Best 23 quotes of Emma Mills on MyQuotes

A page in the story of my life that I never could've anticipated.

But I guess it looked how some little part of me wanted things to look. Even if it was just for a second. Like some TV version of high school.

But there was something in his eyes at times that I would almost swear said something more. Some deeper sort of regard.

Close your eyes, real tight, and then count to three hundred. That’s all you have to do. You just count to three hundred, and when you open your eyes, five minutes will have passed. And even if it hurts or things are shitty or you don’t know what to do, you just made it through five whole minutes. And when it feels like you can’t go on, you just close your eyes and do it again. That’s all you need. Just five minutes at a time.

I had also never realized before that I loved him, but I did. And his pain was my pain, and it hurt, but it also felt good in a strange way, knowing that we could share in it together.

I know that she hates change. She gets anxious about the future.

I like you,' I say. 'I lustful-sun like you, I meteorite like you, you are the fucking pink Starburst to me.

In truth, we are rarely all on the same page. More often than not, they're all on one page, and I' on a completely different one.

I pulled out my phone and thought about calling someone, but who was there to call? And what would I even say? It was just the kind of unpleasant surprise you had to share with someone, but I didn’t have anybody to share it with.

It could have been avoided. This couch misery spiral, this … loss … I could’ve avoided the bulk of it simply by doing more. I could’ve given a shit...

It's just...sometimes he says or does something so random it's like he's a life-form from another planet who's failing at blending into life on earth but trying like really hard, and you just have to share it with other people.

It was endearing, in that way that almost ached sometimes, how much my folks wanted Foster to be okay. And I think even more than I did, they wanted Foster to be normal. For me, being normal meant fitting in. For them, I think, it just meant being happy.

It was kind of funny—the thing that had annoyed me so much about him in the beginning was what I dearly appreciated now.

Sometimes...around some people, I feel like I have to, like...try, you know?...But with you-- when I'm with you, I can just...exist. You know what I mean?

Sometimes it's hard to know if something's for real? It's hard to believe it, even if you want it to be real. Even if you want it so badly. Sometimes it seems...safer, you know. Not to risk it.

The idea that it doesn't matter what over people think about you gets thrown around a lot in high school, and in many instances it's true. But I do care what certain people think of me.

The thing about fic is that is comes from love. Characters you love so much, that you feel so deeply for, you'll watch them fall in love a thousand different ways, over and over.

Tragic deaths aren't avoidable. That's what Ezra said outside Sam's wake, and even though--to use Foster's phrasing--I didn't know anything about anything, I felt in this moment that Ezra was wrong. What often makes something tragic is that it can be avoided.

Wait,” he said, and he had his hand outstretched toward me, fingertips just brushing the sleeve of my sweatshirt, gently rooting me to the spot. I wanted to shrug him off, but at the same time, I wanted to fall against him and bury my face in his shoulder. I wanted to commiserate about what had just happened, and make sure he was okay, and discuss how Stanton really is psychotic. I did none of the above.

What are you going to do for school?" "Go to FSU with Tash." "What if there was no Tash? What would you do then?" "I don't know," she murmurs. "Maybe go wherever Gabe goes. Or come to New York with you." It fills me with warmth, running liquid through me, but it won't thaw my mind. "Why does it have to be, like, based off someone else? Why can't you just do what you want?" "What I want is to be around people I care about." "Oh." I blink at the ceiling once, twice, eyelids getting heavy, eyes getting fuzzy. It makes sense when she says it like that.

What would a pie chart of your malicious to non-malicious thoughts look like? How big a piece of the pie is non-malicious?

Why would I want someone I had to make love me?

You don't get that good by doing nothing.