Try to write at least 500 words a day. You may ditch 499 of them tomorrow, but you will still be moving forward.
Jojo MoyesI know this isnโt a conventional love story. I know there are all sorts of reasons I shouldnโt even be saying what I am. But I love you. I do. I knew it when I left Patrick. And I think you might even love me a little bit.
Jojo MoyesI frowned at the list. โSoโฆ Iโll go back and tell the Traynors that Iโm going to get their suicidal quadriplegic son drunk, spend their money on strippers and lap dancers, and then trundle him off to the Disability Olympicsโ
Jojo MoyesI kissed him, trying to bring him back. I kissed him and let my lips rest against his so that our breath mingled and the tears from my eyes became salt on his skin, and I told myself that, somewhere, tiny particles of him would become tiny particles of me, ingested, swallowed, alive, perpetual. I wanted to press every bit of me against him. I wanted to will something into him. I wanted to give him every bit of life I felt and force him to live.
Jojo MoyesโโโโโโYou're going to feel uncomfortable in your new world for a bit. It always does feel strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone.
Jojo MoyesAnd then, just like that, my heart broke. My face crumpled, my composure went and I held him tightly and I stopped caring that he could feel the shudder of my sobbing body because grief swamped me. It overwhelmed me and tore at my heart and my stomach and my head and it pulled me under, and I couldnโt bear it. I honestly thought I couldnโt bear it.
Jojo Moyes