No matter how big you get, it’s still okay to cry because everybody’s got a right to their own tears.
That’s what makes best friends. It’s not whether or not you live on the same block or go to the same school, but how you feel about each other in your hearts.
Seems like every time life starts straightening itself out, something’s gotta go and happen.
I couldnt be a writer without hope. I think I became a writer because Im pretty optimistic.
Sometimes it seems as though not a moment has moved, but then you look up and you’re already old or you already have a household of kids or you look down and see your feet are miles and miles away from the rest of you – and you realize you’ve grown up.
I loved and still love watching words flower into sentences and sentences blossom into stories.
I think I’d rather have my heart broke than do the breaking. – Lena.
Lately, I’d been feeling like I was standing outside watching everything and everybody. Wishing I could take the part of me that was over there and the part of me that was over here and push them together – make myself into one whole person like everybody else.
Mama was always saying I was a brain snob, that I didn’t like people who didn’t think. I didn’t know if that was snobby. Who wanted to walk around explaining everything to people all the time?
Mama says it’s okay to be on the quiet side – if quiet means you’re listening, watching, taking it all in.
Fifteen. Sixteen was probably something, but fifteen – fifteen was a place between here and nowhere.
I think only once in your life do you find someone that you say, “Hey, this is the person I want to spend the rest of my time on this earth with.” And if you miss it, or walk away from it, or even maybe, blink – it’s gone.
Maybe this was our last summer as best friends. I feel like something’s going to change now and I’m not going to be able to change it back. – Margaret.
The Bible is big in the religion, treating people as you want to be treated.
I’m not afraid of silence. You know, I’m not afraid to sit in a room and have the conversation drop into silence. I think that’s a very southern thing.
How can I explain to anyone that stories are like air to me, I breathe them in and let them out over and over again.
I know now that what is tragic isn’t the moment. It is the memory.
I lifted my head to look up into the changing leaves, thinking how at some point, we were all headed home. At some point, all of this, everything and everyone, became memory.
I work hard, he says, I treat people like I want to be treated. God sees this, God knows.
I want to catch words one day. I want to hold them then blow gently, watch them float right out of my hands.