Life is a mystery, and it should be so, for the sorrow that accompanies being human and.
Spring was madness in New England, all the world cone to love at once.
Unable are the Loved to die, for Love is Immortality,” the boy said. When he saw the way Jet was looking at him he laughed. “I didn’t come up with that, Emily Dickinson.
You didn’t have to be cursed in love to know that when you loved someone you were open to great loss.
A lot of people don’t know what to do about grief. I don’t blame you for a thing.
What is a daughter but good fortune, as complicated as she might be.
October began as a golden hour and ended with Samhain, the day when the worlds of the living and the dead opened to each other. There was no choice but to walk through the gate of time.
The house itself was tall and tilty, with green glass in the windows.
You were a boy. Life is a mess, that’s what Isabelle told me when I decided to have the child, but all we can do is live it.
Never Get Lost Oatmeal Cookies, great for hikes or adventures. Orange You Glad Cake, an orange loaf with buttercream icing, certain to cheer up the day. Sin No More Cinnamon Rolls, delicious and sticky, good for both the well behaved and the unruly.
Tuesdays were meant for accidents, disappointments, and bad news. Long ago, the day was considered to belong to Mars, the god of war and blood. Now it just meant trouble – it meant that your past could come back to haunt you.
Some things aren’t destined to be no matter how you might want them.
Black cats can do that to some people: They make them go all shivery and scared and remind them of dark.
No matter what, the past would follow around. A sorry soul that only grew heavier in each town. She couldn’t run away.
Life was like a book, Jet thought, but one you would never finish. You would never know how people would wind up; the good often suffered and the wicked prospered and there was no explanation for the way in which fate was meted out as there was in novels.
They both always wished for the same thing when they were sitting on the roof of the aunts’ house on those hot, lonely nights. Sometime in the future, when they were both all grown up, they wanted to look up at the stars and not be afraid. This is the night they had wished for. This is that future, right now. And they can stay out as long as they want to, they can remain on the lawn until every star has faded, and still be there to watch the perfect blue sky at noon.
Language was everything. Trust was for fools. Love came and went. Words could be stolen.
He felt like an addict, out of control, unable to stop himself from taking what he imagined he was entitled to, not yet understanding that no one is entitled to anything other than his freedom and the choices he makes.
Where there were lilacs there would be luck.
Love could ruin your life or set you free; it could happen by chance or be a well-planned decision.