Eireen Blackthorn

“What the hell is wrong with you, man? I thought we were cool.”
“We were,” Warner says icily. “Until you touched my hair.”
“You asked me to give you a haircut—”
“I said nothing of the sort! I asked you to trim the edges!”
“And that’s what I did.”
“This,” Warner says, spinning around so I might inspect the damage, “is not trimming the edges, you incompetent moron—”
I gasp. The back of Warner’s head is a jagged mess of uneven hair; entire chunks have been buzzed off.”
― Tahereh Mafi, Restore Me

“This , I think , is the way to die.
I could drown in this moment and I’d never regret it. I could catch fire from this kiss and happily turn to ash. I could live here, die here, right here, against his hips, his lips. In the emotion in his eyes as he sinks into me, his heartbeats indistinguishable from mine.
This. Forever. This.”
― Tahereh Mafi, Restore Me

“I cannot let the broken girl inside of me inhale all that I've become. I cannot revert back to another version of myself. I will not shatter, not again, in the wake of an emotional earthquake.”
― Tahereh Mafi, Restore Me

“You know what? Who cares what you’re wearing?” Kenji says. “It’s all in the attitude, anyway. It’s about how you carry yourself.”
I look up at him, feeling the height difference between us more acutely than ever. “But I’m so short.”
“Napoleon was short, too.”
“Napoleon was horrible,” I point out.
“Napoleon got shit done, didn’t he?”
I frown.”
― Tahereh Mafi, Restore Me