Alex Flinn

I love you, I thought. But I didn__ say it. It was not that I feared she would laugh in my face. She was far too kind for that. My fear was a greater one_ that she won__ say it back.

those who do not know how to see the precious things in life will never be happy.

It would be so great to have someone my own age to talk to, even if it was just about books.

Something with inner beauty will live forever, like the scent of a rose.

The magic is over, but its effects will live forever.

I just knew. There was no movie ending. There was only an ending.

...if there´s a beast,maybe he´s just a regular guy with a sin conditon or something. Maybe he just needs some understanding. Maybe we judge people to much by their looks because it´s easier than seeing what´s really important.

It's easier to fake it. When you fake it for sixteen years, it becomes part of you, something you don't think about.

when you're a kid, they tell you that it's what's on the inside that counts. Looks don't matter . But that's not true. Guys like Phoebus in The Hunchback, or Dorian, or the old Kyle Kingsbury-- they can be scumbags to women and still get away with it because they're good-looking. Being ugly is a kind of prisoner.

It hurts too much so I don't want to talk about it.

You are ugly now, on the inside, where it matters most...you are beastly.

People make such a big deal about looks, but after a while, when you know someone, you don´t even notice anymore...

Just because something is beautiful doesn´t mean it´s good.

Beside me, Philippe and Meg hold hands. He murmurs something that sounds like, "my dear leetle mongoose." I wish he'd turn back into a frog and hop away.

He bursts into tears, and not some manlike tears either, where you pretend you're brushing something off your face and, incidentally, wipe a tear. Nope. He starts bawling like a kid who spilled his Slushie...

I wrote poetry, journals, and, especially, plays for the neighborhood kids to perform. I had an ordinary, happy childhood. Nothing much was going on, but I had fun.

Anyone else feel like that? Like your life's a big act. Like you're trying to be a man when you're just a scared kid, trying to keep under control when you really want to scream, cry, maybe hit someone. Ever feel like you're breathing underwater, and you have to stop because you're gulping in too much fluid?

A memory came to me. One time, in middle school, a famous author came to talk to our class and give a writing workshop. One of the things she told us about writing a novel was that the story should be about what the main character wants. Dorothy wants to go home to Kansas. George Milton wants a farm of his own. Amelia Sedley wants to marry her darling George and live happily ever after. The end of the story, according to the famous author, is when the character either gests what he wants or realizes he__ never going to get it. Or sometimes, she said, like Scarlett O__ara in Gone With the Wind, realizes she doesn__ actually want what she thought she wanted all along. pg. 324 of Bewitching