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Please. She sighed. 'Can't a girl have high standards? I don't want an ordinary boy.
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The basic fact is that no, this isn't ideal. Very few things are. Sometimes, you have to manufacture your own history. Give fate a push,so to speak.
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But risk is just part of relationships. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.
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But God!Who could live like this , anyway, with the kind of guesswork that was enough to make a person crazy, just sailing along, taking bumps here and there, no course navigated whatsoever, with any big wave capable of just tipping and sinking you entirely. IT was madness, stipidity, and- (then I saw him)
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Teenagers are a great audience and they are fearless about asking what they want to know.
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I wondered again why the right thing always seemed to be met with so much resistance, when you'd think it would be the easier path. You had to fight to be virtuous.
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I had stepped into his arms, showing him my raw, broken heart.
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but you could also look at it the other way. Like you’re saying no matter how bad things are for you, I can still relate.
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If there was a way to recognize something you'd never seen but still knew by heart, I felt it as I looked at his face. Finally, someone understood.
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Love is so unpredictable. Sometimes you'll know a man for years and then one day, boom! Suddenly you see him in a different way. And other times, it's that first date, that first moment. That's what makes it so great.
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Conciseness is underrated
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I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. As long as I didn't say it aloud, it wasn't real.
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You can't always get the perfect moment. Sometimes, you just have to do the best you can under the circumstances.
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Say what you will, but you’re never prepared for the surprise attack.
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There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.
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And trying to break it down this way, to minor and major offenses, maybes and what-ifs, was like arguing over the origin of cracks in a broken egg. It was done. How it happened didn't matter anymore.
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You can't love anyone that way more than once in a lifetime. It's too hard and it hurts too much when it ends. The first boy is always the hardest to get over, Haven. It's just the way the world works.
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With my mom, when someone was gone, they were gone. She didn't waste another minute thinking about them, and neither should you.
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No one could tell you: you just had to go through it on your own. If you were lucky, you came out on the other side and understood. If you didn't, you kept getting thrust back, retracing those steps, until you finally got it right.
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I never really know what I'm going to write next until it comes to me. So we'll just have to see what happens.
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The bottom line is, what defines you isn't how many times you crash, but the number of times you get back on the bike. As long as it's one more. you're all good.
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You could just tell when a person belonged somewhere. That is something you can't fake, no matter how hard you try
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I'd been running for years: there was nothing scarier, to me, than to just be still with someone. And yet, there on that dark road, going home, I was.
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I trailed off and he didn't push me to finish. I was finding that I liked that.