Megan McCafferty quotes:

See, my idea of cute comes with an IQ requirement. It's geeky cute. It's Rivers Cuomo, not Justin Timberlake. It's Gideon Yago, not Brian Mcfayden. Jimmy Fallon, yes please! Brad Pitt, no thank you.

I think the only way you can become a writer is through honing your voice, creating your own voice.

I'm sitting in the bleachers, watching longingly as all the boys and umbumped girls in my Personal Health and Fitness class play Muggle Quidditch. I don't even like the game very much, I think it's silly, but I so miss physical activity that I'd be thrilled if I could run around the gymnasium with a broom between my legs, chasing after the human snitch wearing a gold pinny.

Most of my friends from Columbia are going on to get advanced degrees. And why not? A Ph.D. is the new M.A., a master's is the new bachelor's, a B.A. is the new high school diploma, and a high school diploma is the new smiley-face sticker on your first-grade spelling test.

I do so much revising as I go along; I wonder how I could write books if I hadn't grown up in the computer age. I think I'd be a very different writer. I find myself cutting and pasting, changing things around and deleting whole paragraphs constantly.

Where's my syllabus to guide me through life?

I tried writing this book about a singer in a wedding band, but realized I only wanted to write the book so I could have an excuse to sing with a wedding band as research. That's not a good enough reason to write a book.

I have a very long pre-writing process where I'm jotting down ideas in a notebook and ripping out relevant newspaper articles - a long fact-finding mission.

Plagiarism has been around far longer than the Internet. In fact, I had a poem published in 'Seventeen' magazine when I was 15 years old. About a year later I was informed that there was a girl who used that same poem to win a statewide poetry competition in Alabama. It took months for people to put together that this had happened.

You called me a natural con artist and asked me what other secrets I was hiding. I didn't answer because I already knew, in some deep, primal way, what furtive truth you were referring to: That I was destined to fall in love with you.

Gone for a while Hoping, always, to return If you will let me

My thoughts create my world -Marcus Flutie

Marcus Flutie slept with just about every girl on the Eastern Seaboard except me. Though, he tried to get into my panties when I was a freshman but turned him down because I refuse to disempower myself just for a few clit twitches.

I never understood the point of being sad when I could choose to be happy

...he makes me feel out of control and out of my head. He is exhilarating and terrifying. I see and feel him everywhere, and I'm always grasping for equilibrium even when he's not there... I feel like I'm always falling in love, falling and falling and falling.

I've always zoomed through life in a vain attempt to keep up with my sprinting brain. If I have to choose between doing something quickly and doing it right, I often select the speedier option.

Zen cuts straight through the Quidditch match in progress and almost gets taken down by a Beater hurling a Nerf quaffle right at his machopartes.

The road less traveled will not be smooth

You can only be in a bad mood for so long before you have to face up to the fact that it isn't a bad mood at all; it's just your sucky personality.

I just don't see the point in beating myself up. I think it's more productive to concentrate on being a better person right now than punishing myself for who I was in the past.

I think about all my scenes. I do so much revising as I go along; I wonder how I could write books if I hadn't grown up in the computer age. I think I'd be a very different writer. I find myself cutting and pasting, changing things around, and deleting whole paragraphs constantly.

The higher my GPA gets the more I realize high school is useless

furious flutter awakened hummingbird heart hello hello love

Humans find meaningfulness where none exists because we want to create a sense of order in this chaotic universe. It's called apophenia. (And it's also the reason people believe in God.)

A relationship ends because you've outgrown it. It can begin again because you, as two, can fill the new shape.

I'VE LEARNED THAT YOU CAN'T CONTROL WHAT OTHER PEOPLE ARE GOING TO THINK ABOUT YOU.THE BEST YOU CAN DO IN LIFE IS NOT PISS YOURSELFOFF.

We've still got a long haul ahead of is and I don't want to damn her rift away with my first, second, and third impressions, as my character analyses are usually for shit.

Because I've learned that you can't control what other people are going to think about you. The best you can do in life is not piss yourself off.

Faith is accepting what makes no sense, what we cannot prove, but know down deep in our souls is real.

It's so much easier to convince yourself you're madly in love with someone when you know nothing about him.

You gotta take chances in this life or you're alreadydead.

Hornergy' is Zen's term for the indomitable athletic edge powered by sexual restraint. The basketball, baseball and football teams haven't had a winning season in years. The table-tennis team, however, is undefeated.

All subjects are the same. I memorize notes for a test, spew it, ace it, then forget it. What makes this scary for the future of our country is that I'm in the tip-top percentile on every standardized test. I'm a model student with a very crappy attitude about learning.

And now, as I'm lying alone in my own bed, I keep thinking about writhing against him last night, naked and vulnerable. Even after we'd both risen and fallen, peaked and plummeted, even after Marcus was physically shrinking from inside me, I couldn't stop clutching, crying, trying. Trying to pull him deeper, deeper, deeper within. Trying to make him more a part of me than I am myself.

And so I'll let you go, and let it be. Whatever

And yet I know I am too young, that we're too young, for me to live my life only as it relates to you. If you had asked me to marry you the night you first told me about your acceptance, I would have embraced Princeton as part of a larger plan that involved me. I probably would have reacted differently. I might even had said yes. Alas, you didn't ask me then. You made plans for your future without me in mind, And that's okay. But how can you now ask me to arrange my life around you?

As much as I don't care about those things, I think it's human nature to not want to feel totally insignificant.

Bad things can happen to anyone at any time, whether you follow the rules or not.

But why would it matter? We aren't ... or...uh...weren't ..." Which is it, Jess? "Aren't" or "weren't"? Present or past tense? Now or then? "We haven't been talking to each other." Past imperfect tense. How appropriate.

Did you know that the average American spends six months of his or her life waiting for red lights to turn green? Six months wasted, waiting for permission to move on. Think of all the other stuff you could do with that time." I was totally confused. "In the car?" "In your life," he said.

Don't stop doing what you love. Don't let your future be ruined by a bunch of loony sand monkeys.

Even with the best intentions, growing apart might just be an inevitable part of growing up.

Ever notice how people wait until they're not going to see you anymore to say something nice to you?

Every day, I live a lie But not the crocodile kind.

Excuse our appearances. We are taking apart yesterday, to make way for tomorrow

Fear is the greatest form of oppression. The best way to rise up in protest is to live your life to its fullest!

Fortunately for me, I'm still evolving into the person I'm supposed to be. And though they don't know it yet, and may not come to accept it, I'm done living by their protocols or anyone else's. I'm the only one who will take credit for my successes. And I'm the only one who will take the blame for my mistakes. From now on, I live for me.

He always loved her because of, not in sprite of, her flaws.

I almost can't believe I'm going to make myself vulnerable to him again. But what is love but the most extreme and exquisite form of risk perception? I know that relationships don't last. And yet, with him, the risk of not being with him is much worse than any other hurt I can imagine.

I am trying to come up with some "adult" reads, but I mostly read young adult fiction (my job), which, by the way is excellent. I will post about some of my favorites that should appeal to adult readers

I believe that what we get out of life is what we've set ourselves up to get, so there's no such thing as an inconsequential decision. Our destinies are the culmination of all the choices we've made along the way, which is why it's imperative to listen hard to your inner voice when it speaks up. Don't let anyone else's noise drown it out.

I can let my true self shine in front of God.

I don't know anything about anything. The only difference between then and now is this: I may know more than I used to but my wisdom pales in comparison to that which I have yet to learn

I don't know if she's making the right choice, but it's not my choice to make. I promise to support her, whatever she decides. Because that's what sisters do.

I feel better when I am not around people. When I am alone, alone, alone.

I hate the very human inclination towards insensitivity

I knew, deep down, that love, though a beautiful beginning, isn't enough. It's the practice of honoring and caring for another that's noble, not the emotion of love itself. The emotion is the easy part.

I know it makes sense for me and him to just break up now and just live our seperate lives and not have to worry about missing each other all the time. But when I think about that, I get sick. Physically sick. Like I seriously throw up. I need to be with him, even if I can't, like, be with him.

I know. It's shocking to think that the government would try to stick its nose in our ladyparts.

I love when I reach Marcus on the phone and as he says hello, I can hear the music he's listening to in the background. That music is the sound of him without me. How he surrounds himself when I'm not there, which is almost all the time.

I love you, too." But this hopeful farewell does little to bring peace of mind, even now. Loving you has never been the problem. What's troubling me is how loving you may never be enough.

I love you. And I want you, too. But. However. Unfortunately ...

I thought Marcus was going to be in my life forever. Then I thought I was wrong. Now he's back. But this time I know what's certain: Marcus will be gone again, and back again and again and again because nothing is permanent. Especially people. Strangers become friends. Friends become lovers. Lovers become strangers. Strangers become friends once more, and over and over. Tomorrow, next week, fifty years from now, I know I'll get another one-word postcard from Marcus, because this one doesn't have a period signifying the end of the sentence. Or the end of anything at all.

I used to think that I wouldn't change anything from my past, because doing so would inevitably affect who I am now. But considering my current state, I'm thinking it might not be a bad idea to go back in time to fix things.

I wish our love was right now.

I'm not sure I'll ever be finished. No matter how much I write, there will always be something I should've said.

I'm in crisis. I'm about to bump with a five-foot chino-chicano.

I'm not in love. It's a crush which is why it hurts. Crushes crush. Otherwise they'd be called awesomes. "I have an awesome on him.

It just makes me wonder what subject you blame for talking to me every night.' I'm still settling on an answer for that one. Probably Chemistry. Jesus Christ. I can't believe I just wrote that.

It kind of makes me wish that the worst thing that will ever happen to me would just hurry up and happen already. That way I could live the rest of my life in bliss, if only because I know how much worse things could be.

It's human nay-cha...For me to sperminay-cha.

It's just Jessica and Marcus, oxymoronically alone together.

Love may have the longest arms, but it can still fall short of an embrace.

Love," he said, "has the longest arms.

Most people talk when they have nothing to say. I'm not talking because I have too much to say. None of which I'd want you to hear.

Prayers are answered in one of four ways," she said. "Yes. No. I have something else in mind. And . . ." She paused long enough for my impatience to show. "And what's the fourth answer?" "Wait," she said.

She mailed me a Merry Christmas-I'm-Breaking-Up-with-You card. I'll read it to you," he said. He cleared his throat. "Dear Marcus. Merry Christmas. I'm breaking up with you. Mia.

Since I've known you, you've been spinning and spinning and spinning into all these various personas, and none of this self-exploration and experimentation has given you a sense of peace. I've known you for six years, intimately for four, and I still have no idea who I'm in love with.

So everything we believe about happiness is wrong," I said. He nodded. Everything?" I asked, when what I meant was, Everything? Including you? Including me? And Marcus, being Marcus, knew what I really wanted to know, and answered my silent, more significant question. He held up his hand to shield the rays and looked me in the eyes. Almost.

So much of courtship is the unspoken.

That's what all love comes down to, doesn't it? We help others only as much as they let us.

The great thing about fiction is that you can start off by telling the truth, then start making stuff up like crazy whenever you feel like it.

The minute our correspondence becomes obligatory, there's no point in keeping touch at all.

The real world, whether we like it or not, is right here, right now. All of this, every day, is important. Everybody matters. Everything we do has an effect on other, directly or indirectly, whether we realize it or not.

The tales we tell ourselves about ourselves makes us who we are.

Then a lightning bolt shot straight through my skivvies. Sha-ZAM!

Then again maybe there's something that I've been doing in the privacy of my own bedroom my whole life that I think is perfectly normal but is actually illegal in thirty-two states.

there's too much tension in the world"¦ what hope is there in the middle east if you and i can't make peace.

There's only one racing strategy that matters.It's the one I run by: Get in the lead and don't let anyone pass you.

This is my new hobby. I watch my life depart minute by minute. I anticipate the end of everything and anything -- a conversation, a class, track practice, darkness -- only to be left with more clock-watching to take its place. I'm continually waiting for something better that never comes. Maybe it would help if I knew what I wanted.

We are Adam and Eve born out of chaos called creation Ribbing me gave you life yet you forget there will always be a part of me in you yes I taunted and tempted you with my forbidden fruit does that make me the serpent too? Believe what you will but if I am exiled alone I know we will be together again someday naked without shame in paradise My thanks to you for being in on my sin

We are perfect in our imperfection.

We're all people", he said simply. "It doesn't matter if you're two, thirty-two, or ninety-two. Everyone wants to be treated with respect. Everyone wants to feel like they matter in this world.

What are your thoughts?' 'My thoughts?' I replied, before I even realized what I was saying. 'My thoughts created my world.' Mac sat up in his seat. He scrunched his curls with his hands, perplexed. 'Who said that?' I told him the truth. 'Oh, just someone I used to know,' I said, stroking the naked skin on my middle finger.

What I envy most about you and everyone else heading back to school is the certainty of it all. You've got a prescribed set of requirements to guide you through the next few years. Focus your energy on the completion of those assignments and you'll succeed. Guaranteed. Where's my syllabus to guide me through life?

When I'm at school in the city, I don't feel particularly worldly or wise. It's only when I come back home that I remember exactly why I left.

When you say too much about anything important, it always ends up sounding more trivial than it is. Words trash it.

Why do you even put up with me?' 'I'm not putting up with you,' he said, softly. 'I'm loving you.

Words can be used as a bomb or balm.

You can only really really hurt the ones that you really really love.

You don't have to agree with me, but I think the heart of who we are stays pretty much the same," Hope said, "What changes is how those core traits manifest themselves over time.

You have stopped the arrow of time... There's no meaning to this rhyme... Because my song will never mean as much as the one.. He once sang.. For you, yes, you...

You, yes, you, linger inside my heart The same you who stopped us before we could start.

Girls will get together just to get together. Guys need an activity as an excuse. Otherwise it's too homo for them to handle.

chromosomal dance oh, heavenly happenstance rare creation, you -Marcus (Poetry Spam #22)