Rachel Cohn Quotes

I love the way you look when reading a book - content and dreamy, off in another world.

I don't see what's so "romantic" about spending a week in a tropical paradise with your spouse whom you've already seen almost every day for the past quarter century.

Nick stands up and offers his hand to me. I have no idea what he wants, but what the hell, I take his hand anyway, and he pulls me up on my feet then presses against me for a slow dance and it's like we're in a dream where he's Christopher Plummer and I'm Julie Andrews and we're dancing on the marble floor of an Austrian terrace garden. Somehow my head presses Nick's t-shirt and in this moment I am forgetting about time and Tal because maybe my life isn't over. Maybe it's only beginning.

There are certain things a girl just knows, like that a fourth minute on a punk song is a bad, bad idea,

So he's worth a second shot? The more apt question, my dear, is: are you?

It was Chaos on Glitter Ice. A massacre of librarians.

Langston has been in love. Twice. His first big romance ended so badly that he had to leave

When in doubt, ingest carbs.

We hadn't vowed to write every day, and we hadn't written every day. We hadn't sworn to be true to each other, because there hadn't been much to be true to.

Sofia was miffed. And if American girls make being miffed a sweet-and-sour emotion, European girls always manage to add an undercurrent of murder to it.

If I don't shut down my brain soon, my imagination will take off so far about what could be with this guy, that nothing will ever just be.-- Norah, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

Perhaps it's not that I'm frigid
it's that once I decide I like a guy, I turn into a raging idiot, unfit for public appearances.

But we had never gone out of our way to reveal ourselves, either. Instead, we'd let the facts speak for themselves.

Books. I'd probably spend all my time alone and lost in books if I could. It's easier that way.

Hope I never love someone so much that they could hurt me the way Langston was hurt, so wounded all he could do was cry and mope around the house and ask me to make him peanut butter and banana sandwiches with the crusts cut off, then play Boggle with him, which of course I always did, because I usually do whatever Langston wants me to do.

They were tricky, those demons. Could they be trusted? Of course they could be trusted. She'd created them. She owned them. They wouldn't lead her astray.

I felt especially grateful now having the red Moleskine to confide in. Just knowing a Snarl was on the other side to read it - to possibly care - inspired my pen to move quickly in answer to his question.

Therefore. Ergo. Erg. Argh. Ugh.

We will go Awful and die together. But we will do it as free Betas. Not as puppets of the humans.

I love snow for the same reason I love Christmas: It brings people together while time stands still. Cozy couples lazily meandered the streets and children trudged sleds and chased snowballs. No one seemed to be in a rush to experience anything other than the glory of the day, with each other, whenever and however it happened.

Danger is a state of mind." Farzad informs me. "Conquer it, and you ride heaven.

His absence is time gained to spool my un-truths.

My family lives in that building now, along with Grandpa in the fourth-floor "penthouse" apartment, as he calls the converted space that was once an attic studio.

This is about as far as I can go without some sarcasm creeping in. But before it does, I must say, with utmost sincerity, that your cookies are good enough to bring some of these wax statues back to life. Thanks for that. I once made corn muffins for a fourth-grade project on Williamsburg and they came out like baseballs. So I'm not sure how to reciprocate ... but, believe me, I shall.

Of course you want to get to know her. But at the same time, you want to feel like you already know her. That you will know her instantly. Such a fairy tale.

The desert adapts. The people adapt. Live. Die. Struggle. Suffer. Create. The people in the real world beyond Demesne's ring are not all manufactured perfection. They deal.

I know in my heart that I can live without him and I know in my heart that I don't want to-that's a good place to start, right?

I know we're all following the same yellow brick road, looking for that ultimate band, that ultimate night to be remember.

Sweat, malice, and hunger pour from me. This is release, or maybe it's just a plea for release.

Villains made no special guest appearances in our Once Upon A Time story games. They scared Laura and bored me, so instead we made up heroines with ghastly itchy skin but magnificent tresses of hair, and the occasional sleeping disorder. Those heroines had enough on their hands without having to worry about warding off true evil.

Langston took the latest red Moleskine notebook that Grandpa bought me and, together with Benny, mapped out a series of clues to find a companion just right for me.

He was obstinate in the way that only truly miserable people can be obstinate.

The humans create life, and senselessly cause death. For nothing.

Christmas could begin. Magic could happen.

How can you not be concerned that I might have cancer?" I ask. "I found a lump on my breast." Touch it, Ely. Touch it. "Lie. Not only are you biting your lip, which you always do when you lie, but your mom told me about the alleged lump in the elevator this morning. The doctor said it was an overgrown pimple." Monkeys!

Cinderella was such a dork. She left behind her glass slipper at the ball and then went right back to her step-monster's house. It seems to me she should have worn the glass slipper always, to make herself easier to find. I always hoped that after the prince found Cinderella and they rode away in their magnificent carriage, after a few miles she turned to him and said, Could you drop me off down the road please? Now that I've finally escaped my life of horrific abuse, I'd like to see something of the world, you know? ... I'll catch back up with you later, Prince, once I've found my own way.

I could become a nun even if I am a non-believer. I'll learn to fake it like Nick did with me. I will minister the gospel of compassion and kindness and please, always use a condom, from famine-stricken nations to war-torn dead zones. It's possible I might become a nun who kisses other nuns ...

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, they sang.

A bum slumped in a corner seat called out, Give the girl a dance already, ya bum!

I mean, they're only the best punk band out there right now, named for the fucking apathy of a xenophobic fucking nation oblivious to the fucking terror its leaders wreak on the rest of the world because they're too busy worrying if their cat might be stuck up a tree or something.

If I'm just The Guy With Norah, that's cool. Right now, that's all I want to be. All the other things I am - they're too complicated. I can feel them lying in wait, planning their return.

The mosh pit will reveal all the answers. The mosh pit never lies.
-Norah, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

And I honestly like her about twenty times more now than I did when we were dating. But love needs to have a future.

Without Laura here, food is the only thing I love that loves me back.

(Wiis? Wiii? What is the plural?)

I am a classic Star Trek fanatic. When I was a kid, my mom and I used to go to conventions.

From behind I don't see Caroline but I do that stupid bitch, Tris, rhymes with bris, cuz that's what she'll do to a guy, rip apart his piece.

The sound of the ocean breaking our silence was like chocolate syrup poured into a glass of milk, dispersing into awkward dark clumps while waiting to be stirred.

The girl is dressed in a flannel shirt, and I can't tell whether that's because she's trying to bring back the only fashion style of the past fifty years that hasn't been brought back or whether it's because the shirt is as damn comfortable as it looks.

He can act a bit loner-ish, but I think he's some serial killer waiting to happen; he's just his own best company sometimes. And he's comfortable with that. I guess there's nothing wrong with that.

Although, fanciful's origin circa 1627 made me still love the word, even if I'd ruined its applicability to my connection with Snarl. (I mean DASH!) Like, I could totally see Mrs. Mary Poppencock returning home to her cobblestone hut with the thatched roof in Thamesburyshire, Jolly Olde England, and saying to her husband, "Good sir Bruce, would it not be wonderful to have a roof that doesn't leak when it rains on our green shires, and stuff?" And Sir Bruce Poppencock would have been like, "I say, missus, you're very fanciful with your ideas today." To which Mrs. P. responded, "Why, Master P., you've made up a word! What year is it? I do believe it's circa 1627! Let's carve the year
we think
on a stone so no one forgets. Fanciful! Dear man, you are a genius. I'm so glad my father forced me to marry you and allow you to impregnate me every year.

I'm the only person who gets along with everyone, by way of not being friends with anyone.

We all just took the bookstore at its word, because if you couldn't trust a bookstore, what could you trust?

One of the failures of cellular communication is that tiredness often comes across as sadness.

I was strictly a college-ruled man myself, having no talent for illustration and a microscopic scrawl that made wide-ruled seem roomy. The blank pages were usually the most popular

There's the usual suspects in there, Green Day and The Clash and The Smiths, yeah, but there's also Ella and Frank, even Dino, some Curtis Mayfield and Minor Threat and Dusty Springfield and Belle & Sebastian, and as I flip through his musical life, getting to know his tastes, I must acknowledge that not only am I not frigid, but I also may be multi-orgasmic.

But she's not, and I am left to wonder on my own: How does this work, the getting to know a new guy without revealing too much desperation for his undivided attention?

Whoever invented adding melted cheese over starchy goodness was surely the most brilliant human ever.

Ouch. Cursing - not so dashing.

The best is when we all go at once, like an army of interrelated popcorn zombies who laugh the same laughs and gasp the same gasps and aren't so germ-phobic with each other that we won't share a ginormous Coke with one straw. Family is useful like that.

I figured being a bed salesman was a job of biblically bad paradox. I mean, here he was, forced to stand for eight or nine hours a day, and the whole time he's surrounded by beds. And not only that, he's surrounded by shoppers who see the beds and can't help but think, Man, I'd love to lie down on that bed for a second. So not only does he have to stop himself from lying down, but he has to stop everyone else from doing it, too. I knew if I were him, I would be desperate for human company.

I am bigger than the box I'm in.

Are you over him?" I asked. We both knew the him I referred to was not Benny, but the him who broke Langston's heart so devastatingly. Langston's first love. "In some ways, I think I'll never be over him," Langston said. "That is such an unsatisfying answer." "That's because you're interpreting it the wrong way. I don't mean it as a wistful, overdramatic declaration. I meant that the love I felt for him was huge and real, and, while painful, it forever changed me as a person, in the same way that being your brother reflects and changes how I evolve, and vice versa. The important people in our lives leave imprints. They may stay or go in the physical realm, but they are always there in your heart, because they helped form your heart. There's no getting over that." My

Once upon a time, Sleeping Beauty decided to take a nap from which she would never wake up.

It's always the ones who believe who are hurt the most when things go wrong. She

But, you see, that's the luxury of being a lout - you get to be selective about when you care and when you don't. The rest of us get stuck when your care goes shallow.

I think you're nice to me and that scares the fuck out of me. Because when a guy's a jerk or an asshole, it's easier because you know where you stand.

You don't feel like a stranger to me. I wanted to ask her, What does a stranger feel like? Not to be snarky or sarcastic. Because I really wanted to know if there was a difference, if there was a way to become truly knowable, if there wasn't always something keeping you a stranger, even to the people you weren't strange to at all. I

We've already established my position on dillying and dallying, which right now is chaste with a chance for inveterate lust, depending on the ripeness of our first interactions.

Somewhere between a friend and acquaintance - a frequaintance, as it were.

My hands were starting to shake a little. Because I hadn't known that I knew these things. Just having a notebook to write them in, and having someone to write them to, made them all rise to the surface.

I mean, like most guys, you carry around this girl in your head, who is exactly who you want her to be. The person you think you will love the most. And every girl you are with gets measured against this girl in your head.

Look, I owe you a kind of explanation. I know you probably think I'm a horrid bitch from the plant Schizophrenia, but I'm honestly not trying to mess with your head. I'm just messing with my own head and I seem to have dragged you along the ride. I think you're nice to me and that scares the fuck out of me. Because when a guy's a jerk or an asshole, it's easier because you know exactly where you stand. Since trust isn't an option, you don't have to get all freaked out about maybe having to trust him. Right now I am thinking about ten things at the same time, and at least four of those things have to do with you. If you want to leave right now and drive home and forget my name and forget what I look like, I wouldn't blame you in the least. But what I'm trying to say is that if you did that I would be sorry. And not just sorry in an I-apologize-I'm-so-sorry way, but sorry in a sad-that-something-that-could've-happened-didn't way. That's it. You can go now. Or we could stay for Where's Fluffy when Toni's set is over. I think they're playing a surprise show here tonight.

Who's Jessie?"
"My Yugo"
"You have a name for your Yugo? Please don't tell me you're one of those guys who also names his dick."
"Unfortunately, I've yet to find the perfect name for mine, so it's in this netherworld of nameless identity right now.

"My Yugo"
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We believe in the wrong things. That's what frustrates me the most. Not the lack of belief, but the belief in the wrong things.

Hope and belief. I'd always wanted hope, but never believed that I could have such an adventure on my own. That I could own it. And love it. But it happened.

and everything about me goes from crying out to just plain crying

The pill's bittersweet chaser is not that they can't love you back the same way. It's that they won't. They won't open their minds to the possibility. They won't expand their expectations of romantic love past their own predetermined boundaries - gender, age, [insert innumerable other unfair, random reasons here].

You mean I'm not lazy?
No bitch, I mean you intimidate guys with a look or a comment before they can even decide if they have a chance with you. You're so judgmental. Along with frigid.

You need a boyfriend. Well sure, who doesn't need a boyfriend? But ealistically, those exotic creatures are hard to come by. At least a quality one. I go to an all- girls school, and meaning no disrespect to my sapphic sisters, but I have no interest in nding a romantic companion there. The rare boy creatures I do meet who aren't either related to me or who aren't gay are usually too at ached to their Xboxes to notice me, or their idea of how a teenage girl should look and act comes directly from the pages of Maxim magazine or from the tarty look of a video game character.

It wasn't about the fantasy. That was
now replaced with hope and belief that it could happen, for real.

Yeah. I know, I'm so bridge-and-tunnel - for as long as I've been able to catch the train, I've been sneaking into the city to go to Midtown. Hang out with the bankers, merge some mergers and acquire some acquisitions. The whole thing just reeked of sex and rock 'n' roll to me. Can't you feel it in the air? Close your eyes. Feel it? I

'Freedom.' He pauses a moment to reflect on the F-word. 'Sometimes I think it's an idea that enslaves us. We're never free from hungering for the notion that we can even have freedom. When perhaps it's the very idea of it that causes us to suffer.

the infinite Manhattan night.

I want to believe that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, there is reason to hope.

My heart literally aches, that shit is not made up; it hurts for an unexpected, brief time warp of suddenly wanting and longing and believing, but then not having.

I don't think we should ever try to meet again; there's such freedom in that. Instead, let our words continue to meet. (See next postcard.)

Fuck me. Fuck me for always getting into situations like this. Fuck me for caring. Fuck me for not knowing the words that would've made her stay. Fuck me for not knowing what I want. Fuck me for wavering. Fuck me for not kissing her back the right way. Fuck me for getting my hopes up. Fuck me for not having more realistic hopes. Fuck me for giving her my fucking jacket. Fuck.

Unfortunately, now that Langston has a boyfriend again, he has forgotten all about me.

Maybe your unspeakable defects give you power too?

Why do girls always fall for guys with the attention span of drosophila?

I start to lose consciousness, and only desperation and fear keep my heart pounding, hard.
Darkness descends, as Awful rises.
Ivan has no idea what's coming. Neither do I.
Last time I did not fight hard enough. This time, I will.

That's what I like about sports. No matter if everyone playing the game speaks completely different languages, on the field, or the court, wherever they are playing, the language of moves and passes and scores is all the same. Universal.

A department store two days before Christmas Eve is like a city in a state of siege ...

You know that feeling? That feeling when you just want the right thing to fall into the right place, not only because it's right, but because it will mean that such a thing is still possible?

She murmured, in that particular Nancy way of hers that grates most when my inner bitch is aching to be let loose, 'Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.'
My eyes popped open to see her lemon face standing over me.
'SOMEONE,' I hissed, 'HASN'T EVEN WOKEN UP YET. GOD, WHAT IS YOUR ANEURYSM? CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?

I'm not fine. Soon, the tears will come. I can sense them building in the pit of my stomach, coating the belly of candy. They will come when I am alone in the dark, in my own bed, with no one to comfort me. I will mourn Laura then, in private. A Category 5 hurricane is building in my heart and soul, but right now it's offshore, waiting to make landfall, waiting to crush me.

I want to believe there is a somebody out there for me. I want to believe that I exist to be there for that somebody.

Please return this notebook to where you found it.

Snarl must love Christmas as much as me, I decided.