Danh Ngôn Anh Ngữ - English Quotatin (Song Ngữ Anh Việt) tải về miễn phí cuốn sách

Thuy Anh tanhsilk96b69a — 99% of this review is not a review. Please enjoy reading. What's the story of me peeling this book out of my school library's bookshelf? I've been confessed to before. He didn't exactly find it easy to say the words out loud to me. You know how guys who aren't brave enough to shout "I like you!" sort of put their message into some kind of code that requires the girl to think? It didn't matter how awkward he made it. I still remember his voice. It can still be translated into "I like you". I've been hugged before. It wasn't romantic. After he confessed to me, and after I ran away from the embarrassment of overly blushing (My head looks like that cartoon balloon headed guy from those airhead candy commercials.), I had this urge to run back to him and to see him. It was right before 6th period, after the bell signalling for lunchtime to end rang. I KNEW that if I didn't run up to him, I wouldn't see him until 3 days later, after the weekend. This was one of the terrors of Fridays, you know. And I seriously couldn't wait that long. When that bell rang, I ran farther and farther away from my classroom. I couldn't remember the last time I got to class tardy. Who cares--I was willing to get myself a lunch detention for this guy. When I saw him, I RAN. It seemed like I was running in slow motion, like one of those soap operas or dramatic movies. When I hugged him, it wasn't "magical". I had to pull him over to a corner away from that mob that shoved him further down the courtyard on their way to class. I bet he almost tripped getting dragged by me. When I got him isolated, I didn't give him a lovely princess hug. I RAMMED into him. I guess the only "magical" part was when he hugged me back. I've been kissed before. He was wandering with me to the rows of lockers, looking at each one probably thinking, "Hmm, which one is Theresa's locker?" And something made me grab his arm. I don't know what--it was a reflex. Before I could think, my face rammed into his and I yanked away in the very next second. That wasn't romantic at all. I started freaking out, covering my face and saying, "Ah! I'm sorry! I don't know why I did that!" He tried muffling his laughing into his sleeve. I couldn't really see what he looked like--I only heard him. My hands were smooshed against my face. I knew he didn't shrink away from me or push me away saying "You're so awkward. What's the matter with you?" Instead, he took his hand, he lifted my chin, and I closed my eyes. I've had a shoulder turned towards me before. It's the coldest feeling in the world. It's like your heart was ripped out of you and thrown into a blizzard. You sit there, still stuffing your notebooks and pencils into your bag not caring if they bent or broke or stabbed your hands along the way. You look at the person you love hurry out of the room, back faced towards you and not looking back, and not waiting for you to catch up. You're wondering, "What did I do? Why are you looking away from me like that?" You focus on the figure moving away from you, willing for it to turn around and hurry back towards you, and say something like, "Hurry! I'll leave without you," but you know that they're going to wait no matter how fast you try and pack up your things. But they keep walking away. Further away, not stopping or turning around or telling you to hurry. And you run after them, trying to yell "Wait!" and feeling that you're yelling out of the top of your lungs when your voice--in reality--just wheezes it out in a weak breath. They can't hear you. They keep walking. And something from that back turned towards you is telling you to not come after them when you want to. I've cried before. Well, everyone has cried before. When you're born, you shriek off the top of your lungs, and there are some of the special few that required the doctors and nurses to plug their ears. Then there's the part where you're the klutzy two year old and you end up tripping over your own feet while running towards the ice cream truck, and you fall on your knees. Back then, when you so much as fell flat on your buttocks, without even drawing the thinnest sliver of blood, you'd start bumbling in tears. Wasn't there also the part where you get yelled at by your parents for trying to steal a cookie from the cookie jar, and their voices snap so loudly and sharply that it scares the wits out of you and you feel water start to pour out of your eyes? Or maybe you just want that cookie so badly, and you're so upset that someone is moving the cookie jar farther and farther away from your reach. But these aren't the kinds of tears that I mean. Crying because of the person you love probably hurts more than the knee-scraping, or the fact that you can't reach the cookie jar, or the mini-heart attack that you get when you fall on your buttocks and your heart sort of jolts for a second. Words sting the heart if spoken a certain way, you know. I just want to state that I did love him. But when he suggested dating, I stepped away. From thoughts of a friendship ruined by a break-up, I really just did not want to date him. I'd rather love him through just friendship--with no right of hugging or kissing or holding hands--than to date him and then break up. A loved one telling you that they could fade away from you, saying, "I can't stay, then. I have to find someone else. I have to go." I didn't duck my head and nod. There was no way in h-e-double-hockey-sticks that I'd back away and stand still. I clung onto his arm. I got this case of the sniffles and they wouldn't go away. Then came those hiccups... He held my hand and kissed me on the side of the head. He wasn't gone yet, but it's not like my eyes would dry up any soon from what I heard. Friday. March 23rd. Why didn't I just let him go that day? I could have nodded and ducked my head and said, "If you're offering that you'll disappear someday, you probably will. I'll spare you the time, and I'll spare myself the tears." I was stupid. It was dangerous to continue clinging onto him like that, and saying "Stay! Don't leave! Stay...stay..." It's also dangerous to try and chase someone who's having their back facing you. You'll get shaken off. Your heart will crumble into tiny, itty, bitty pieces! Why on earth would I try to run closer to such a dangerous person? On Friday, March 23rd, I sat beside my friends. They were laughing and enjoying their Friday without worrying about anything other than homework and what they were planning to do for their quincenieras. I didn't join their conversations. I sat there thinking, wondering, "Dude. How could I be so stupid? Why wasn't I thinking when I was chasing after him and holding onto his hand and kissing him? He was a whole other person, perfectly capable of walking away! "Someone who sweeps a girl off her feet is in perfect position to drop her on her asssstronaut!" I got this idea. "I wasn't thinking! Something penetrated my brain--my mind, leading me away from all common sense and deceiving me into thinking that I'm happy with that person when he'll only lead me to tears! Something MADE me chase after him!" Was there a cure to this strange emotion? Was there a way to control it and to make it go away? I slammed my fist onto the tabletop, and my friends automatically jumped about 3 feet off the base of their seats. "There must be a cure!" I shouted. "A cure! A cure! I wanna find one!" My friends, of course, had no clue what I was babbling on about. I remembered this book that my best friend had suggested to me several of months ago. "Delirium, by Lauren Oliver!" she cried. "It's amazing! Flip through the pages and bask in its awesomeness!" I read through 300 pages of it before and then my procrastinating powers kicked in. When the due date to the library came by (after I renewed it 3 times--which is the maximum amount of how many times you can renew a book), I had to return the book, totally unfinished. I remembered Delirium, though. Never forgot it--I wanted to check it out again when I got my time back. I hurried towards the bookshelves, skimming through book titles until I found "Oliver". I peeled this book off the shelves, hurried towards the librarian, typed in my student ID, and stuffed the book into my bookbag without a second thought. "There has to be a love lesson in this book!" I thought, pumping my fist. "About the cure of love, right? This book was about a girl who survived love--I wanna know her story!" Why didn't Lena want to love? I needed to remind myself. I needed to tell myself, "I shouldn't love anymore. I wanna organize the negative outcomes, and this way, I'll stay in common sense--FAR AWAY FROM LOVE!" I realized that this book isn't about a girl loving and then STOPPING. This book was about a girl looking forward to being INCAPABLE of falling in love, but then when she fell in love, she changed her mind. The questions I was asking while reading this book really should have been, "What is love?" This book answered that question perfectly. Lena runs after Alex. She wants to be with him, and to run away with him and leave everything else that she has behind. For what? For a guy? Do you see how much only one person can do to another person? Heh. This review is more like a story of my life for the past two weeks than a review for a book that fellow review readers should read in order to be encouraged to read this book. But this book......a book that ranks 5 stars...a book with more than 400 pages that I ended up finishing in 3 days when I have books with 300 pages and less that I've been trying to tear through for WEEKS now. This review is certainly not DISCOURAGING you from reading...is it? I just want to say how big my school is. I mean it's not GIGANTIC, like a college or a city or anything. It's a high school--but it's wide enough. It has two stories. There's a bunch of fields for baseball and soccer and football--dude, my middle school only had one grassfield. There's like 6 different wings...language arts, american lit and world history, science, math, performing arts, robotics/weight training--ehhhh! There's also that cafeteria, and the courtyard built in the middle of the school where everyone crowds in during lunch. And there's the gym (which...we have two of). Okay, so when you're running across the school (not including the fields), it might tire you out a bit. For 6th period, I have guitar class in the performing arts wing on the first floor on one side of the school. HE has english class in the language arts wing, which is across the school on the OTHER SIDE of the school--in the room that's the farthest from the performing theatre class as it can get. AND it's upstairs. At lunch, I was just running around the quad like a maniac with friends. I ran up to him. We locked eyes. He shifted his backpack over his shoulder. He carried his backpack with one strap over one shoulder. For some reason, when I saw him from behind, I would recognize his black hair and the way his backpack hung from one shoulder, and the way he would walk while holding onto that strap as if he was posing, I didn't have to walk beside him to check if it was him before I would ram into him. I'd run from behind, and surprise him with a ramming attack, and I'd know it was him. He was that special. He had this look in his eyes. They didn't match the smile he wore, y'know? Was that smile fake? I wanted to sit with him and ask him what was wrong, but I probably had no right to. I loved him but I was not his girlfriend. I asked him if he was okay, and I nodded when he said "yes". When the bell rang, I headed to my 6th period without being tardy. When I sat in guitar class, bluntly strumming along with my teacher's bored voice saying "One...two...three--and--four--and...", I started having this thought. "I have to see him. He's such a liar! He's not okay!" I shook my head to myself, thinking that if I wanted to know what was wrong, I should wait until tomorrow. I don't usually see him after 6th period--it was too hard of a run! But that weird thought got louder and louder and it started burning inside my head. I kept asking myself what was wrong with him. I wanted to know, and I wanted to take that look out of his eyes and let him smile with happy eyes. I couldn't wait until tomorrow! But I ended up reminding myself about the run from guitar class to english class. "Out the performing arts hallway, through the quad, up the stairs, to the language arts wing, through the hallway farthest from the stairs..." Those might seem like simple but it was a LONG RUN. The quad was huge. The stairs took a little effort to climb--especially if you were in a hurry. And how do I know if I would be able to catch up to the guy before he wandered away from his english class on his own route? It's not like he'd wait there for me to get there. PLUS, I also had to catch the bus after school. If I was late and I missed the bus, I would be stranded at school for another half-an-hour. I glanced at the clock. "Ten minutes until the bell rings," I thought. "I'll try my best." Once that bell rang, I dashed out of there. Running through the quad and up the stairs while lugging a tote bag and having the keychain hanging around my neck whipping my face over and over was not a relaxing moment. I kept gritting my teeth, thinking, "What am I doing?! I'm not gonna make it! I'm gonna miss my bus!" What was making me try to run like this? Why did I have to see him soooo badly? Why did I care so much about whether or not he was okay? What's WRONG with me? When I got upstairs, I ran to the furthest doors I saw. I turned to my left and my right, looking at the mobs of students passing by and looking for that familiar head of black hair. My hair whipped my face more than my keychain did. I slowed to a walking pace. I was tired. This was so stupid... But something made me start running again, closer towards those further doors. "Okay," I thought. "If he's not in that hallway, I'm going to go to the bus!" It was likely that he wasn't in that hallway. He would have been outside by this time, right? But my insides were hoping to run into him, and to see him, and to check to see if he was okay. I was gonna burst! When I hopped in front of the doors, I thought I was dreaming. My heart skipped a beat. He was there. He was walking down the hallway, holding the strap of his backpack hanging over his shoulder with one hand and gesturing with another while he was talking to one of his friends (his friend had this gigantic afro). Running towards him felt so weird. It was like slow motion, I swear. Jeez, moments like that tug on my heartstrings... We locked eyes. I took a gulp. "Can I talk to you alone?" The afro guy smiled, covered his ears (and smushing part of his afro against his face), and twirled his back towards us. I appreciated this so much. Once afro guy turned away, I glanced back at him. I shut my eyes, stumbled forward, and rammed into him. I didn't care if I had no right to hug him! I wasn't his girlfriend. I had no right, but I hopped into it anyway. What was wrong with me? Maybe I wasn't his girlfriend, and maybe I had no right to hug him--but I hugged him anyway. It wasn't romantic at all. I RAMMED into the guy. It...wasn't a lovely princess hug. But I guess the only "magical" part was when he hugged me back. And...miraculously, I didn't miss my bus. Do you see how moody I got through all of this? How I lost common sense? Read Delirium. Tear it away from that bookshelf. If it's not on a bookshelf near you, GO ON A NINJETIC SEARCH FOR IT! Create a search party! Do something to get your hands on this book! Chase this book. Chase it to the very ending. And when you get to the ending, chase after Pandemonium. You'll find something that you'll be happy you ran for. I'm happy with what I ran across the school and up those stairs for. I wonder what I'd be thinking right now if I had just headed towards my bus thinking that tomorrow would easily happen.