Why do you write?′ Because I love words and stories so much. Because I would be grief stricken every day of my life if I couldn’t write. Because I’m obsessed and compelled. Because I’d be utterly useless at anything else.
The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can’t you see? I do not.
Becuse God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.
I listened as the words became sentences and the sentences became pages and the pages became feelings and voices and places and people.
She was his soulmate, as much a part of him as the very flesh and bone that made him. She was with him, in him, in everything he did. She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.
For the first time, I saw what was in his heart, and I wondered if he might ever want to look deep enough to see mine.
Sometimes, when you catch someone unaware at just the right time and in just the right light, you can catch sight of what they will be.
There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now – white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.
And Robespierre, the Incorruptible, who loved us so much he cut off our heads so we would not be troubled by too many thoughts.
Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.
Had you but seen it, I promise you, your high-minded principles would have melted like candle wax. Never would you have wished such beauty away.
I grew up on a mixed diet of mass and class, and I still read that way. I hate it when people apologize for what they read. Some bestsellers aren’t exactly literary. So what? They’re fun and rip-roaring, Who instituted the book police and why do we have to answer them? Grrrrr!
I was only glad to be saved and never once thought to ask why.
I played a role. That is what actors do. But I played it too well. I went too far. And by the time I wanted to stop, to take a bow and leave the stage, it was too late.
But his words fall away. He looks confused. He looks flustered and sorry. Like you do when you run up to someone you think you know and take her arm and she turns around and you were wrong.
He’s wearing boots, a kilt, and a long-sleeve tee. No coat, even though it’s December. Beautiful people don’t need coats. They’ve got their auras to keep them warm.
The more obscure our tastes, the greater the proof of our genius.
It has an L on it. L for love. See? It’s the key to the universe, Dad. You said you were looking for it. You told Mom you were. I found it for you so you don’t have to look anymore. So you can come home at night.
He pressed himself into me and kissed my neck, and it was as if everything strong and solid inside me, heart and bones and muscle and gut, softened and melted from the heat of him.
Only the hopeless love God.
There is an advantage to be found in most everything that happens to you, even if it is not immediately apparent.