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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #las
Let’s go to town,” Jo said. “Take me to eat dinner at the hotel.” I sucked in a breath and stared at her for a minute. Here she sat, her hair still wet although neatly braided, wearing an old Kiss sweatshirt, the one with the red mouth and tongue, red sweatpants, and ridiculous red pumps with black scuffs on the toes and heels. And she wanted me to take her to the Hotel Wyoming, where the rich tourists hung out. I smiled. Because it was possibly the greatest thing I’d ever heard. “Yeah, let’s go to the hotel. Grab your purse and I’ll find your coat. ↗
Thanet is having a moment,” I said, leaning forward so Quinn could see him. “What’s wrong, man?” Quinn said. “Were you not aware high school dances suck? That they always have sucked and they will continue sucking as long as the world turns? ↗
Hold still, Meg, you’re dripping blood on my car seats.” I reached behind the passenger seat of Tennyson’s car looking for the white sheet she’d thrown in for mopping up bodily fluids. Quinn, sitting in the back seat, read my mind and handed it to me. “Thank you.” “No problem.” He leaned forward, pulling a corner of the sheet up to wipe off a small stream of blood on my neck. “You okay? ↗
#distracted-driving #glass-girl #henry-whitmire #high-school #laura-anderson-kurk
She didn’t see me because of the reflection on the store windows, and she wouldn’t know me in this car anyway. In fact, she probably wouldn’t know me with shaggy hair and the beginnings of a beard. So I sat for a minute, watching her dusting bookshelves, either talking to herself or singing. Her feather duster had become a prop in whatever scene she had going. She looked heart-stoppingly, breathtakingly beautiful, my Meg. ↗
#glass-girl #henry-whitmire #high-school #laura-anderson-kurk #long-distance-relationship
I go to seek a Great Perhaps. ↗
#french-renaissance-writer #john-green #last-words #life #looking-for-alaska
Friend, I am not suggesting at all. You see, I know now. Let us be frank. Our opinions were not honestly come by. We simply found ourselves in contact with a certain current of ideas and plunged into it because it seemed modern and successful. At College, you know, we just started automatically writing the kind of essays that got good marks and saying the kind of things that won applause. When, in our whole lives, did we honestly face, in solitude, the one question on which all turned: whether after all the Supernatural might not in fact occur? When did we put up one moment's real resistance to the loss of our faith? ↗
