Quotes from Kristan Higgins

But why did you upgrade me?" "Because you're not a skinny dwarf." "Is that an insult?" "Is it? Would you like to be a skinny dwarf? Because even though you're acting like Grumpy—

You never realize it until you're pregnant, or holding your baby in your arms, but your heart, soul and peace of mind will never be yours again. The tiny hijackers take over before they draw their first breaths, and you would do anything to keep them safe. Anything.

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. Every letter in the alphabet in that sentence.

I don't date. I'm strictly for recreational purposes. - Leo

You deserve a husband who'd cut off his own dick before he'd cheat on you, Rach. You do." "Maybe we can put that in my Match.com profile,

Then, walking across the room, hips swaying, blond hair flowing as if in a shampoo commercial, came Joe's date. Tall. Skinny. Big boobs despite the skinniness, their cantaloupe-like roundness announcing them as store-bought

Comfort, companionship and realistic expectations…they didn't sound nearly as glam as undying passion, but they were worth a lot more than most people believed

She wasn't used to men being jealous. It was a freakishly new sensation, and not one hundred percent bad, if she was being honest. Seventy-five percent bad, sure. Twenty-five percent thrilling, in a guilty sort of way.

Life was kind and full of chances. Sometimes we didn't take them. Sometimes we hid our truth and acted out of fear. Sometimes we turned away and closed the door.

It wasn't uncommon. Treated, bipolar disorder could be managed quite well in most cases. Two of my med school professors had talked openly about having it. But for some people, the medication made them feel flat. Gray. The mood swings and mania were the price they paid for a life full of color.

You wonder how much abuse you can take and still love someone. You wonder how long they can treat you like nothing but still want them back. You wonder how many years it will take to forget how things used to be, how long you'll burn yourself with that tiny ember of hope before the deluge of their neglect drowns it.

I was pretty sure that somewhere in the mother's handbook, it said your kids shouldn't have to bribe you to get hugged.

THE LAST TIME my husband and I had sex, I fell asleep. Not after. During.

I Google "five star hotels, new york city" and scroll through the list. The Surrey—nah, too fussy. The Peninsula—just looked at that one last week. Anything Trump—no, thanks, too overdone.

my phone rings. I sense my hard-won optimism is about to get a smackdown. The Angel of Death, also known as my mother, Lenore Tate, long-suffering widow and professional pessimist.

He'd drop by her place later, see if she was still up. If not, he'd stare at her window, because why not, right? He was stupid with love. No shame in that

I knock cheerfully on the super's door—shave-and-a-haircut, two-bits!

My phone dings with a text. Mom: I bought you a rape whistle. There was a gangland slaying on your street last week.

My phone dings with a text. Mom: I bought you a rape whistle. There was a gangland slaying on your street last week. "No, there wasn't, Mom!" I yell, strangling the steering wheel with even more gusto. "There was no gangland slaying!

Adam loves me. I know he loves me. To think I thought it was a tree. A knothole. Some kind of hole, yes, but really, I am such an idiot. Almost forty, and pathetically naive.

Nothing makes our mother happier than discussing the troubles of those around her—even her daughters, and sometimes especially us—so long as she can come out the winner.

I have to believe that Adam was not the intended recipient of that hideous, disgusting picture. How do gynecologists do it all day, look between the legs of their patients and not just…just throw up?

You'll be surprised at how kind most people are.

If Adam is cheating on my sister, I will rip off his testicles. Through his throat.