Love is the strangest, most illogical thing in the world.
He looks at her and smiles. “You’re sort of dangerous, you know?” She stares at him. “Me?” “Yeah,” he says sitting back. “I’m way too honest with you.
Is it possible not to ever know your type-not to even know you have a type-until quite suddenly you do?
People who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else.
Who would have guessed that four minutes could change everything?
Exactly. How can you know it makes you happy if you’ve never experienced it?”“There are different kinds of happy,” she said. “Some kinds don’t need any proof.
Cheerfulness and contentment are great beautifiers.
Somehow he’d become the one constant in this whole uneven chapter in her life, & the idea that could change was unsettling.
But a small part of him also knew that the reason he’d never ventured anywhere was because of the worry that the reality of the world wouldn’t match up to his dreams.
There’s always a gap between the burn and the sting of it, the pain and the realization…You can’t survive a rift that big without it leaving a mark.
She couldn’t ignore the disjointed sensation that they were now two different pieces of two puzzles, and nothing in the world could make them fit together again.
I think you have to be more of a believer for these things to work,” he said, wiping some ice cream from his face. “How are you supposed to find what you’re looking for if you’re not convinced it’s even out there?
You could tell a lot about someone by the way they carried a secret-by how safe they kept it, how soon they told, the way they acted when they were trying to keep it from spilling out.
No matter how long it’s been or how far you’ve drifted, no matter how unknowable you might be, there were at least two people in the world whose job it was to see you, to find you, to recognize you and reel you back in. No matter what.
The important part is that you had someone to stick by you all that time. Even when everything sucked.
There are certain things in life that you’ll be forgiven for, no matter how thoughtless or stupid or reckless, but if you do that same thing twice, you’re on your own.
Just like when you’re young and in love, a seven-hour plane ride can seem like a lifetime.
Maybe this was why Owen had been so desperate to travel, why she’d longed for it herself without ever really knowing why. It wasn’t just that you got to be somewhere else entirely. It was that you got to be someone else entirely, too.
and the boy’s eyes are searching hers with something like loneliness, like the very last thing he wants is to be left behind right now.
…and it struck her as the truest form of kindness, the most basic sort of love: to be worried about the one who was worrying about you.
Just because you painted a house didn’t mean the furniture inside was any different. It had to be the same with people.
And the geography of the thing–the geography of them–was completely and hopelessly wrong.
And being here like this, so suddenly close to him is enough to make her lightheaded. It’s a feeling like falling.
She filed those moments away like precious documents, wore them smooth with memory, collected them like bits of prayers.
Childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags
Clare’s been called a lot of things- smart and funny, driven and talented- but memorable certainly isn’t one of them. The most important things about her- the ones she’s most proud of- are apparent only once you get to know her.
Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it, or never to have had it?
He’d thought this was the start of something. But clearly she’d changed her mind, and he felt stunned by home quickly the whole thing had unraveled, the end coming before the beginning really even had a chance to begin.
There are different kinds of happy, some kinds don’t need any proof-Ellie O’Neill, This is What Happy Looks Like
We have all sorts of words that could describe us. But we get to choose which ones are most important.
Even the not saying can balloon into something bigger than words themselves.
Suddenly, it seemed there were about a million times he was supposed to have kissed her, even without the benefit of a script, even without any sort of direction.
There’s a star in the sky that refuses to stay put, and Hadley realizes it’s actually a plane, that just last night, that star was them.
It was exactly as he’d thought it would be, like the first time and the millionth time all at once, like being wide awake, like losing his balance. Only this time, it wasn’t just him; this time, they were losing their balance together.
It took a moment to right himself, and he pulled his shoulders back as he regained his equilibrium. He didn’t want to be half asleep the first time he kissed Ellie. For that, he wanted to be wide awake.
There was a lump in her throat as she watched him fidget with the buttons on his vest, and it struck her as the truest form of kindness, the most basic sort of love: to be worried about the one who was worrying about you.
That’s the thing about flying: You could talk to someone for hours and never even know his name, share your deepest secrets and then never see them again.
He was giving her the most important thing he could, the only way he knew how. He was a professor, a lover of stories, and he was building her a library in the same way other men might build their daughters houses.
they’d become unaccustomed to the brightness of their own city, and, faced with it now in all its intensity, they cupped their hands over their eyes as if staring into the sun.
As if it were far easier to start over completely than to try to put everything back together again.
Hi,’ he says.’Hi,’ she says back, and then to her great surprise, she begins to cry.’You know,’ Nick says as he hands her a tissue from the bedside table,’ for all this talk about how you don’t cry, you sure are sprouting a lot of water.
Is it possible not to ever know your type–not to even know you have a type–until quite suddenly you do?
The morning felt like a mixing bowl just waiting for its ingredients; there was a sense of possibility to it, a promise of something more to come.