Ella Ceron

Even so much as joking about Catholicism makes you feel oddly uneasy.

Thou shalt not question our “odd” pre-game rituals.

If a 7 year old says you’re cool, really, there is absolutely no higher honor. You are cool. The children have spoken.

What do you mean, the rest of the world doesn’t consider flip-flops to be acceptable footwear?

You don’t believe in moderation at all, and have dreams of Xzibit putting food in your food so you could eat while you eat.

Kiss them like you’re 14 and you’re nervous and the idea of anything other than just a peck is foreign and ambitious and bold. Kiss them like that’s all you need; sometimes it’s the little gestures that matter.

“Could Snape possibly know they’d found out about the Sorcerer’s Stone? Harry didn’t see how he could — yet he sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.”

Because happiness is presented to us as such an illusive concept, something that only the truly lucky chance upon, we seem to forget what to actually do with it if we get there.

“Okay but like, if you were on a desert island and all there was to eat was bacon…”

It’s something we learn as little kids: to play nice, not hit one another, not lash out, and not call each other names when we don’t get our way.

What little girl doesn’t want to wake up one morning and find out she’s inherited a royal title? (This is, I suppose, Disney’s equivalent to the Hogwarts letter.)

“If you want to flirt with me, give your server your number to give to me, don’t give it to me directly.”