Ann Brashares Quotes

She hugged me and I could feel the heat rise in my face, either from shame or love, like there was a difference.

It is the suffering of ambivalence: the murderous alternation between bitter resentment and raw-edged nerves, and blissful gratification and tenderness

I would say that I have a love-hate relationship with almost everything in my life, including stand-up.

I have back-and-forth feelings about everything a lot - it's not limited to my albums.

I find Australia compelling and vexatious at the best of times; I've never been able to get it out of my system since going there as a young lecturer, and yet however much I love revisiting it, I always feel I have to leave again.

Modern science knows much about such conflicts. We call the mental state that engenders it "ambivalence": a collision between thought and feeling.

People always tell me either A. you love him. B. you hate him. My usual answer? C. All of the above.

I am astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all these things at once and cannot add up the sum.

I feel anger and I feel understanding. It's a difficult position to be in.

They looked at each other, baffled, in love and hate.

Part of me still loves. More of me doesn't.

I'm optimistic yet disillusioned, hopeful yet frustrated.

She glared at him, feeling the old frustration. Sometimes in his presence she felt the deepest connection to him, and other times she felt completely alone-as though any bond to him was her own bitter imagination.

… she gave me a look that deftly combined tenderness with revulsion. To this day the memory of that look still visits me like a Jehovah’s Witness: uninvited and tireless.

Within my heart is lurking suspicion, and base fear, and shame and hate; but above all, tyrannous love sits throned, crowned with her graces, silent and in tears.

One half was sad because I had damaged my reputation. The other half was happy because I had damaged my reputation.

My heart says one thing. My head says another. Very hard to get your heart and head together in life.

Oh, well...up until now it had been a good day, in a horrible kind of way.

I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night. I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye.

I loved feeling special. I hated feeling special.

She never liked me much, but she sure loved me

Only one thing bothered me: at this very moment, as they say, of inexplicable bliss there would be a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach and my abdomen would be assailed by a melancholy, cold shivering. In the end I couldn't abide such happiness and ran away.

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.

I don’t like you, Park. Sometimes I think I live for you

I'm the happiest the saddest guy in the world can be.