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Ali Hazelwood Biography

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“Pretty fucking tragic twist of fate, but you don’t seem to remember that we first met years ago. An issue, since I remember a little too well. I like no one, absolutely no one, but I liked you from the start. I liked you when I didn’t know you, and now that I do know you it’s only gotten worse. Sometimes, often, always, I think about you before falling asleep. Then I dream of you, and when I wake up my head’s still there, stuck on something funny, beautiful, filthy, intelligent that’s all about you. It’s been going on for a while, longer than you think, longer than you can imagine, and I should have told you, but I have this impression, this certainty that you’re half a second from running away, that I should give you enough reasons to stay. Is there anything I can do for you? I’ll take you grocery shopping and fill your fridge when we’re back home. Buy you a new bike and a case of decent reagent and that sludge you drink. Kill the people who made you cry. Is there something you need? Name it. It’s yours. If I have it, it’s yours.”

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Book:The Love Hypothesis
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“It hit her then what was so special about Adam. That no matter his reputation, or how rocky their first meeting, since the very beginning, Olive had felt that he was on her side. Over and over, and in ways that she could never have anticipated, he had made her feel unjudged. Less alone. [...]She might never have what she wanted from Adam, but for now at least, he was in her life. That was going to have to be enough.”

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Book:The Love Hypothesis
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“She grinned. "Oh, yes. I mean, if you want to." "I'd rather buy you anything else." "Too bad." Olive jumped to her feet and headed for the counter, tugging at his sleeve and forcing him to stand with her. Adam followed meekly, mumbling something about black coffee that Olive chose to ignore. Enough, she repeated to herself. What you have now, it will have to be enough.”

RelationshipSatisfactionGratefulness
Book:The Love Hypothesis
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“Is it the public-speaking thing?" He'd remembered. Of course he had. "Yeah. It will be awful." Adam stared at her and said nothing. Not that it would be fine, not that the talk would go smoothly, not that she was overreacting and underselling a fantastic opportunity. His calm acceptance of her anxiety had the exact opposite effect of Dr. Aslan's enthusiasm: it relaxed her. "When I was in my third year of grad school," he said quietly, “my adviser sent me to give a faculty symposium in his stead. He told me only two days before, without any slides or a script. Just the title of the talk." "Wow." Olive tried to imagine what that would have felt like,”

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Book:The Love Hypothesis
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“I don’t want to be work. I don’t want you to feel that I’m work.” “Somewhere along the way your wires got crossed. Your brain decided that you’re not worth people’s time and effort, and that if you ask for anything, they won’t just say no, they’ll also leave you. That’s not how love works, Elsie..."That's not how love works, Elsie. But don't worry for now. I'll show you.”

True LoveSearching For Love
Book:Love, Theoretically
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“I would take anything she chose to give me—the tiniest fraction or her entire world. I would take her for a single night knowing that I’ll lose her by morning, and I would hold on to her and never let go. I would take her healthy, or sick, or tired, or angry, or strong, and it would be my fucking privilege. I would take her problems, her gifts, her moods, her passions, her jokes, her body—I would take every last thing, if she chose to give it to me.”

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Book:Bride
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“There's something disarmingly, devastatingly self-confident about Jack. About the way he laid out all these facts without hesitating, as though owning his feelings is first and second nature. I study the glint of the lamp hitting his golden hair and wonder why this man would even bother thinking of me. He's figured out my entire game. I came to him empty-handed.”

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Book:Love, Theoretically
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“For a while, I thought I needed to have some over-the-top gol, something comparable to the Olympics, but ..." He stops. Runs his thumb over my lower lip. "I want to spend four years in med school, fully knowing that it'll be hell. Do a fellowship and residency. Corpse stuff, sure. I want to travel to places that don't have a fucking pool. See my family more than once a year. Sleep in. Go on hiking trips. Stay home for long weekends and have morally bankrupt amounts of sex with someone I'm in love with. Kinky, vanilla, I want it all. I want to adopt rescue animals with her. I want to take care of her, and watch her be cold in Sweden, and marvel every day at how much smarter than me she is, and ... Scarlett.”

EmotionalSweetLukas
Book:Deep End
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“[...] but back in grad school Annie told me that there are three types of attractive men. I don’t know if she came up with this taxonomy herself, if Aphrodite announced it to her in a dream, or if she stole it from Teen Vogue, but here they are: There is the cute type, which consists of guys who are attractive in a nonthreatening, accessible way, as a combination of their nice looks and captivating personalities. Tim falls into this group, just like Guy and most male scientists—including, I suspect, Pierre Curie. Come to think of it, all the guys who ever hit on me do, perhaps because I’m small, and dress quirky, and try to be friendly. If I were a dude, I’d be a Cute Guy™; Cute Guys™ recognize that at some elemental level, and they make passes at me. Then there’s the handsome type. According to Annie, this category is a bit of a waste. The Handsome Guy™ has the kind of face you see in movie trailers and perfume ads, geometrically perfect and objectively amazing, but there’s something inaccessible about him. Those guys are so dreamy, they’re almost abstract. They need something to anchor them to reality—a personality quirk, a flaw, a circumscribed interest—otherwise they’ll float away in a bubble of boredom. Of course, society doesn’t exactly encourage Handsome Guys™ to develop brilliant personalities, so I tend to concur with Annie: they’re useless. Last but not least, the Sexy Guys™. Annie would go on and on about how Levi is the epitome of the Sexy Guy™, but I’d like to formally object. In fact, I don’t even acknowledge the existence of this category. It’s preposterous, the idea that there are men you can’t help yourself from being attracted to. Men who give you the tingles, men you can’t stop thinking about, men who pop up in your brain like flashes of light after stimulation of the occipital cortex. Men who are physical, elemental, primordial. Masculine. Present. Solid. Sounds fake, right?”

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Book:Love on the Brain
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