Women know things that men will never know. We keep the best secrets. We tell the best stories.
He fell in love with the way she closed her eyes, long before he fell in love with her.
In a world of sorrow, love was an act of will. All you needed were the right ingredients.
What people read revealed so much about them that she considered our card catalog a treasure house of privileged secrets; each card contained the map of an individual’s soul.
And then I understood that she had no idea what she’d done to my family. She thought love and hatred were equal.
My grandmother was overwhelmed by what was happening to us. She ahd moved back into the past because the here and the now was too terrible.
How could I have been so stupid to ignore everything I’d had in my life? The color red alone was worth kingdoms.
Unrequited love is so boring. Weeping under a blue-black sky is for suckers or maniacs.
We had to survive to remember. Otherwise everything we were would disappear. Those people we loved would fade as though we’d never loved them, as if they’d never walked and talked and burned, forgetting them was the real evil. That was the hole of darkness.
What you dream, you can grow. Someone told me that, but I didn’t believe it. I said I had nothing and that people with nothing are unable to dream. But I was wrong.
Unfinished business always comes back to haunt you, and a man who swears he’ll love you forever isn’t finished with you until he’s done.
Crying wasn’t like riding a bike. Give it up, and you quickly forget how it’s done.
The best way to die is when your living.
She didn’t like being twelve. It felt like someplace between who she’d been and who she was about to be. It felt like no place at all.
Some stories stayed with you even when you wanted to forget them.
He was in love, and people in that condition did stupid, unfathomable things. They were all flawed, every single one.
The evening had turned sweet and blue.
Sometimes words drew blood, they cut your tongue, they made you know things you couldn’t unknow.
I didn’t want to be prideful anymore. I wanted to be as hard as and brittle as the stones I carted into the woods. Stones that could not feel or cry or see. I wished not to feel anything at all. In no time, what I wished for, I became.
She can feel his blood, just beneath his skin; when he breathes, the air fills with smoke. He’s like a dragon, ancient and fearless.