The Book is Always Better.

I'm re-reading my favorite novel, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist. It's a lovely little love story that takes place on a sleepless night in New York City. They made a movie a while back, and I like it, but the book is way better.

Movie: "I love you so much it's retarded!"
             "You guys don't know what it's like to be straight. It's awful."
             

Book: "Nick stands up and offers his hand to me. I have no idea what he wants, but what the [heck], I take his hand anyway, and he pulls me up on my feet and presses against me for a slow dance and it's like we're in a dream where he's Christopher Plummer and I'm Julie Andrews and we're dancing on the marble floor of an Austrian terrace garden. Somehow my head presses against Nick's t-shirt and in this moment I am forgetting about time and Tal becasue maybe my life isn't over. Maybe it's only beginning.
I shiver at that thought and in response, Nick takes his jacket off and places it around my shoulders. I feel safe and not cold and from the vibe the jacket gives off, I also feel fairly confident that the original Texaco Salvatore was a good family man, with perhaps a propensity for wearing his wife's panties and betting his kids' college money at the track, but otherwise a solid dude."

I rest my case.