Quotes from Jenny Han

It wasn't was easy as picking one over the other. Nothing ever was. It wasn't as though I'd even had a choice, not really.

Josh Sanderson, I liked you first. By all rights, you were mine. And if it had been me, I'd have packed you in my suitcase and taken you with me, or, you know what, I would have stayed. I would never have left you. Not in a million years, not for anything.

Hearing him say it now, that is was my birthday present, touched me in the last place I wanted him to touch me. My heart.

And for a second, just for a second I forget. I forget that this isn't real.

He will let you down, because that's what he does. That's who he is.

He texts back: I love you. I'm starting to text back, I love you, too, when my phone rings. It's Peter's house number, and I answer it eagerly. "I love you, too," I say. There is surprised silence on the other end, then a little laugh to cover it up. "Hi, Lara Jean. This is Peter's mom.

I loved him in a way you can really on do the first time around. It's the kind of love that doesn't know better and doesn't want to - it's dizzy and foolish and fierce.

He kisses like . . . like it could be his job." Margot giggles and lifts the spoons off her eyes. "Like a male prostitute?

Instead I let the moment pass and I just sighed and leaned back onto my chair. The sky was pinky gold. I had the feeling that there was nothing more beautiful than this, that this particular sunset matched the beauty of anything in this world, ten times over. I could feel all the tension of the day drifting away from me and out to sea. I wanted to memorize it all in case I didn't get to come back again. You never know the last time you'll see a place. A person.

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. For the rest of my life, I would think of him fondly, the way you do your first pet, the first car you drove. Firsts were important.

Things have a way of settling back.

It's hard to concentrate when your feelings are hurt.

Nothing good happens after two a.m. Unless you happen to be a fan of watching people play flip cup for hours on end. Not me. No, I'd much prefer to be in my flannel pajamas with a cup of Night-Night tea and a book, thank you very much.

We broke so easily. Like it was nothing. Like we were nothing. Does that mean it was never meant to be in the first place? That we were an accident of fate? If we were meant to be, how could we both walk away like that?

And in the end, he would become a memory, pressed in my heart like a leaf in my book.

It's crazy, how similar we are. Here's both of us, working through our stuff, trying to make something positive out of something really bad.

She wanted letters. Real letters written in his handwriting on actual paper that she could hold and keep and read whenever the mood struck her. They were proof, solid and tangible, that someone was thinking about her.

I want to be that person for him, I want to be the one who keeps him going during this difficult time.

I could fall in love with you so easily. I'm halfway there already. You're so perfect in my memory, and you're perfect now. It's like I dreamed you into being. Of all the boys, you're the one I would pick.

It was like coming home after you'd been gone a long, long time. It held a million promises of summer and of what just might be.

How crazy, how thrilling that your whole life trajectory can change in just one night.

To love a boy, to have him love you back. It feels miraculous.

That's when I see him. Peter Kavinsky, walking down the hallway. Like magic. Beautiful, dark-haired Peter. He deserves background music, he looks so good.

There's an openness to his face, an innocence—a certain kind of niceness. It's the niceness that touches my heart the most.