Maybe getting around in life was nothing but map-reading. A skill that required practice. A key to unlock where you wanted to go. A legend to show where you were.
If there was one thing I refused to be, it was an insignificant footnote in some boy’s history.
Hey, if it’s a good philosophy, it works. Death is imminent. Live every day like it’s your last.
You know, sometimes the most direct route isn’t the right one. – Jacob.
You can see beauty in everything, except for yourself.
That’s exactly why nature always trumps gardens. Gardens are just reality pruned of chaos. What doesn’t work you rip out.
Silence, too, can be torture.
From her dubious tone alone, I could see how Karin had no idea how terrifying words spoken quietly could be. How words chosen precisely to wreak maximum damage ticked like a bomb in your head, but exploded in your heart hours later, leaving you scarred and changed.
What was so miraculous about a relationship that was based more on my gratitude than on mutual self respect?
There is real comfort in being quiet.
Safe, I decided, didn’t leave much room for fun.
You know, there are easier ways to meet a guy than to run him over.
A pathfinder’s job is hard enough – blazing trails where there are none, guided by nothing but hearsay and gut. While you’re hacking your way through bracken, worrying about lurking beasts, all you can do is hope you had chosen the right direction.
Maybe we don’t have the same definition of about what’s beautiful. So define it. Define true beauty.
But even quashed rebellions leave us different. Because freedom may be a forbidden fruit in tyrannies, but once tasted, it is unforgettable.
I preferred my brand of beauty where Norah was more beautiful than any bimbette, and Mom was beautiful whether sized extra-small or extra-large. Where Peony could look at herself in the mirror and murmur, wow, look at me. Just look at me.
No power was total, no power permanent, no power absolute.
I wondered about her chicken-and-egg relationship with Dad. Which came first? Her helplessness or his controlling?
Teachers wondered why I didn’t speak up more in class. Why would I when I knew how precarious words could be, how betraying they were, how vulnerable they made you?
Inertia is so easy – don’t fix what’s not broken. Leave well enough alone. So we end up accepting what is broken, mistaking complaining for action, procrastinating for deliberation.
The pressure of his touch through my jacket and my sweater was more assurance than any promise ever made to me. It was a touch that said, I have your back and I am here for you. If a girl wasn’t careful, she could fall in love with a touch like that.