DNA tells you all the secrets of life,’ he used to say. Except for one—how to live it.
Becuse God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.
Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.
We all make mistakes, the danger lies in letting those mistakes make us. Make us believe we can’t put things right. Make us think there’s no hope. Make us give up.
I’m wishing he could see that music lives. Forever. That it’s stronger than death. Stronger than time. And that its strength holds you together when nothing else can.
You can’t argue with the dead, no matter what you say, they always have the last word.
A new word. Bright with possibilities. A flawless pearl to turn over and over in my hand, then put away for safekeeping.
When you can write music that endures, bravo. Until then, keep quiet and study the work of those who can.
You should spend more time reading the Good Book and less reading all those novels. What are you going to tell the Lord on Judgement Day when He asks you why you didn’t read your bible? Hmm?” I said. To myself.
You, on the other hand, wish to know things. And no one can forgive a girl for that.
He who cannot endure the bad will not live to see the good.
An escape can become escapism before we even know it. Books are wonderful things, but you can’t live in someone else’s story. You have to live your own story.
I listened as the words became sentences and the sentences became pages and the pages became feelings and voices and places and people.
I could almost hear the characters inside, murmuring and jostling, impatient for me to open the cover and let them out.
But eating was the last thing on my mind. And I didn’t see how Miss Wilcox could eat, or teach, or sleep or ever find any reason to leave this room. Not with all these books in it, just begging to be read.
You fear you will fail at the very thing you were born for. And your fear torments you…instead of shunning your fear, you must let it speak and listen carefully to what it’s trying to tell you. It will give you good counsel.
Her fear was strong, but her need for the truth was stronger.
Headstrong is just a word, Katie – a word others call you when you don’t do what they want.
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.
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.
It’s a good thing you and your pills weren’t around a few hundred years ago or there never would have been a Vermeer or a Caravaggio. You’d have drugged “Girl with a Pearl Earring” and “The Taking of Christ” right the hell out of them.
History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.
Most of the mess that is called history comes about because kings and presidents cannot be satisfied with a nice chicken and a good loaf of bread.
One expects decent people to stand up for the good of all. Decent people shut their doors and hide behind them as decent people do. Massacres could never happen if it weren’t for decent people.
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.
Together in our house, in the firelight, we are the world made small.
Think you only kings have power? Stand on a stage and hold the hearts of men in your hands. Make them laugh with a gesture, cry with a word. Make them love you. And you will know what power is.
Fac quod faciendum est,’ ” Jo read aloud. “Do what must be done.
Cry your grief to God. Howl to the heavens. Tear your shirt. Your hair. Your flesh. Gouge your eyes. Carve out your heart. And what will you get from Him? Only Silence. Indifference.
Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either
Namaste. It was a Nepalese greeting. It meant: The light within me bows to the light within you.
Because in a small dark room, a broken child lies on a filthy bed and stares up at a high window. He waits for me, too.And I—I who have failed at everything and have failed everyone—I must not, I cannot, I will not fail him.
Sir, no amount of money, no matter how vast, could induce me to stroll, perambulate, promenade, or engage in any form of locomotion with you whatsoever. Good evening.
No. I meant stay with me today. And tomorrow. And every day after.
She smells of her cooking and the perfume Eau d’Hadrien. My mother wore it, too. She used to cook, like Lili. Our house smelled of garlic and thyme instead of sadness.
You should spend more time reading the Good Book and less reading all those novels. What are you going to tell the Lord on Judgement Day when He asks you why you didn’t read your bible?
Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I’m not alone.
Keep being the author of your own story. Never let anyone else write it for you again.
I’d wish you good luck, but you won’t need it. You get to write your own story now. Nothing’s luckier than that.
It goes on, this world, stupid and brutal.But I do not.I do not.
She’s got a big belt around her hips. It has a shiny buckle with PRADA on it, which is Italian for insecure.
Beautiful people don’t need coats. They’ve got their auras to keep them warm.
Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
And Robespierre, the Incorruptible, who loved us so much he cut off our heads so we would not be troubled by too many thoughts.
Beautiful people don’t need coats. They’ve got their auras keeping them warm.
Murder is not a suitable topic of conversation for a young lady.
Voice is not just the sound that comes from your throat, but the feelings that come from your words.
The more obscure our tastes, the greater the proof of our genius.
The thing is, you can’t ever really know how rotten someone will turn out to be.
But you are a different sort of girl. Not at all what I expected you to be. And this is a different sort of time. And so I am hopeful for all the things you may yet find.
Who knew that listening to a guy sleep could be so much deeper than sleeping with a guy.
And besides, I couldn’t stay at the party. It was too dangerous. I nearly died.””From what?””Boredom.
I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.
I’m safer with the Tailor and Pretty Will and every thief and cutthroat in the bend than I am with Miss Josephine Montfort of Gramecy Park.
With ‘A Northern Light,’ I’ve already heard from teenage readers, teachers, librarians – it’s been so gratifying. It’s amazing that you can take something that matters so deeply to you and make it matter to someone else.