By definition, love made you better than good enough; it redefined perfection to include your traits, instead of excluding them.

When she wanted to escape her life, she read books

A heroin-thin boy with enough rings in his eyebrows to resemble a shower curtain rod.

Parents aren’t the people you come from. They’re the people you want to be, when you grow up.

He’s not your typical prince, more like a square peg in a round hole, kind of like me. He’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t mind reading side by side on a date.

What makes you walk past thirty-thousand people without a second glance, and then you look at the thirty-thousandth-and-first person and know you'll never take your eyes off her again?

Could you really love someone who was capable of falling in love with somebody else?