Favorite Lines
~My mother had already informed me in the car on the way over from Manhattan that Mr. Gianini’s parents are very old-fashioned and are used to enjoying a conventional Thanksgiving meal. She does not think they will appreciate hearing my traditional Thanksgivin speech about how the Pilgrims are guilty of committing mass genocide by giving their new Native American friends blankets filled with the smallpox virus, and that it is reprehensible that we as a country annually celebrate this rape and destruction of an entire culture (p. 2).
~Well I am sorry, but I find Iceland extremely fascinating, and I will not rest until I have visited the ice hotel (p. 3).
~After a long and exhausting day of giving thanks to the founders of our nation – those genocidal hypocrites known as the Pilgrims – I finally go to bed (p. 9).
~I suppose I should technically be thankful that Kenny chose merely to say the words I love you, rather than enacting them physically, which, God knows, might have actually involved his tongue (p. 41-42).
~Jeez! What’s that Oprah always complaining about, about how men aren’t in touch with their emotions, and don’t share enough? It sounds to me like Kenny’s been doing enough sharing recently to make up for several centuries’ worth of masculine reticence (p. 48).
~Judith really has no business butting into my private conversations. He hardly even knows me. But did that stop her from letting me know, when she overheard Lilly’s formal apology for not having believed me about Kenny’s weird phone call – any doubts about the veracity of which he managed to scatter today with his display of unbridled passion in the third floor hallway – that she feels sorry for him? Oh, no. “Poor kid,” Judith said. “I heard what he said to you in the hallway. I was in the chem. Lab. What was it again? ‘I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, Mia, I will always love you,’ or something like that?” I didn’t say anything. That’s because I was busy picturing how Judith would look with a pencil sticking out of the middle of her forehead (p. 76).
~“Just because Mia doesn’t go around shouting about how she feels in the third floor hallway,” Michael said, “doesn’t mean she isn’t in touch with her emotions.” How does he do that? How is it that he is able to magically put into words exactly what I feel, but seem to have so much trouble saying? This, you see, is why I love him. I mean, how could I not? (p. 77).
~So what’s to keep from writing some anonymous love letters to a boy I like? I mean, really? Besides the fact that I already have a boyfriend, and the guy I like already has a girlfriend? (p. 92).
~Lana just leaned back and hissed, “You gonna walk out with your fat friend?” I take real objection to this. Only in a culture as screwed up as ours, where girls like Christina Aguilera are held up as models of beauty when clearly they are in fact suffering from some sort of malnutrition (scurvy?), would Lilly ever be considered fat. Because Lilly isn’t fat. She is just round, like a puppy. I hate it here (p. 97).
~Ew, I wonder if I will have to learn to play racquetball (p. 108).
~But I have to say, it is immensely gratifying to have all these people coming up to the microphone and decrying my behavior. I probably wouldn’t feel so good about it if I’d gotten caught, though. I am being urged to come forward and turn myself in even as I write this. Apparently, the guilt for my action is going to hound me well past my teen years, possibly even into my twenties and beyond (p. 117-118).
~It appears that Kenny’s passion for me has ebbed significantly since it hit its zenith on Tuesday (p. 123).
~I wish they’d put the door back on the supply closet. It is extremely hard to concentrate with Boris scraping away on his violin in there. Lilly says this is just another tactic by the trustees to weaken our resistance, so we will remain the mindless drones they are trying to make us, but I think it’s just one account of the time we all forgot to let him out, and he was stuck in there until the night custodian heard his anguished pleas to be released. Which is Lilly’s fault, if you think about it. I mean, she’s his girlfriend. She should really take better care of him (p. 125).
~She said she thought the photos of me in the supplement were beautiful and that I shouldn’t care if people call me a sell-out, because I look so hot (p. 168).
~Of course Boris wouldn’t know that a yellow rose represents love everlasting. Boris doesn’t even know not to tuck his sweater into his pants. How would he know the secret language of the flowers (p. 195)?
~I just sat there thinking, for some reason, Faint heart never won fair lady. Which was stupid, because, number one, I was NOT going to tell him I like him and number two, Michael is dark-haired, not fair. And he isn’t a lady either, obviously (p. 202).
~“I mean, I know you’d never lie to me, Mia. You’re the most honest person I’ve ever met.” HA! Was he joking? Me? Honest? Obviously, he did not have the slightest clue about my nostrils (p. 208).
~BORIS. BORIS PELKOWSKI. My boyfriend broke up with me because he thinks I am having an affair with BORIS PELKOWSKI. BORIS PELKOWSKI, who always has food in his braces. BORIS PELKOWSKI, who wears his sweaters tucked inside his pants. BORIS PELKOWSKI, my best friend’s boyfriend. Oh, God. My life is so over (p. 208-209).
~People have a right to their privacy. If I want to go into my room and lock the door and not come out or have to deal with anyone, I should have a right to. People should not be allowed to take the hinges off my door and remove it. That is completely unfair (p. 212).
~I am, however, a princess, and apparently that means I am expected to take whatever is dished out to me, no matter how cruel, unfair or undeserved it might be (p. 221).
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