#conrad

When Conrad Fisher told a girl he loved her, he meant it. A girl could believe in that. A girl could maybe even bet her whole life on it. ↗

— Jenny Han

#life

You know what? Don’t even worry about it,” I said. “Cory Wheeler already asked me. I can tell him I changed my mind.” “Who the hell is Corky Wheeler? ↗

— Jenny Han

#giddy #jealous-conrad #change

In a dispassionate view the ardour for reform, improvement for virtue, for knowledge, and even beauty is only a vein sticking up for appearances as though one were anxious about the cut of ones clothes in a community of blind men. ↗

— Joseph Conrad

#truth #beauty

Of all the inanimate objects, of all men's creations, books are the nearest to us for they contain our very thoughts, our ambitions, our indignations, our illusions, our fidelity to the truth, and our persistent leanings to error. But most of all they resemble us in their precious hold on life. ↗

— Joseph Conrad

#joseph-conrad #life

On the day of his mother’s funeral, to the boy I loved more than I had ever loved anything or anyone, I said, “Go to hell. ↗

— Jenny Han

#giddy #love

One of these days, you're going to fall in love with some guy, and you're not going to know what to do with yourself. ↗

— Jane Roberts

#lauren-conrad #love

If Conrad remembered the skinny, frightened girl he'd held for one brief moment on a frigid Boston street corner, he showed no signs of it when we met ... Even as I tried to urge hum back against the pillows, he looked at me with wild eyes. "What happened to your leather jacket?" he asked. "Shh," I said, trying to sooth him. "There's no leather jacket." "You were wearing it the first time I saw you," he said, frowning slightly. ↗

— Lauren Oliver

#conrad #love #remembrance #love

I was, a near grown man, sat in his dank, dark and rickety digs, feverishly hovering about the glare of a computer screen like a disorientated moth, one searching for a flaming light of recognition from someone/anyone! ↗

— Tom Conrad

#love #madness #moths #punctuation #revenge

Do you remember infinity?” Slowly, I turned around. “What about it?” Tossing something toward me, he said, “Catch.” I reached out and caught it in the air. A silver necklace. I held it up and examined it. The infinity necklace. It didn’t shine the way it used to; it looked a bit coppery now. But I recognized it. Of course I recognized it. “What is this?” I asked. “You know what it is,” he said. I shrugged. “Nope, sorry.” I could see that he was both hurt and angry. “Okay, then. You don’t remember it. I’ll remind you. I bought you that necklace for your birthday.” My birthday. It had to have been for my sixteenth birthday. It was the only year he ever forgot to buy me a birthday present—the last summer we’d all been together at the beach house, when Susannah was still alive. ↗

— Jenny Han

#present

I wondered if this was the way old crushes died, with a whimper, slowly, and then, just like that—gone. ↗

— Jenny Han

#summer