YellowBella Quotes

Smiling, I say, "Edward, tell me secret."

He says, "I love you.

Our age difference is an easy target and a better excuse, but this secret is the Hangman's noose.

A cotton-candy knockout, a strawberry sundae sweetheart, and a vanilla soft-serve misfit. We are the youth. And we live in a world where innocence is so short.

I thought it would be easier: I would cry and scream, and he would apologize, and it would never happen again. That part of me died, she thought it would happen like that. She lived with her head in the clouds, in a world where love can conquer all. Where love is still made of peanut butter and jelly and fireflies and sparkles. Where love does not pull wings off of butterflies.

I feel so safe when Im with him, I know he would protect me with his life, from anyone and anything, but he cant he doesn't protect me from himself".

Love is always supposed to understand. Love is supposed to be effortless. Love is supposed to be loyal. Love is always supposed to answer. But Love is love's traitor.

He may be my best friend's brother. He may be two years ahead of me at all times. He may even be a drunk-face hooligan right now, but watching him seal the joint with his careful fingertips and another little lick from the tip of his tongue, does unspeakable things to my butterflies.

I want to tell her to fucking stop, to open herself back up, because she's perfect exactly how she is, even though she's jealous and angry, and suffering. I want to tell her that her rawness is fucking flawless and I crave it. I want to tellher that her sun freckles are my favorite part of summertime, and that she's my home.

His grip might bruise us and his teeth might mark us, but his heart would never. His heart is the best heart.

I cover up with her black blankets, but I smell like vanilla, and the woods, and trouble. And I kind of love it.

Don't be away from me." Over her lips I say softly, "It's a rule, remember? You'll never pull away. Remember, B?

I think about how we're too little, too young, too clumsy and messed up for this love, and I know it doesn't matter. Giving this up isn't anywhere even near the realm of possible. He's in my soul, and I'm in his. I have no idea what souls are made of, but his and mine are the same.

Love is lying and tricking. Love is hard work. Love is suffocating and using. It's head-fucking and soul-ruining. It's apprehensive and back-stabbing. It's passionate. It's chilling. It's smile-giving, but neck-breaking. It's not worth it. It's so fucking worth it. It's everything I thought it was, and everything I thought it wasn't.

Love is an indescribable, cumbersome, silly-selfish, consuming, life-changing, goosebump-making, knowing-all-the-words-to-the-song exciting, I-can't-think-straight-without-him overwhelming, sigh-swooning, laugh-out-loud-for-no-reason anxious, fun, rule-causing, jealousy-inducing, leg-kicking, dream-giving, wonderful, filling, shake-trembling, wonder-where-you-are-always obsessive, necessary, requiring, joyful-flow.