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Alex, Approximately Quotes
Alex, Approximately
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Jenn Bennett52,466 ratings, 3.95 average rating, 7,474 reviews
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Alex, Approximately Quotes
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“Sometimes you have to endure painful things to realize that you're a whole lot stronger than you think.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“He looks toward the ocean, dark purple with the last rays of light. "My mom says we're all connected--people and plants and animals. We all know one another on the inside. It's what's on the outside that distracts. Our clothes, our words, our actions. Shark attacks. Gunshots. We spend our lives trying to find other people. Sometimes we get confused and turned around by the distractions." He smiles at me. "But we didn't.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“We all really do contradict ourselves and contain multitudes. How do we even figure out who we really are?”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“It’s hard to think about next week when you’re not sure if you’ll even make it through today.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“For the evaders, avoiders, dodgers, and side-steppers.
You probably have a good reason for hiding.
May you work through it and find your inner lion.”
― Alex, Approximately
You probably have a good reason for hiding.
May you work through it and find your inner lion.”
― Alex, Approximately
“I have no idea what you mean, but I support you completely.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“The entire time they’re talking, I can’t tear my eyes away from Porter. What I’m feeling for him now is like drowning and floating at the same time.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“If you don't pay attention to things, they wander off.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“And not after, when we’re clinging to each other like the world just fell apart and is slowly clicking back together, piece by piece, breath by breath . . . heartbeat by beautiful heartbeat.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“I just want somebody I can have a decent conversation with over dinner.” —Tom Hanks, Sleepless in Seattle (1993) 11”
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
“Can you miss someone you see almost every day?”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“Baily, I've BEEN yours. I've just been waiting for you to make up your mind.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“He thinks I’m a snob? He’s not the first. Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m aloof. Maybe I just want to be alone. Maybe I’m not good at conversation.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“My old therapist warned me that avoidance is a dysfunctional way to interact with people you care about, but now I’m starting to understand what he meant when he said it could hurt them, too. Maybe it’s time I figure out a better way to deal with my problems. Maybe Artful Dodger isn’t working so well for me anymore.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“In the meantime, though my kiss-stung face has returned to normal, my heart and all working body parts are absolutely not normal. Because every time Porter so much as even walks within ten feet of me at work, I have the same reaction. Four knocks on Hotbox door? I flush. Scent of coconut in the break room? I flush. Sound of Porter cracking jokes with Pangborn in the hallway? I flush.
And every time this happens, Grace is there like some taunting Greek chorus, making a little mmm-hmmnoise of confirmation.
Even Pangborn notices. “Are you ill, Miss Rydell?”
“Yes,” I tell him in the break room one day before work. “I’m apparently very ill in the worst way. And I want you to know that I didn’t plan for this to happen. This was not part of my plan at all. If you want to know the truth, I had other plans for the summer!” I think of my boardwalk map, lying folded and abandoned in my purse.
Pangborn nods slowly. “I have no idea what you mean, but I support it completely.”
“Thank you,” I tell him as he walks away, whistling.
Half a minute later, Porter pulls me into a dark corner of the hallway, checks around the corner, and kisses the bejesus out of me. “That’s me, destroying all your other plans,” he says wickedly. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he sounds jealous. Then he walks away, leaving me all hot and bothered.
I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”
― Alex, Approximately
And every time this happens, Grace is there like some taunting Greek chorus, making a little mmm-hmmnoise of confirmation.
Even Pangborn notices. “Are you ill, Miss Rydell?”
“Yes,” I tell him in the break room one day before work. “I’m apparently very ill in the worst way. And I want you to know that I didn’t plan for this to happen. This was not part of my plan at all. If you want to know the truth, I had other plans for the summer!” I think of my boardwalk map, lying folded and abandoned in my purse.
Pangborn nods slowly. “I have no idea what you mean, but I support it completely.”
“Thank you,” I tell him as he walks away, whistling.
Half a minute later, Porter pulls me into a dark corner of the hallway, checks around the corner, and kisses the bejesus out of me. “That’s me, destroying all your other plans,” he says wickedly. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he sounds jealous. Then he walks away, leaving me all hot and bothered.
I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”
― Alex, Approximately
“Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m aloof. Maybe I just want to be alone. Maybe I’m not good at conversation. We all can’t be cool and gregarious and Hey, bro what up? like he apparently is. Some of us aren’t wired for that.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“ It’s weird being alone in the museum. It’s dark and eerily quiet: Only the after-hours lights are on—just enough to illuminate the hallways and stop you from tripping over your own feet—and the background music that normally plays all the time is shut off.
I quickly organize the flashlights and check their batteries, and when I don’t hear Porter walking around, I stare at the phone sitting at the information desk. How many chances come along like this? I pick up the receiver, press the little red button next to the word ALL, and speak into the phone in a low voice. “Paging Porter Roth to the information desk,” I say formally, my voice crackling through the entire lobby and echoing down the corridors. Then I press the button again and add, “While you’re at it, check your shoes to make sure they’re a match, you bastard. By the way, I still haven’t quite forgiven you for humiliating me. It’s going to take a lot more than a kiss and a cookie to make me forget both that and the time you provoked me in the Hotbox.”
I’m only teasing, which I hope he knows. I feel a little drunk on all my megaphone power, so I page one more thing:
“PS—You look totally hot in those tight-fitting security guard pants tonight, and I plan to get very handsy with you at the movies, so we better sit in the back row.”
I hang up the phone and cover my mouth, silently laughing at myself. Two seconds later, Porter’s footfalls pound down Jay’s corridor—Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! He sounds like a T. rex running from Godzilla. He races into the lobby and slides in front of the information desk, grabbing onto the edge to stop himself, wild curls flying everywhere. His grin is enormous.
“Whadidya say ’bout where you want to be puttin’ your hands on me?” he asks breathlessly.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I tease.
His head sags against the desk. I push his hair away from one of his eyes. He looks up at me and asks, “You really still haven’t forgiven me?”
“Maybe if you put your hands onme, I might.”
“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that.”
“Oh, your hopes should be up. Way up.”
“Dear God, woman,” he murmurs. “And here I was, thinking you were a classy dame.”
“Pfft. You don’t know me at all.”
“I aim to find out. What are we still doing here? Let’s blow this place and get to the theater, fast.”
― Alex, Approximately
I quickly organize the flashlights and check their batteries, and when I don’t hear Porter walking around, I stare at the phone sitting at the information desk. How many chances come along like this? I pick up the receiver, press the little red button next to the word ALL, and speak into the phone in a low voice. “Paging Porter Roth to the information desk,” I say formally, my voice crackling through the entire lobby and echoing down the corridors. Then I press the button again and add, “While you’re at it, check your shoes to make sure they’re a match, you bastard. By the way, I still haven’t quite forgiven you for humiliating me. It’s going to take a lot more than a kiss and a cookie to make me forget both that and the time you provoked me in the Hotbox.”
I’m only teasing, which I hope he knows. I feel a little drunk on all my megaphone power, so I page one more thing:
“PS—You look totally hot in those tight-fitting security guard pants tonight, and I plan to get very handsy with you at the movies, so we better sit in the back row.”
I hang up the phone and cover my mouth, silently laughing at myself. Two seconds later, Porter’s footfalls pound down Jay’s corridor—Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! He sounds like a T. rex running from Godzilla. He races into the lobby and slides in front of the information desk, grabbing onto the edge to stop himself, wild curls flying everywhere. His grin is enormous.
“Whadidya say ’bout where you want to be puttin’ your hands on me?” he asks breathlessly.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I tease.
His head sags against the desk. I push his hair away from one of his eyes. He looks up at me and asks, “You really still haven’t forgiven me?”
“Maybe if you put your hands onme, I might.”
“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that.”
“Oh, your hopes should be up. Way up.”
“Dear God, woman,” he murmurs. “And here I was, thinking you were a classy dame.”
“Pfft. You don’t know me at all.”
“I aim to find out. What are we still doing here? Let’s blow this place and get to the theater, fast.”
― Alex, Approximately
“You see how picky I am about my shoes, and they only go on my feet.” —Alicia Silverstone, Clueless (1995) 8”
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
“While eating our feast, we watch The Big Lebowski, which is sort of bizarre, because Alex was trying to get me to watch this a couple of months ago. And the Roths have it on DVD, so they are all amazed I’ve never seen it. Turns out, it’s really good. And what’s even better, in addition to Porter preparing me for the sound of gunshots in the movie—so I won’t be caught off guard—and quoting lines along with the actors, which makes me smile despite the dreary events of the day, is when he leans close and whispers into my ear, “You belong here with me.”
And for that moment, I believe that I do.”
― Alex, Approximately
And for that moment, I believe that I do.”
― Alex, Approximately
“Next question.” He swipes the screen of his phone, but he’s not looking at it; he’s staring at me. Trying to intimidate me. Trying to see who’ll blink first. “Did you leave DC because (A) you couldn’t find any hotties to make out with? Or (B) your East Coast boyfriend is an ankle buster and you’d heard about legendary West Coast D, so you had to find out for yourself if the rumors were true?” he says with a smirk.
“Idiot,” Grace mumbles, shaking her head.
I may not understand some of his phrasing, but I get the gist. I feel myself blushing. But I manage to recover quickly and get a jab in. “Why are you so interested in my love life?”
“I’m not. Why are you evading the question? You do that a lot, by the way.”
“Do what?”
“Evade questions.”
“What business is that of yours?” I say, secretly irritated that he’s figured me out...
Porter scoffs. “Seeing how this is your first day on the job, and may very well be your last, considering the turnover rate for this position? And seeing how I have seniority over you? I’d say, yeah, it’s pretty much my business.”
“Are you threatening me?” I ask.
He clicks off his phone and raises a brow. “Huh?”
“That sounded like a threat,” I say.
“Whoa, you need to chill. That was not . . .” He can’t even say it. He’s flustered now, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Grace . . .”
Grace holds up a hand. “Leave me out of this mess. I have no idea what I’m even witnessing here. Both of you have lost the plot.”
― Alex, Approximately
“Idiot,” Grace mumbles, shaking her head.
I may not understand some of his phrasing, but I get the gist. I feel myself blushing. But I manage to recover quickly and get a jab in. “Why are you so interested in my love life?”
“I’m not. Why are you evading the question? You do that a lot, by the way.”
“Do what?”
“Evade questions.”
“What business is that of yours?” I say, secretly irritated that he’s figured me out...
Porter scoffs. “Seeing how this is your first day on the job, and may very well be your last, considering the turnover rate for this position? And seeing how I have seniority over you? I’d say, yeah, it’s pretty much my business.”
“Are you threatening me?” I ask.
He clicks off his phone and raises a brow. “Huh?”
“That sounded like a threat,” I say.
“Whoa, you need to chill. That was not . . .” He can’t even say it. He’s flustered now, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Grace . . .”
Grace holds up a hand. “Leave me out of this mess. I have no idea what I’m even witnessing here. Both of you have lost the plot.”
― Alex, Approximately
“Coconut,” I say. “You always smell coconut-y.” Then, because it’s dark in the van, and because I’m wiped out from all the panic and my guard is down, I add, “You always smell good.”
“Sex Wax.”
“What?” I sit up a little straighter.
He reaches down to the floorboard and tosses me what looks like a plastic-wrapped bar of soap. I hold it up to the window to see the label in the streetlight. “Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax,” I read.
“You rub it on the deck of your board,” he explains. “For traction. You know, so you don’t slip off while you’re surfing.” I sniff it. That’s the stuff, all right.
“I bet your feet smell heavenly.”
“You don’t have a foot fetish thing, do you?” he asks, voice playful.
“I didn’t before, but now? Who knows.”
The tires of the van veer off the road onto the gravelly shoulder, and he cuts the wheel sharply to steer back onto the pavement. “Oops.”
We chuckle, both embarrassed.
I toss the wax onto the floorboard. “Well, another mystery solved”
― Alex, Approximately
“Sex Wax.”
“What?” I sit up a little straighter.
He reaches down to the floorboard and tosses me what looks like a plastic-wrapped bar of soap. I hold it up to the window to see the label in the streetlight. “Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax,” I read.
“You rub it on the deck of your board,” he explains. “For traction. You know, so you don’t slip off while you’re surfing.” I sniff it. That’s the stuff, all right.
“I bet your feet smell heavenly.”
“You don’t have a foot fetish thing, do you?” he asks, voice playful.
“I didn’t before, but now? Who knows.”
The tires of the van veer off the road onto the gravelly shoulder, and he cuts the wheel sharply to steer back onto the pavement. “Oops.”
We chuckle, both embarrassed.
I toss the wax onto the floorboard. “Well, another mystery solved”
― Alex, Approximately
“Before, my anxiety was singing solo. Now all this weird anticipation and jumbled excitement has added some strange harmonies into the mix. I’m a barbershop quartet basket case.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I'm aloof. Maybe I just want to be alone. Maybe I'm not good at conversation.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“@mink: Well, you’re in luck, if you pick another movie. My hair is clean, I usually eat dinner around eight, and I’m currently single. Not that it matters.”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“She’s got the strength of a tater tot”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“I just want somebody I can have a decent conversation with over dinner.” —Tom Hanks, Sleepless in Seattle (1993)”
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
“You always go around sticking your hands down boys’ clothes?” he asks. “When they’re full of baked goods.” “Tomorrow I’m coming to work with ten pounds of pastries in my pants,” he mumbles to himself, making an ooaff! noise when I punch him lightly in the arm.”
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
― Alex, Approximately: A Novel
“For the love of rocks”
― Alex, Approximately
― Alex, Approximately
“@mink: Guess what I got in the mail today? A brand-new copy of The Philadelphia Story.
@alex: Nice! Love that movie. We should watch that together sometime if I can find a copy.
@mink: Definitely. It’s one of my favorite Cary Grant/Katharine Hepburn films!
@alex: Well, in other good news, since I know you LOVE gangster movies so much [insert sarcasm here], I just sent you a ton of Godfather screens with Alex-ified captions, changing things up for you.
@mink: I’m looking at them right now. You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?
@alex: Only if you do.
@mink: You made orange juice go up my nose.
@alex: That’s all I ever wanted, Mink.”
― Alex, Approximately
@alex: Nice! Love that movie. We should watch that together sometime if I can find a copy.
@mink: Definitely. It’s one of my favorite Cary Grant/Katharine Hepburn films!
@alex: Well, in other good news, since I know you LOVE gangster movies so much [insert sarcasm here], I just sent you a ton of Godfather screens with Alex-ified captions, changing things up for you.
@mink: I’m looking at them right now. You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?
@alex: Only if you do.
@mink: You made orange juice go up my nose.
@alex: That’s all I ever wanted, Mink.”
― Alex, Approximately
