Quotes from Jenny Han

For a minute there it was really good. It was really, really good. Wasn't it good? Maybe really, really good things aren't meant to last for too long; maybe that's what makes them all the more sweet, the temporariness of them.

Do you know what it's like to like someone so much you can't stand it and know that they'll never feel the same way? Probably not. People like you don't have to suffer through those kind of things.

That's life. Things don't always work out.

My favourite food is cake. What kind of cake? It doesn't matter. All cake.

There are certain outfits you have that make you feel good every time you wear them, and then there are outfits where you wore them too many times in a row because you liked them so much, and now they just feel like garbage.

I went over and over everything that had ever happened between us. I couldn't keep doing it, going back and fourth, holding her close and then pushing her away. It wasn't right

Peter. Peter Kavinsky." Even saying his name is a remembered pleasure, something to savor, like a piece of chocolate dissolving on my tongue.

Aching familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites and splinters, bikes and boogie boards. Tangled hair, sunburned shoulders, Judy Blume, in bed by nine thirty.

Please let me faint right now, because if I faint I will no longer be here, in this moment. It will be like in movies when a girl passes out from the horror of it all and the fighting happens while she is asleep and she wakes up in a hospital bed with a bruise or two, but she's missed all the bad stuff. I wish that was my life instead of this.

When he backed away, his pupils were huge and unfocused. He blinked, and then he cleared his throat. "Belly," he said, and his voice was foggy. He didn't say anything else, just my name. "Do you still--" Care. Think about me. Want me. Roughly, he said, "Yes. Yes, I still." And then we were kissing again.

Like snow globes, you shake them up, and for a moment everything is upside down and glitter everywhere and it's just like magic - but then it all settles and goes back to where it's supposed to be.

Remember that summer you liked that girl who worked at the boardwalk? Angie?" "No," he said, but I knew he was lying. "What about her?" "Did you ever hook up with her?" Conrad finally lifted his head up from the couch. "No," he said. "I don't believe you." "I tried, once. But she socked me in the head and said she wasn't that kind of girl.I think she was a Jehovah's Witness or something.

The air tasted just the same, smelled just the same. The wind making my hair feel sticky, the salty sea breeze, all of it felt just right. Like it had been waiting for me to get there.

I sank onto the deck. My heart was pounding a million trillion times a minute. I never felt more alive. Anger, sadness, joy. He made me feel it all. No one else had that kind of effect on me. No one.

She told me to try not to go to college with a boyfriend. She said she didn"t want me to be the girl crying on the phone with her boyfriend and saying no to things instead of yes

I wonder, though…what would it be like? To be that close to a boy and have him see all of you, no holding back.

Is this your feller?" "No, not really," I say, and Peter throws his arm around my shoulder and says, "Yes, sir. I'm her feller

Here's the thing. My one piece of advice to you. You have to let yourself be fully present in every moment. Just be awake for it, do you know what I mean? Go all in and wring every last drop out of the experience.

Maybe that was how it was with all first loves. They own a little piece of your heart, always. Conrad at twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, even seventeen years old.

When that piece makes sense, everything else starts to.

A memory, pressed into my heart like a leaf in a book.

I didn't dare look at Conrad. I was afraid my love for him and my need for him to say yes would be written on my face like a poem.

I knew that now—that love wasn't something you could do away with, no matter how hard you tried.

I put my freezing hands on his cheeks and instead of pushing them away, he said, "Ahh, feels good." I laughed and said, "That's because you're coldhearted." He put my hands in his coat pockets and said in a voice so soft I wondered if I heard him right, "For everyone else, maybe. But not for you.