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— Rachel Zoe"Packing is basically: If you're going on a weekend, then just take what you're really going to wear. And how many times are you going to leave the room? If that makes any sense. Like if you're going to sleep, read, and sit by a fire - chunky knit sweaters, leggings, comfortable boots. But if you're going on like a party weekend, then bring your favorite pieces and make sure you'll wear them."
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I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
— David Levithan
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He strips his shirt over his head and I catch my breath, watching those long hard muscles ripple. I know how his shoulders look, bunched, when he's on top of me, how his face gets tight with lust, as he eases inside me. "Who am I?" "Jericho" "Who are you?" He kicks off his boots, steps out of his pants. He's commando tonight. My breath whooshes out of me in a run-on word: "Whogivesafuck?
— Karen Marie Moning
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