Empathy took the edge off, and the truth is, we need our edge. Our edge is trying to speak to us, and we are too, too good at shutting it up.
But, dear God, don’t listen to me. I’m an old lady in the middle of nowhere without a real toilet.
Funny the only two times we use the phrase “seeing someone” are when we are referring to being in a a relationship or getting psychological help.
Hurt is a weapon. Better weapon than most because it doesn’t look like one.
An untold story has a weight that can submerge you, sure as a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean.
We are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love – it is not the book itself, but the binding.
The most true-love words are not the ones that grasp and hold and bind you, twisting you both up together in some black dance. No, they are ones that leave you free to stand alone on your own solid ground, leave him to do the same, a tender space between you.
We’re as good at talking ourselves out of fear as into it, aren’t we? Maybe better.
And if you could make a choice, then why not pick happiness?
If your life truths have to be protected like some people keep their couches in plastic then ciao. have a nice life. if we bump into eachoter at Target, i’m the one buying the sour gummy worms and thats all you need to know about me.
Yeah. When you want what’s real and you try to find that in high school, you might as well be looking for a mossy rock beside a babbling brook on the corner of Sixth and Pine in downtown Seattle.
A drop of poison on that gathering snow. That moment in the fairy tale when we know what just happened but the princess doesn’t.
Sometimes you can cattle rope your heart and sometimes you can’t, is all.
Becoming a YA author was actually a very lucky accident. When I wrote the Queen of Everything, I thought it was a book for adults.
Like all kids with divorced parents, I have an abundance of holidays.
Summer, after all, is a time when wonderful things can happen to quiet people.
Accents are funny in that they have this odd draw for us, yet we forget we have one, too. No one is without an accent, but the one you’ve got seems like oatmeal to their caviar.
This is not to say I don’t feel my own grief, which can hit powerfully at unexpected times. It’s just that the telling does not automatically bring on my own upset, as people assume. I deal more with their reaction than they do with mine, and so you have to choose your timing.
It’s shocking the things we call love.
So I put up with bad behavior in the name of loving the way I thought you were supposed to love.