The truth of the matter is that we always know the right thing to do. The hard part is doing it.
I’ve come to realize that you can fight a lot of things in life, but you can’t help who you love. You can’t change who your heart chooses. I’m afraid that very fact will be the greatest tragedy of my life.
What is childhood without stories? And how will children fall in love with stories without bookstores? You can’t get that from a computer.
The definition of a true friend is not someone who swoops in when you’re going through a rough patch. True friendship is when someone can appreciate your happiness – celebrate your happiness, even when she’s not necessarily happy herself.
We’re each given one life, and it’s our job to make it useful, beautiful, and fulfilling. There is no value in suffering through it, doing something we hate. There’s no prize at the end for that kind of endurance. Just a spent life.
I’m no longer willing to let myself down.
The stars have their own language, you know. If you’re careful, you can learn it.
Marriage, my dear, is not suicide.
All I hear is my own grating thoughts. Is there anything more horrid than being trapped inside yourself with nothing but your own insecurities.
Great love endures time, heartache, and distance. And even when all seems lost, true love lives on.
Whenever you’re down on your luck, and when things aren’t going the way you like, remember that you are the author of your own story. You can write it any way you like, with anyone you choose. And it can be a beautiful story or a sad and tragic one. You get to pick.
You know, things fall apart. You grieve. And then you sit around and wait for things to somehow get perfect again. But they don’t. They never can. There is no perfect. There’s just different. But different can be wonderful.
People are much like those stars up there. Some burn faintly for millions of years, barely visible to us on earth. They’re there, but you’d hardly know it. They blend in, like a speck on a canvas. But others blaze with such intensity, they light up the sky. You can’t help but notice them, marvel at them. Those are the ones that never last long. They can’t. They use up all their energy quickly.
I was making scrambled eggs smothered in Tabasco, his favorite, when he told me about Stephanie. The way she made him laugh. The way she understood him. The way they connected. I pictured the image of two Lego pieces fusing together, and I shuddered. It’s funny; when I think back to that morning, I can actually smell burned eggs and Tabasco. Had I known that this is what the end of my marriage would smell like, I would have made pancakes.
Everyone has a happy place, the scene that comes into view when you close your eyes and let your mind transport you to the dot on the globe where life is cozy, safe, warm.
Amour vit en avant.” Love lives on.
Tulips are the only flowers that continue to grow, up to an inch or more, after they’re cut.
It’s just old black-and-whites,′ she had said, flicking her wrist in the way one might dismiss a pile of junk mail. ‘Relatives nobody remembers.’ ‘No,’ I said, running to the box. ‘Don’t throw them out. I’ll keep them.’ I may not have known the names of the majority of the ancestors pictured inside, but it felt like a betrayal to send their memories to the landfill. I couldn’t bear the thought.
My mom used to say that for every year you loved someone, it takes a month to recover.
Sometimes you just have to take chances, especially when it makes you happy.