Sometimes you know in your heart you love someone, but you have to go away before your head can figure it out.
I don’t want tobecause boysdon’t write poetry.Girls do.
So much dependsupona blue carsplattered with mudspeeding down the road.
I love the way that each book—any book—is its own journey. You open it, and off you go….
What I have since realized is that if people expect you to be brave, sometimes you pretend that you are, even when you are frightened down to your very bones.
You can’t keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.
Then I thought, boy, isn’t that just typical? You wait and wait and wait for something, and then when it happens, you feel sad.
What’s important is the ambition that results from our weakness.
It is a relief to discover that although there might be axe murderers and kidnappers in the world, most people seem a lot like us: sometimes afraid and sometimes brave, sometimes cruel and sometimes kind.
The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolled and rolled and called to me. Come in, it said, come in.