I wish the night would end,I wish the day’d begin,I wish it would rain or snow,or the wind would blow,or the grass would grow,I wish I had yesterday,I wish there were games to play…
Love doesn’t always come when you want it to. Sometimes it just happens, despite your will.
Grief, no matter how you try to cater to its wail, has a way of fading away.
He won’t listen to the music, and I can’t turn it off.
Fool! Never wait on a man! Let him wait on himself!
We will not open healed wounds!””My wounds are not healed!” I stated just as firmly. “They will never be healed until justice is done!
I remembered Grandmere Catherine used to tell me your first impressions about people usually prove to be the truest because your heart is the first to react.
Little girls get hurt when they play grown-up games.
Sometimes doing the right thing does take more courage, but the feeling it gives you deep inside makes it worth it.
Children are very wiseintuitively; they know who loves them most, and who only pretends.
Go on, glare your eyes at me, and cry and plead, and talk tome about money and what it can buy. But it can’t buy back a child once he’s dead!
We haven’t remained idle, twiddling our thumbs while you were off having a good time. Through books Cathy and I have lived a zillion lives . . . our vicarious way to feel alive.
Look at you, standing there in your iron- gray dress, feeling piousand self- righteous while you starve small children!
Then turn your eyes back on me,and tell me that Cathy and I are still children to be treated with condescension, and are incapable of understanding adult subjects.
And why is it all men thinkeverything a woman writes is trivial or trashy-or just plain sillydrivel? Don’t men have romantic notions? Don’t men dream of findingthe perfect love?
God, He didn’t write the scripts for the puny little players downhere.We wrote them ourselves-with each day we lived, each word we spoke,each thought we etched on our brains. And Momma had written herscript, too.And a sorry one it was.
We all have to love you, and believe inyou, and think you are looking out for our best interests. But look at us, Momma, and really see us.
I had heard the wind from the mountains calling me last night, telling me it was my time to go, and I woke up, knowing what to do.
I was the last of the four Dresden dolls. Only me… and I didn’t want to be here.
The sun was hot and bright. A day for fishing, for swimming, for playing tennis and having fun, and they put my Christopher in the ground.
And grief, no matter how you try to cater to its wail, has a way of fading away, and the person so real, so beloved, becomes a dim, slightly out-of-focus shadow.
If you hold a bird too tightly, you’ll crush its wings
We’re better off not worrying about ourselves, and to do that, we have to worry about others.
Yes, I am a prisoner of sorts, but my prison isn’t the house. It’s my own thoughts that lock me up!
All pain seemed to come with lots of blood, and lots of mental anguish, too. I already knew about that. Maybe that was the worst kind of pain, because nobody knew about it but you.
Then the wind came in with Bart and blew the vase of roses from the table. I stood and stared down at the crystal pieces and the petals scattered about. Why was the wind always trying to tell me something? Something I didn’t want to hear!
In the dark, the little live Christmas tree, two feet tall, sparkled with tiny coloured lights, like the tears I saw glistening in my brother’s eyes.
Promises are lies wrapped in pretty ribbons -Cinnamon
The Bible said, as Chris quoted one memorable day, there was a time foreverything. I figured my time for happiness was just ahead, waitingfor me.
Whatever doesn’t destroy you, makes you stronger. Hardships have a way of toughening us, if they don’t kill us.
Love, in short is the most dangerous emotion human can experience
We had been separated by time and distance and events so long, it was as if we had to get to know each other again, but if it was possible to fall in love with the same person twice, I did.
-just on the verge ofbecoming a woman, and in these three years and almost five months, I’dreached maturity. I was older than the mountains outside. The wisdomof the attic was in my bones, etched on my brain, part of my flesh.
Beauty thinks it needs no talent and can feed on itself, so it soon dies.
For when Iwaltzed with Chris, I’d made him someone else.
If a little hill of happiness would satisfy Chris, good for him. Butafter all these years of striving, hoping, dreaming, longing-I wanted amountain high! A hill wasn’t enough.
You are an intriguing combination, half child, half seductress, half angel.
And thank you for saying all of that, and for loving me, for you haven’t gone unloved, or unadmired, yourself.
Being rich and coming from a distinguished family background doesn’t guarantee happiness, Abby. In fact, it might make happiness harder to find because you have to live up to akk that expectation.
Maybe that was what millions could do– nail a satisfied smirk to one’s face.
That’s the way all life’s battles are won.. You don’t look at the overall picture. You take one step, then another, and another… until you arrive at your destination.