Quotes from Rachel Cohn

All I ever think about is food or sex.

Because I hadn't known that I knew these things. Just having a notebook to write them in, and having someone to write them to, made them all rise to the surface.

I love you for answering the call of a red notebook once upon a time.

The desert adapts. The people adapt. Live. Die. Struggle. Suffer. Create. The people in the real world beyond Demesne's ring are not all manufactured perfection. They deal.

do believe that most of the times your life changes, you don't realize in the moment that it's on the cusp of being altered.

What do you call Santa's little helpers? Subordinate Clauses!

I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep.

You never know where the night will take you.

I wanted to go home to the safety of my bed and to my stuffed animals and to my people I'd known my whole life. I had nothing to say to anybody, and fervently prayed that no one there would have anything to say to me.

I don't think it's a matter of ready-I mean, not in an all-the-way sense. You're never completely ready-you just get to the point where you're ready enough.

It's a paradox, isn't it? The people you know the most, the people you love the most-you're also going to feel the parts of them you don't know the most

It wasn't about the fantasy. That was now replaced with hope and belief that it could happen, for real.

I knew she was leaving. I knew we were never going to date long-distance. I knew that we wouldn't have been able to be like this back when we were dating, so there was no use in regretting what hasn't happened. I suspected that what happens in hotel rooms rarely lasts outside of them. I suspected that when something was a beginning and an ending at the same time, that meant it could only exist in the present.

The worse people feel the next day, the better the party.

Perhaps it's only the vehicle that won't start, but it feels like it's my life that won't start. Yes, this Yugo with the passenger-side seat metal coming through the torn seat fabric, scratching against the back of my thigh, this Cold War relic that won't respond to Nick's turn of the ignition key is like the fucking metaphor for my sorry-ass life: STALLED.

Here's the thing about love, Mrs. Basil E. replied. You get a last chance. And then, when that doesn't work, you make yourself another last chance. Then another. Then another. You keep going until your last chances run out.

Jealousy hot flashes through my body, a thunderbolt crashing through.

From a distance, a clone's luminous eyes are meant to draw in humans and make them feel safe. Up close, the eyes appear hollow. Because of that, humans tend not to look into our eyes too closely, which I've been told is socially preferable, as eyes without souls behind them can be frightening.

We will go Awful and die together. But we will do it as free Betas. Not as puppets of the humans.

If I'm just The Guy With Norah, that's cool. Right now, that's all I want to be. All the other things I am—they're too complicated. I can feel them lying in wait, planning their return.

The mosh pit will reveal all the answers. The mosh pit never lies.

Well, maybe Lily and I aren't going to end up together. Maybe we're mismatched." "No, no, no," Sofia said. "A mismatch is the only kind of match that's worth making. Surely you know that by now. Are Boomer and I alike? Not at all. Are you and Lily practically the same person? Oh, no. And thank god for that. A match is two separate things coming together. Otherwise you're not a match, you're…a set. Two identical spoons. Boring.

The Secret tactic of a good hard bargainer is know when to compromise. For instance. I will demand a puppy if I am forced to move to Fiji. But I will settle for a bunny.

It was a red Moleskine—made of neither mole nor skin, but nonetheless the preferred journal of my associates who felt the need to journal in non-electronic form.