The Twelve Days of Dash and Lily (Dash & Lily #2)

All the librarians turned their heads to me in a collective shush. “I’m afraid you have to survive library school, put up with the general public on a daily basis, and endure several years of budget cuts in order to deserve these drinks,” Chris told me kindly. “But someday, Dash, all this will be yours! We know how to spot ’em, and you’re a young, temporarily one-eyed librarian in the rough!

And escape?” “Escape, sure. But it wasn’t so much about getting away, as going to. You can go anywhere in a book. Books

At least I'd learn the lesson that friends can make up for the failings of your family.

But I don't like it, okay? I don't like how everything is changing. It's like when you're a kid, you think that things like the holidays are meant to show you how things always stay the same, how you have the same celebration year after year, and that's why it's so special. But the older you get, the more you realize that, yes, there are all these things that link you to the past, and you're using the same words and singing the same songs that have always been there for you, but each time, things have shifted, and you have to deal with that shift. Because maybe you don't notice it every single day. Maybe it's only on days like today that you notice it a lot. And I know I'm supposed to be able to deal with that, but I'm not sure I can deal with that.--David Levithan (p. 201 in galley)

Dash believed in magic. Dash loved Christmas. Dash loved me!

Dash said, "From the time I was a baby, my mom took me to the library at least once a week. Librarians were like Mary Poppins to me. They always knew how to match a book to my mood or to whatever I was going through at the time. I could always find peace in books."
"And escape."
"Escape sure. But it wasn't so much about getting away, as going to. You can go anywhere in a book. Books are adventure. Knowledge. Possibility. Magic.

From the time I was a baby, my mom took me to the library at least once a week. Librarians were like Mary Poppins to me. They always knew how to match a book to my mood or to whatever I was going through at the time. I could always find peace in books.
pg 151

I am trying to make an emotional point. I don't expect you to understand me on that level - you are but a romantic sapling. I am a sequoia, so you'd be well advised to listen to what I have to say.

I have always found peace among books.

I know in my heart that I can live without him and I know in my heart that I don't want to-that's a good place to start, right?

I love the way you look when reading a book—content and dreamy, off in another world.

I love you, and it's driving me crazy to see you so upset. I want to fix it, and I know I can't. But what I want to do is rewrite this whole world so you can fix it. I want to come up with a story that all the world will choose to celebrate, and in it, the people we love will never get sick, and the people we love will never be sad for long, and there would be unlimited frozen hot chocolate. Maybe if it were up to me I wouldn't have the whole world collectively believe in Santa Claus, but I would definitely have them collectively believe in something, because there is a messed-up kind of beauty in the way we can bend over backward to make life seem magical when we want to. In other words, after giving it some thought , I think that reality has the distinct potential to complete suck, and the way to get around that is to step out of reality with someone you completely, unadulteratedly enjoy. In my life, that's you. And if it takes dressing up like Santa to get that across to you, then so be it.

I'm mad at global warming for all the obvious reasons, but mostly I'm mad at it for ruining Christmas. This time of year is supposed to be about teeth-chattering, cold weather that necessitates coats, scarves, and mittens. Outside there should be see-your-breath air that offers the promise of sidewalks covered in snow, while inside, families drink hot chocolate by a roaring fire, huddled close together with their pets to keep warm.

It is always the ones who believe that are hurt the worst when things go wrong.

It’s always the ones who believe who are hurt the most when things go wrong. She

Kids don't give a shit about clipboards.

Librarians were like Mary Poppins to me. They always knew how to match a book to my mood or to whatever I was going through at the time. I could always find peace in books.” “And escape?

People who want things to be perfect are always impossible to please. But that doesn’t mean we should stop trying. Even

Roaming the streets of Manhattan on foot had always been one of my favorite ways to find inspiration. There's so much to see and smell (not all of it pleasant, except this time of year, which smells of roasted cashews, crisp air, and gingerbread lattes).

Sometimes you make plans. Sometimes plans make themselves.

So we must buck up, put on a kind face, and get on with it.

The minute she left the apartment, I missed having her there. But as with all loves, I supposed, the consolation was in the fact that she'd be back.

The minute she left the apartment, I missed having her there. But as with all loves, I supposed, the consolation was in the fact that she’d be back.

There’s an alone that calls out for rescue—but this appeared to be an alone that wanted to be left alone.

The worse people feel the next day, the better the party.

This is the funny thing about New York - there are so many things to do at all times of the day, but there are still moments when you have no idea which of them to do, and feel extra silly because you know there has to be something out there for you to do; your mind just hasn't found it yet.

We met in the park to wrest the afternoon into the shape of a stroll.

We're librarians, sir. And we will not let you check out this future librarian unless your prove to us that you'll take good care of him when he's in your home.

What an idiot Santa is for flying around alone. Because who would want to travel the world without another person's heartbeat beside him?

What I was sure of was that the bagpipes had begun to play “Fairytale of New York”—which is basically the best Christmas song ever written.