“Who’s this?” I point to Soccer Guy. He’s wearing red and white, and he’s all dark eyebrows and dark hair. Quite good-looking, actually. “Cesc Fàbregas. God, he’s the most incredible passer. Plays for Arsenal. The English football club? No?” — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“This warmth over the telephone. Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? Bridgette used to be home to… — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“I wasn't being a git. I wasn't even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms -” — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“You said on my birthday that you were afraid of being alone, but I’ve been here this whole time. This whole time.” — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“Lola: Do you think things have to be easy? For it to work? Cricket: NO. I mean, yes, but... sometimes there are... extenuating circumstances.… — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“Thanks. I forgot how to flip off the English. I'll use the correct hand gesture next time." "My pleasure. Always happy to educate.” — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“Beautiful. He called me beautiful! But wait. I don't like Dave. Do I like Dave?” — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“We're enveloped in pitch black. "Wait here," I whisper. "Are you getting your ax?" "Handcuffs." "Kinky. But, okay, I'll try it.” — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
“And, suddenly, I want to touch him. Not a push, or a shove, or even a friendly hug. I want to feel the creases… — Stephanie Perkins Copy Share Image
