cement and both liked what they saw.

We don't always get what we want, do we? Especially with, you know, wanting other people. But it's worth something to finally see clearly, isn't it?

I can't run my own race. I'm constantly checking what's happening in the other lanes.