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Caroline was always moody and miserable, but i liked it. i liked feeling as if she had chosen me as the only person in the world not to hate, and so we spent all this time together just ragging on everyone, you know?
-John Green
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Caroline Was Always Moody And Miserable, But

John Green
Caroline was always moody and miserable, but i liked it. i liked feeling as if she had chosen me as the only person in the world not to hate, and so we spent all this time together just ragging on everyone, you know?
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Hate Feelings Together

More From John Green

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. i hate the way you drive my car. i hate it when you stare. i hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. i hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. i hate it, i hate the way you're always right. i hate it when you lie. i hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. i hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. but mostly i hate the way i don't hate you. not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
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I nodded. i liked augustus waters. i really, really, really liked him. i liked the way his story ended with someone else. i liked his voice. i liked that he took existentially fraught free throws. i liked that he was a tenured professor in the department of slightly crooked smiles with a dual appointment in the department of having a voice that made my skin feel more like skin. and i liked that he had two names. i’ve always liked people with two names, because you get to make up your mind what you call them: gus or augustus? me, i was always just hazel, univalent hazel.
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She's a yellow pair of running shoes, a holey pair of jeans. she looks great in cheap sunglasses, she looks great in anything. she's, "i want a piece of chocolate cake; take me to a movie." she's a, "i can't find a thing to wear." now and then she's moody. she's a saturn with a sunroof with her brown hair blowing. she's a warm conversation i wouldn't miss for nothing. she's a fighter when she's mad and she's a lover when she's lovin'.
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She smiled. she knew she was dying. but it did not matter any longer. she had known something which no human words could ever tell and she knew it now. she had been awaiting it and she felt it, as if it had been, as if she had lived it. life had been, if only because she had known it could be, and she felt it now as a hymn without sound, deep under the little whole that dripped red drops into the snow, deeper than that from which the red drops came. a moment or an eternity- did it matter? life, undefeated, existed and could exist. she smiled, her last smile, to so much that had been possible.
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Daisy was a consciously happy young woman without any of the usual endowments that make for conscious happiness, money apart. she was not pretty, she was not clever, she had no friends, no talents, nor even an imagination to make her think she was happy when she was really miserable. as she was never miserable, she had no need of an imagination.
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Just me, just me sweet marie, she loves just me (she also loves maurice mcghee). no she don't, she loves just me (she also loves louise dupree). no she don't, she loves just me (she also loves the willow tree). no she don't, she loves just me! (poor, poor fool, why can't you see she can love others and still love thee.)
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