Love is the strangest, most illogical thing in the world.

He looks at her and smiles. "You're sort of dangerous, you know?" She stares at him. "Me?" "Yeah," he says sitting back. "I'm way too honest with you.

Is it possible not to ever know your type-not to even know you have a type-until quite suddenly you do?

People who meet in airports are seventy-two percent more likely to fall for each other than people who meet anywhere else.

Who would have guessed that four minutes could change everything?

Exactly. How can you know it makes you happy if you’ve never experienced it?”“There are different kinds of happy,” she said. “Some kinds don’t need any proof.

Cheerfulness and contentment are great beautifiers.

Beside her, she can feel each breath he draws. How is it possible to be so close to a person and still not know what you are to each other? With baseball, it's simple. There's no mystery to what happens on the field because everything has a label -- full count, earned run, perfect game -- and there's a certain amount of comfort in this terminology. There's no room for confusion and Ryan wishes now that everything could be so straightforward. But then Nick pulls her closer, and she rests her head on his chest, and nothing seems more important that this right here.

She understands now what she, in all her worry, had forgotten. That even as she hesitates and wavers, even as she thinks too much and moves too cautiously, she doesn't always have to get it right. It's okay to look back, even as you move forward.

People talk about books being an escape, but here on the tube, this one feels more like a lifeline...The motion of the train makes her head rattle, but her eyes lock on the words the way a figure skater might choose a focal point as she spins, and just like that, she's grounded again.

But it was different, somehow, to be reading it here, where the actual events had taken place all those hundreds of thousands of years ago. That was the thing about books, she was realizing; they could take you somewhere else entirely, it was true. But it wasn't the same thing as actually going there yourself.

It had always been the two of them through everything -every adventure and every expedition- and now there was this awful distance between them, and she tried not to think about all the stories they were missing out on, all the litle moments and bigger milestones that had happened over the past few weeks without the other knowing

Somehow he'd become the one constant in this whole uneven chapter in her life, & the idea that could change was unsettling.

But a small part of him also knew that the reason he'd never ventured anywhere was because of the worry that the reality of the world wouldn't match up to his dreams.

There's always a gap between the burn and the sting of it, the pain and the realization...You can't survive a rift that big without it leaving a mark.

She couldn't ignore the disjointed sensation that they were now two different pieces of two puzzles, and nothing in the world could make them fit together again.

I think you have to be more of a believer for these things to work," he said, wiping some ice cream from his face. "How are you supposed to find what you're looking for if you're not convinced it's even out there?

I might not say it, but I obviously show you how I feel,” she says. “Why do the words have to be so important?”“They just are,” he says, standing up and brushing off the back of his jeans. “Not because you’re saying them, but because you’re not.

You could tell a lot about someone by the way they carried a secret-by how safe they kept it, how soon they told, the way they acted when they were trying to keep it from spilling out.

It can’t be epic if there’s no challenge to it.

No matter how long it’s been or how far you’ve drifted, no matter how unknowable you might be, there were at least two people in the world whose job it was to see you, to find you, to recognize you and reel you back in. No matter what.

It was his fault, all of it, and yet her hatred for him was the worst kind of love, a tortured longing, a misguided wish that made her heart hammer in her chest. She couldn't ignore the disjointed sensation that they were now two different pieces of two different puzzles, and nothing in the world could make them fit together again.

The important part is that you had someone to stick by you all that time. Even when everything sucked.

There are certain things in life that you'll be forgiven for, no matter how thoughtless or stupid or reckless, but if you do that same thing twice, you're on your own.

It's just one more thing she hadn't considered, and as the idea of it settles over her, she realizes again how entwined their lives are. They're like two trees whose branches have grown together. Even if you pull them out by the trunks, they're still going to be twisted and tangled and nearly impossible to separate at the roots.

Just like when you're young and in love, a seven-hour plane ride can seem like a lifetime.

Maybe this was why Owen had been so desperate to travel, why she'd longed for it herself without ever really knowing why. It wasn't just that you got to be somewhere else entirely. It was that you got to be someone else entirely, too.

and the boy's eyes are searching hers with something like loneliness, like the very last thing he wants is to be left behind right now.

They were just so different, and she kept wondering if he'd realize this was a mistake at some point; if, once she stopped being the novelty, the random American, he would recognize who she really was -- a nerdy bookworm, a happy loner -- and move on.

...and it struck her as the truest form of kindness, the most basic sort of love: to be worried about the one who was worrying about you.

Because even this --being so close to her --was no longer the same. That light he'd felt when he first saw her --he understood now that it was only a lightbulb. It was quick and easy, full of electricity, but there was something artificial about it. What he wanted was fire: heat and spark and flame.

Just because you painted a house didn't mean the furniture inside was any different. It had to be the same with people.

Here. There. Everywhere. Somewhere. Home.

And the geography of the thing--the geography of them--was completely and hopelessly wrong.

But the crowds are surging around them and her backpack is heavy on her shoulders and the boy's eyes are searching hers with something like loneliness , like the very last thing he wants is to be left behind right now. And that's something Hadley can understand, too, and so after a moment she nods in agreement, and he tips the suitcase forward onto it's wheels, and they begin to walk.

And being here like this, so suddenly close to him is enough to make her lightheaded. It's a feeling like falling.

She filed those moments away like precious documents, wore them smooth with memory, collected them like bits of prayers.

Childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags

Clare's been called a lot of things- smart and funny, driven and talented- but memorable certainly isn't one of them. The most important things about her- the ones she's most proud of- are apparent only once you get to know her.

Someone once told her there's a formula for how long it takes to get over someone, that it's half as long as the time you've been together. Hadley has her doubts about how accurate this could possibly be, a calculation so simple for something as complicated as heartbreak.

Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it, or never to have had it?

He'd thought this was the start of something. But clearly she'd changed her mind, and he felt stunned by home quickly the whole thing had unraveled, the end coming before the beginning really even had a chance to begin.

There are different kinds of happy, some kinds don't need any proof-Ellie O'Neill, This is What Happy Looks Like

We have all sorts of words that could describe us. But we get to choose which ones are most important.

This," I say softly, "is going to change everything."I don't mean it the way I usually do.I don't mean that change is hard or scary, though it's definitely both.I mean only to say this: that sometimes, through good luck or bad, through curses or fate, the world cracks itself open, and afterward nothing will ever be the same.All I mean is that this seems like one of those times.

Even the not saying can balloon into something bigger than words themselves.

Suddenly, it seemed there were about a million times he was supposed to have kissed her, even without the benefit of a script, even without any sort of direction.

There’s a star in the sky that refuses to stay put, and Hadley realizes it’s actually a plane, that just last night, that star was them.

It was exactly as he’d thought it would be, like the first time and the millionth time all at once, like being wide awake, like losing his balance. Only this time, it wasn’t just him; this time, they were losing their balance together.

It took a moment to right himself, and he pulled his shoulders back as he regained his equilibrium. He didn't want to be half asleep the first time he kissed Ellie. For that, he wanted to be wide awake.

There was a lump in her throat as she watched him fidget with the buttons on his vest, and it struck her as the truest form of kindness, the most basic sort of love: to be worried about the one who was worrying about you.

That's the thing about flying: You could talk to someone for hours and never even know his name, share your deepest secrets and then never see them again.

Maybe the answer to all of his problems was nothing more than a darkened sky and a glittering city, a lofty perch above the world below. It seemed entirely possible that it was all just a matter of setting and location, and Peter wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.

But she knew it would never happen. She had no intention of visiting him there. Even if she were open to the idea, as Mom and Dad both hoped she would be, the mathematics of it seemed utterly impossible to her. What was she supposed to do, spend Christmas there and Easter here? See her dad every other holiday and one week during the summer, just enough to glimpse his new life in fragments, tiny slivers of a world she had no part in? And all the while missing out on those moments of her mom’s life—her mom, who’d done nothing to deserve to spend Christmas alone?That, it seemed to Hadley, was no way to live. Perhaps if there were more time, or if time were more malleable; if she could be both places at once, live parallel lives; or, simpler yet, if Dad would just come home. Because as far as she was concerned, there was no in-between: She wanted all or nothing, illogically, irrationally, even though something inside of her knew that nothing would be too hard, and all was impossible.

Happy Graduation," he said."Now go get her.

He was giving her the most important thing he could, the only way he knew how. He was a professor, a lover of stories, and he was building her a library in the same way other men might build their daughters houses.

Her eyes travel down to where he's gripping the handle of her suitcase. "What're you doing?" she asks, blinking at him."You looked like you needed some help."Hadley just stares at him."And this way it's perfectly legal," he adds with a grin.

they'd become unaccustomed to the brightness of their own city, and, faced with it now in all its intensity, they cupped their hands over their eyes as if staring into the sun.

As if it were far easier to start over completely than to try to put everything back together again.

Hi,' he says.'Hi,' she says back, and then to her great surprise, she begins to cry.'You know,' Nick says as he hands her a tissue from the bedside table,' for all this talk about how you don't cry, you sure are sprouting a lot of water.

The idea that their paths might have easily not crossed leaves her breathless, like a near-miss accident on a highway, and she can't help marveling at the sheer randomness of it all. Like any survivor of chance, she feels a quick rush of thankfulness, part adrenaline and part hope.

Is it possible not to ever know your type--not to even know you have a type--until quite suddenly you do?

The morning felt like a mixing bowl just waiting for its ingredients; there was a sense of possibility to it, a promise of something more to come.