Quotes & Sayings About How I Feel About My Boyfriend

Only to me ... Why does he take me home every wednesday? Why did he run to me when his club activities ended? Why isn't he using formal language? Why is he talking to me? Why ... The more I think about it, the prouder I get. How does he feel about me? — Morishita Suu

On Christmas morning, Dustin knocked on my door. "Miss Winters," he said cheerfully. "Breakfast."
I didn't move. My parents were dead. My boyfriend was dead. My grandfather had a mysterious hidden room that had books about the walking dead - which is what I knew I would feel like if I attempted to stand up.
"I don't feel well," I said meekly, and rolled over. — Yvonne Woon

Dawson: "I was married to your mom for a long time. And I didn't know how you would feel about me dating someone." "It's okay, Daddy," Harlow says. "Mommy is in heaven. God is her boyfriend now." "I think she'd date Jesus. He's younger." Ava says. "Yes, Jesus," Harlow agrees. "Mama and Jesus. But Mama would make him shave his beard." I laugh loudly envisioning Whitney ordering Jesus around. — Jillian Dodd

Blame your body. The whole biological purpose of existence is to mate, so from the time we hit puberty, our hormones are demanding us to couple up. Maybe it's basic instinct to feel inadequate if you're single."
"That's what sucks. There's so many more interesting things than guys, but guys are what we spend most of our time talking about."
"I think that's just the way it is, though. No matter what we do, it's always more special if there's a boyfriend to share it with."
"Or a best friend. — Daria Snadowsky

She's right, though. I completely stole her boyfriend, and I had no qualms about doing it. I had no remorse, as I weaseled my way in and took what I wanted. You have to admit, that's kind of shitty."
Connor's arm slid around me, pulling me close, and I noticed everyone was staring. We were together, and we had gone public.
"First of all, you saying you took what you wanted is incredibly hot. Feel free to take it again anytime." His voice was low, his lips close to my ear. — Monica Alexander

reminded me on Friday night that we aren't friends, Cressida, and I would like you to remember that now,' she snapped. 'So why don't you go and make someone else feel crap about their life and then when you're done with that, go and look for your boyfriend's chin, — Kate Forster

That day, watching that episode with Rylee, I said to her, "That is what I need. Drugs." And, much to my surprise, she responded, "Oh, well I have some right here." Apparently, her then-boyfriend had asked to leave a little unopened vial of pot behind with her after visiting one weekend, because he was taking an airplane back home and couldn't fly with it. For five minutes I chastised her for temporarily allowing illicit substances in our home, sullying our apartment's good name. But then she said to me, "I think what we need to do, for you to feel better, is to get high and play Dream Phone." And there wasn't really much to think about, right then. I told her, "That is a really good idea. — Katie Heaney

You know, hon, after Stephie died, we never really talked about her." she says, her hands tight around the cart handle. "There's a lot of pain there. Still. I guess we feel like we failed her. Like maybe if we were home instead of away at college, we could've done something to fix her. Something my patents and the doctors and her boyfriend missed. Sometimes I think I don't have the right to talk about her. Like at the end, I don't know her well enough to say anything. So much of her life became secret. She spent all of her time with her boyfriend, and when she was home, her nose was buried in her diary. I swear that diary was her best friend, even more than Megan."
"Did you ever read it?" I ask.
"No."
"Not even after she died?"
Aunt Rachel shakes her head, removing an eggplant from the middle row and pressing her fingers against its flesh. "To this day, I don't know if I would've, either. We never found it, Delilah. It's like she just ... took it with her. — Sarah Ockler

It's kind of cool - and it makes me feel like a badass. I get more girls than my boyfriend. They always tweet me about my booty. — Naya Rivera

He says nothing, vehemently. I falter away and we sit, mutually staring into the fouled water ...
With time to kill, I ponder dismally the possible derivation of the zombie myth from people like my boyfriend. I picture Ralph blackened, semi-fingered, with bright bone peeking through his flesh. The odd small worm clings, festively wiggling. In my image, Ralph's really upset about decaying, and I feel for him sorrowfully. I want to tell him I would still love him, if he were decomposed. Of course in practice there is no predicting what I'd feel, and besides which, it's a wild associative leap.
I ponder dismally how I've alienated people, all my life, with my bizarre associative leaps. — Sandra Newman

I was never fond of this boyfriend-girlfriend game. Outsmart me, make me feel challenged and I can walk with you forever but to act like love smitten puppies in love is not my thing. — Parul Wadhwa

I lay down and started to feel a little depressed about prom. I refused to feel any kind of sadness over the fact that I wasn't going to prom, but I had - stupidly, embarrassingly - thought of finding Margo, and getting her to come home with me just in time for prom, like late on Saturday night, and we'd walk into the Hilton ballroom wearing jeans and ratty T-shirts, and we'd be just in time for the last dance, and we'd dance while everyone pointed at us and marveled at the return of Margo, and then we'd fox-trot the hell out of there and go get ice cream at Friendly's. So yes, like Ben, I harbored ridiculous prom fantasies. But at least I didn't say mine out loud. — John Green

One Saturday morning walking to the farmers' market with my lover she tells me she needs to look like a man on the street. She hates binding her breasts. Hates having breasts, hates not passing. I press her. I ask her, but what do you feel like when you're naked in bed with me? Do you like your body then? She is quiet. Later she tells me she had a dream. Her mother brought home a bottle of medicine from the hospital for her. The doctor says she has to take it. The medicine is testosterone.

On Shabbat I remember to pray for enough space inside of me to hold all the darkness of the night and all the sunlight of the day. I pray for enough space for transformations as miraculous as the shift from day to night.

Later when that lover has changed his name and an ex-boyfriend has come out to me as a lesbian I go to visit my best friend's sister-turned-brother-turned-sister-again and she tells me about the blessing of having many names and using them all at once. — M.J. Kaufman