Best 23 quotes of Autumn Doughton on MyQuotes

Aimee, what if, she asked, you decided to let go? And I wondered if she'd been listening to me at all. Because all I do is let go.

And if she wanted to, she could reach into my chest and rip my heart out of my body because it already belongs to her.

And on the bad days I'm not even sure that I exist anymore. Today is a bad day.

And there's always a way to begin with.

As I move to the front office, I bring the warm copies to my face and breathe them in. This is a weird habit of mine—sniffing copies. I do the same thing when I get a new book. What can I say? I have a paper sniffing problem. Things could be worse.

Did you ever think that maybe we’re like that?” she asks me. I smile into the dark. How many times have I thought of myself as the ocean? “You think we’re like water?” Gemma sits up. The salty wind coming off the water snaps her hair around her shoulders. With one hand in the middle of my chest, she tries to push me into the sand. I’m strong enough to hold her off, but I don’t want to. I willingly collapse back and she crawls over me. Holding a smile on her face, she slips her legs on either side of my hips and settles her weight on me. In a voice thin as smoke, she says, “Well, maybe that’s how we start. Maybe, in the beginning, we’re nothing but a theoretical vast and empty sea with this huge open sky above us.” Her hands press down on my stomach and her fingers pull at the bottom of my shirt. She leans forward until her breasts are rubbing against me and her mouth is almost touching the skin of my neck. “Then slowly,” she continues, “over time, the currents change and we build up these continents inside our bodies.” Now her fingers walk a path from my bellybutton to my sternum. “And eventually, we have canyons and deserts and trees and beaches and all sorts of places where we can go and live.” I suck in a breath as Gemma flattens her hand on the skin just above my heart and kisses me just below my ear. Then she turns her face, fitting the crown of her head beneath my jaw and says, “Most of the time we’re safe on the land, but sometimes we get sucked out to sea. What do you think happens then?” I think about everything we’ve shared today. I think about Gemma and me. And how it feels like the geography inside of my own body is changing, how it’s been changing from the moment I met her. Maybe even before that. And I think about the continents we’re building between us. The bridges of land moving from her fingers to mine and the valleys and mountains formed by her lips on my skin and her words in my head. I use both of my hands to cup her face and pull her to my mouth. I press my lips to hers, parting her mouth and drinking in her breath. “I think you’d have to start swimming.” A minute of silence ticks by. Over the low drone of the waves on the beach, she whispers, “And what if you can’t swim very well?” I think for a minute. “Then you fly.

I can barely breathe but I think that his lips might be better than oxygen at the moment.

I have a theory that the world is broken up into two kinds of people." "Yeah?" "Yep. On the one side are the people who love the Harry Pottery books and wish that they could attend Hogwarts and have Ron and Hermione for best friends and vanquish Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." She's smiling at me, and she's just so fucking cute. I have to ask: "And the other side?" Aimee shrugs. "Douchebags.

I'll never forget it because it was such an odd thing to say. She told me that she'd be you. You, Aimee. She cupped her hand to the place where my heart beat under my skin. Maybe you aren't wrong. Maybe she is inside of you. But I don't think she's making a racket because she's trying to get out. I think she just wants to make sure you know that she's there.

I'm being fair, it was the best kiss of my life- a kiss that finds all your seams and pulls them apart, stitch by detail stitch.

In my defense, the Easter Bunny is the weakest link in magical lore. I mean, you have to admit that the whole thing is ridiculous. A giant rodent who sneaks into people's homes at night to leave eggs filled with candy? How in the world is that symbolic of the Easter celebration?

I think they look like little pieces of green confetti decorating the grey cement walk and that seems all wrong.

Loving her is strange and confusing and damn risky. And if I had the chance I'd choose it all over again.

Maybe the problem with lying is that once you start faking it, it's impossible to tell where the make-believe you ends and the real you begins. It's hard to be who you are, but it's even harder to keep up the lie.

Nobody wants to know about the nightmares or the riptide of memories constantly trying to drag me under. The world doesn't want to be forced to look at my scars.

Okay. Scrabble, donuts, flowers, corndogs, pre-pubescent British wizards and indie music. Am I missing anything important?” She’s still blushing and it’s like the heat in her face is trapping all the words inside of her. “What is it?” I ask, an involuntary grin tugging on my mouth. I love it when she blushes like this. Amy sighs, looks up toward the chandelier, “You, Cole. I like you.

...people called it justice, but prison doesn't make everything better," he observes. "Just because someone pays a price doesn't mean they didn't steal from you to begin with.

She doesn't see me the way that I see her.

So let me get this straight," he says. "Death is the only destination and nothing else is real because it's not perfect or final?" I roll my eyes. "Okay, Nietzsche. That's not exactly what I said." "I just think people are always doing that." "Doing what?" "They're always asking themselves, 'Where am I going?' but they're never looking around and asking, 'Where am I?' Everything's about what's going to be next instead of noticing what's happening right now. But the now is the only thing that's actually real.

Then I'd say that I'm fucking sick and tired of getting in the way of myself.

When he touches me, the sky and the earth switch places.

You, Cole. I like you.

You dump trash. You dump yard waste and old ripped couches that smell like body odor and forgetfulness. You dump cigarette butts and banana peels and hazardous waste. But people?