Tahereh Mafi Quotes

He said he promised he wouldn't try to kiss me again and I wanted to say don't you dare promise not to kiss me again but I didn't.

Are you out of your goddamn mind? You think we can take on two hundred soldiers? I know I am an extremely attractive man, J, but I am not Bruce Lee."
"Who's Bruce Lee?"
"Who's Bruce Lee?" Kenji asks, horrified. "Oh my God. We can't even be friends anymore."
"Why? Was he a friend of yours?"
"You know what," he says, "just stop. Just - I can't even talk to you right now.

There will be a bird today. It will be white with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It will fly.

His eyes are a midnight moment filled with memories, the only windows into my world.

No." A short, crazed laugh. "Juliette. Please. Please. Don't tell me he's filled your head with romantic notions. Please don't tell me you fell for his false proclamations -

I need to remember never to get too comfortable.

It's raining today. The sky is weeping for us.

Juliette, love," he says to me, still holding my eyes. "You have just started a war.

You know, I can sort of control it now," I tell him, beaming. "I can moderate my strength levels."
"Good for you. I'll buy you a balloon the minute the world stops shitting on itself.

My dreams are bloody and bleeding and blood is bleeding all over my mind and I can't sleep anymore.

He takes his time breathing. He takes his time shifting in his seat. He takes his time studying my eyes, choosing his words, touching two fingers to his lips. He seems to have dominated the concept of time. Impatience is likely not a word in his vocabulary. "I've heard . . . stories. About you." Smiles. "I simply wanted to know if they were true.

I study every quivering branch, every imposing soldier, every window I can count. My eyes are two professional pickpockets, stealing everything to store away in my mind.

I am a whisper that never was.

You're perfect," I tell him, so overcome I forget myself. "All of you. Your entire body.
Proportionally. Symmetrically. You're absurdly, mathematically perfect. It doesn't even make sense
that a person could look like you,

Words, I think, are such unpredictable creatures.
No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh.

It's a small reminder, but it lingers, and the more I try to ignore the memory, it multiplies into a monster that can no longer be contained.

t's a torrent of feeling, a simultaneous, ephemeral taste of death and bliss and my eyes close, white - hot heat flashes behind my eyelids and I have to fight the need to call out his name even as I feel us shatter together, destroyed and restored all at once and he gasps
He says, " Juliette -

You can't blame yourself for any of this. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. You have to be kinder to yourself. You've already been through so much.

He looks into my eyes then. Smiles for just a moment too long before he turns around and walks out the door. Without a word to anyone.
Ian is gaping at me. Again.
"I'm--right, I'm so confused," Brendon says, blinking. "Right then--what just happened? Was he smiling at you? Genuinely smiling at you?"
"Looked to me like he was in love with you," Winston says, frowning. "But that's probably just because my head is messed up, right?

What difference does it make?" he says. "People can think whatever they like. I don't desire their validation."
"So you don't mind," I ask him, "that people judge you so harshly?"
"I have no one to impress," he says. "No one who cares about what happens to me. I'm not in the business of making friends, love. My job is to lead an army, and it's the only thing I'm good at. No one," he says, "would be proud of the things I've accomplished. My mother doesn't even know me anymore. My father thinks I'm weak and pathetic. My soldiers want me dead. The world is going to hell. And the conversations I have with you are the longest I've ever had.

My eyes are two professional pickpockets, stealing everything away in my mind. I lose track of the minutes we trample over.

Hey, kid," Adam interrupts. "Juliette is going to be staying with us for a little while. Why don't you go make sure you don't have any underwear lying on the floor, huh?"
James looks horrified. He darts into the darkness without another word. ...
"There's no underwear anywhere ," James announces.

Don't worry," James says, still chuckling. "I won't touch you. Adam told me all about your magical powers." He rolls his eyes.

Because I was dying.
　　And Warner could've let me die. He was angry and hurt and had every reason to be bitter. I'd just ripped his heart out; I'd let him believe something would come of our relationship. I let him confess the depth of his feelings to me; I let him touch me in ways even Adam hadn't. I didn't ask him to stop.
　　Every inch of me was saying yes.
　　And then I took it all back. Because I was scared, and confused, and conflicted. Because of Adam.
　　Warner told me he loved me, and in return I insulted him and lied to him and yelled at him and pushed him away. And when he had the chance to stand back and watch me die, he didn't.
　　He found a way to save my life.
　　With no demands. No expectations. Believing full well that I was in love with someone else, and that saving my life meant making me whole again only to give me back to another guy.
　　And right now, I can't say I know what Adam would do if I were dying in front of him. I'm not sure if he would save my life. And that uncertainty alone makes me certain that something wasn't right between us.

This pen is my only outlet, my only voice, because I have no one else to speak to, no mind but my own to drown in and all the lifeboats are taken and all the life preservers are broken and I don't know how to swim I can't swim I can't swim and it's getting so hard. It's getting so hard. It's like there are a million screams caught inside of my chest but I have to keep them all in because what's the point of screaming if you'll never be heard and no one will ever hear me in here. No one will ever hear me again.

No," I hear myself say. "You're not supposed to be here."
She's sitting on my bed. She's leaning back on her elbows, legs outstretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles. And while some part of me understands I must be dreaming, there's another, overwhelmingly dominant part of me that refuses to accept this. Part of me wants to believe she's really here, inches away from me, wearing this short, tight black dress that keeps slipping up her thighs. But everything about her looks different, oddly vibrant; the colors are all wrong. Her lips are a richer, deeper shade of pink; her eyes seem wider, darker. She's wearing shoes I know she'd never wear. And strangest of all: she's smiling at me.
"Hi," she whispers.
It's just one word, but my heart is already racing. I'm inching away from her, stumbling back and nearly slamming my skull against the headboard, when I realize my shoulder is no longer wounded. I look down at myself. My arms are both fully functional. I'm wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and my underwear.
She shifts positions in an instant, propping herself up on her knees before crawling over to me. She climbs onto my lap. She's now straddling my waist. I'm suddenly breathing too fast.
Her lips are at my ear. Her words are so soft. "Kiss me," she says.
"Juliette - "
"I came all the way here." She's still smiling at me. It's a rare smile, the kind she's never honored me with. But somehow, right now, she's mine. She's mine and she's

This , I think , is the way to die.
I could drown in this moment and I'd never regret it. I could catch fire from this kiss and happily turn to ash. I could live here, die here, right here, against his hips, his lips. In the emotion in his eyes as he sinks into me, his heartbeats indistinguishable from mine.
This. Forever. This.

Please don't walk away from me because you're worried about the opinions of racists and assholes. Walk away from me because you hate me," he said. "Tell me you think I'm stupid and ugly and I swear this would hurt less.

Loneliness is an old friend standing beside you in the mirror, looking you in the eye, challenging you to live your life without it. you can't find the words to fight yourself, to fight the words screaming that you're not enough, never enough never ever enough .

Eyes closed, feet dancing their way toward the pond, she was her own music, her body her favorite thing she'd ever owned.

Alice had hoped to be brave – she'd hoped she was stronger than her fears – but Alice was injured on the inside; and though her anger kept her upright, it couldn't keep her steady, and from moment to moment Alice would slip.

Ah, Ms. Ferrars. I don't know what you hope to accomplish by sitting in the corner.

Being afraid meant it was okay to forget your manners. If you're afraid, you never have to be nice.

I don't think you should treat me like this, like I'm some idiot nothing, just because I don't know how to be a douchebag.
- Kenji

The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

The more I got to know people, the more I realized we were all just a bunch of frightened idiots walking around in the dark, bumping into each other and panicking for no reason at all.
So I started turning on a light.
I stopped thinking of people as mobs. Hordes. Faceless masses. I tried, really hard, to stop assuming I had people figured out, especially before I'd ever even spoken to them. I wasn't great at this - and I'd probably have to work at it for the rest of my life - but I tried. I really did. It scared me to realize that I'd done to others exactly what I hadn't wanted them to do to me: I made sweeping statements about who I thought they were and how they lived their lives; and I made broad generalizations about what I thought they were thinking, all the time.

Men with guns have never put me at ease no matter how many times they promised they were killing for good reason.

My heart is flapping wings against my throat.

Water that never moves." I say to him. "Its fine for a little while. You can drink from it and it'll sustain you. But if it sits too long it goes bad. It grows stale. It becomes toxic." I shake my head. "I need waves. I need waterfalls. I want rushing currents.

It's 2 lines. Font like a typewriter inked across the very bottom of his torso.
hell is empty
and all the devils are here
Yes. Interesting. Yes. Sure. I think I need to lie down. "Books," he's saying, pulling his boxer-briefs up and rezipping his pants, "are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them. Tattoos, for example, are very hard to forget.

I cannot let the broken girl inside of me inhale all that I've become. I cannot revert back to another version of myself. I will not shatter, not again, in the wake of an emotional earthquake.

Juliette," I whisper. "What are you doing here?"
I'm half-dressed, getting ready for my day, and it's too early for visitors. These hours just before the sun rises are my only moments of peace, and no one should be in here. It seems impossible she gained access to my private quarters.
Someone should've stopped her.
Instead, she's standing in my doorway, staring at me. I've seen her so many times, but this is different - it's causing me physical pain to look at her. But somehow I still find myself drawn to her, wanting to be near her.

Oh, so now you're abusing the crippled kid, huh?" Kenji takes a moment to steady himself before punching Adam in the arm. "Save your angst for the battlefield, bro. You're going to need it.

Maybe you should accept the fact that you've tried to be someone you're not for so long that no matter what you did, those bastards were never happy. They were never satisfied. They never gave a damn, did they?

Juliette!" His voice is tighter, higher, laced with anger and terror and denial and betrayal. Realization is a new piece in his puzzled mind.
"He can touch you?"
"Goddamit, Juliette, answer me!" Warner is writhing on the floor, unhinged in a way I never thought possible. He looks wild, his eyes disbelieving, horrified. "Has he touched you?

Kenji turns to look at me. He manages a goofy smile. "Aw, you trust me?"
"As long as I have a clear shot." I tighten my hold on the gun in my hand.
His grin is crooked. "I don't know why, but I kind of like it when you threaten me."
"That's because you're an idiot."
"Nah." he shakes his head. "You've got a sexy voice. Makes everything sound naughty."
Adam stands up so suddenly he nearly knocks over the coffee table.

Hanging out with you has made me weird, J. All I do is sit around thinking about my feelings these days. Thanks for that.

I feel like I've been split open and stuffed with sunshine.

Don't do that," he says. "Don't ask me questions you already know the answers to. Twice I've laid myself bare to you and all it's gotten me was a bullet wound and a broken heart. Don't torture me," he says, meeting my eyes again.
"It's a cruel thing to do, even to someone like me.

Does it really matter? Don't we have more important things to contend with than the staid details of my previous relationships?" "Normally? Yes. But when the supreme commander of North America is your ex-girlfriend, and she's already feeling really stressed about the fact that you've been lying to her? And then all of a sudden you other ex-girlfriend shows up and Juliette doesn't even know about her? And she realizes there are, like, a thousand other things you've lied to her about and then our very powerful supreme commander gets, like, super, super pissed? I don't know man, I don't see that ending well.

The command is cool and strong like steel, dangerously calm, effortlessly powerful.

I am not myself.
My thoughts are tangled in words that are not my own.

I am enough, and I always will be.

I'm angry and mean and I can't be bothered to care.

It's never a good idea to believe everything you hear.

His lips soften into a smile that cracks apart my spine. He repeats my name like the word amuses him. Entertains him. Delights him.
In seventeen years no one has said my name like that

There was something i still wanted to say. Something that had been bothering me all day. I'd been deliberating for hours whether or not to ask the question- even how to ask the question- and, finally, i just gave in and made a mess of it

I grieve nothing. I take everything.

Hate looks just like everybody else until it smiles. Until it spins around and lies with lips and teeth carved into the semblance of something too passive to punch.

Warner drops his hand. His glassy green eyes are so delighted I'm petrified.
"God, I've missed you," he says to me.
"You didn't actually think I'd let you go so easily?

I've searched the world for all the right words and my mouth is full of nothing.

Healing is a delicate process. It can't be interrupted or influenced by erratic emotions.

Only my dead body would allow her to walk out that door." Warner exercises his jaw and spits blood on the floor.
"You, I would kill for pleasure," he says to Adam. "But Juliette is the one I want forever.

Winston points at my face. His eyes are a little unfocused, and he has to blink a few times before saying, I like you. It's pretty nice you're not dead.

You're scared. You don't want to make the difficult choice and you're running away from me.

So you know how to get there?"
"Of course."
"But your father said you couldn't remember anything about Omega Point."
Warner glances over, his eyes laughing. "How convenient for us that I've regained my memory.

Just try to be happy', Jacobi finally said to me. 'Your happiness is the one thing these assholes can't stand

The only existence I know now is the one I was given. An echo of what used to be.

I forget, sometimes, that there are people out there who still manage to smile everyday, despite everything.

That traitorous bastard. The idiot who thinks he's won himself a pretty girl. He has no idea who she is. No idea what she'd about to become.
And if he thinks he's even remotely suited to match her, he's even more of an idiot than I gave him credit for.

I think I must be smiling at him because he's smiling at me, but he's smiling like he might be petrified; he's breathing like he's forgotten he's supposed to, looking at me like he's not sure how to do this, hesitating like he's unsure how to let me see him like this. Like he has no idea how to be so vulnerable.
But here he is.
And here I am.

What do you think?" I ask.
"Your suit looks like mine." Kenji frowns. "I'm supposed to be the one with the black suit. Why can't you have a pink suit? Or a yellow suit-"
"Because we're not the freaking Power Rangers," Winston says, rolling his eyes.

I've loved you forever, I tell him.
The sun rises, rests, shines in his face and he almost smiles, almost can't meet my eyes.

Let go of me, I scream, but, oh, only in my imagination because my lips are finished working and my heart has just expired and my mind has gone to hell for the day and my eyes my eyes I think they're bleeding ...

It's like spending 6 months just trying to inhale. It's like forgetting how to move your muscles and reliving every nauseous moment in your life and struggling to get all the splinters out from underneath your skin. It's like that one time you woke up and tripped down a rabbit hole and a blond girl in a blue dress kept asking you for directions but you couldn't tell her, you had no idea, you kept trying to speak but your throat was full of rain clouds and it's like someone has taken the ocean and filled it with silence and dumped it all over this room.
It's like this.

Adam has to work to defend himself against me and I'm exhausting him. I'm making him sick and I'm weakening his body and if he ever slips again. If he ever forgets. If he ever makes a mistake or loses focus or becomes too aware of the fact that he's using his gift to control what I might do -

I sit back in my chair, staring at the wall just behind him, mentally tallying up the minutes I've lost today.
"Leave the coffee."
"I-yes, of course, sorry, sir-.

The people trying to kill him are the same ones he used to eat lunch with.

Still, we took what we could get. We were wrapped up in each other, feeling happy and sad all at once, pretty much all the time

Insane for your sweet, sweet love!

Your eyes are so deep. So calm. I want to know what you're thinking.

I've been stealing your soaps," I
tell him.
He raises his eyebrows at me.
"Sorry." I feel myself blush.
"Don't feel bad," he says, serious
so suddenly. "You can have anything of
mine you want. You can have all of it.

He's standing at the front door, hands shoved casually in his pockets, no fewer than six different guns pointed at his face.

I sold my soul for a few years with my mother, and now, after everything, I don't even know if it'll be worth it.

- Warner

I'd really rather die than eat your food and listen to you call me love.

The day passed.
People had butchered my name, teachers hadn't known what the hell to do with me, my math teacher looked at my face and gave a five-minute speech to the class about how people who don't love this country should just go back to where they came from and I stared at my textbook so hard it was days before I could get the quadratic equation out of my head.
Not one of my classmates spoke to me, no one but the kid who accidentally assaulted my shoulder with his bio book.
I wished I didn't care.

He's kissing me like the world is rolling right off a cliff, like he's trying to hang on and he's decided to hold on to me, like he's starving for life and love and he's never known it could ever feel this good to be close to someone. Like it's the first time he's ever felt anything but hunger and he doesn't know how to pace himself, doesn't know how to eat in small bites, doesn't know how to do anything anything anything in moderation.

Everything I was, everything I did, everything I am, was forged from the twins of their action and inaction.

Twice.
Once for Adam.
Once for Warner.

I want to leave this worn body behind, but my chains are too many, my weights too heavy. This life is all that's left of me. And I know I won't be able to meet myself in the mirror for the rest of the day

This planet is a broken bone that didn't set right, a hundred pieces of crystal glued together. We've been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way we're supposed to. But it's a lie, it's all a lie.

I stand perfectly still.
Every inch of my skin is taut with tension, fraught with feeling and the pressure is building in my chest, pounding louder and faster and harder, overcompensating for my stillness. I do not tremble when I'm frozen in time. I train my breaths to come slower, I count things that do not exist, I make up numbers I do not have, I pretend time is a broken hourglass bleeding seconds through sand. I dare to believe.
I dare to hope....

I always wonder about raindrops.
I wonder about how they're always falling down, tripping over their own feet, breaking their legs and forgetting their parachutes as they tumble right out of the sky toward an uncertain end. It's like someone is emptying their pockets over the earth and doesn't seem to care where the contents fall, doesn't seem to care that the raindrops burst when they hit the ground, that they shatter when they fall to the floor, that people curse the days the drops dare to tap on their doors.
I am a raindrop.
My parents emptied their pockets of me and left me to evaporate on a concrete slab.

The sky is raining bricks right into my skull.

So I lie here, marinating in a sorrow I can never speak of, while regret consumes my heart.

His smile is laced with dynamite.

Part of me wishes I could see him; I want to make sure he's really going to be okay, that he's recovering well and eating enough and getting sleep at night. But another part of me is afraid to see him now. Because seeing Adam means saying good-bye. It means recognizing that I can't be with him anymore and knowing that I have to find a new life for myself. Alone.

I could eat every person in this room.

Maybe I will die today.
Maybe a bird will fly today.

I wonder at my incapacity for easy banter, smooth conversation, empty words to fill awkward moments. I don't have a closet filled with umms and ellipses ready to insert at the beginnings and ends of sentences. I don't know how to be a verb, an adverb, any kind of modifier. I'm a noun through and through.