Quote

Men can be very stupid. We cease to value what we have until it's gone, and only then do we realize the gold we glimpsed in distant hills pales as dross compared to treasure we had in hand.

Ann Aguirre

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Ann Aguirre
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: August 27
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
the United States of America
Ellen Connor
Ava Gray
Stupid
Pale
Realizing
Compared
Hand
Hills
Gone
Treasure
Values
Cease
Pales
Hands
Gold
Glimpsed
Men
Value
Dross
Realize
Distant

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Sometimes I could almost hate you because you don't understand how much you mean to me, how dark and empty I was before. Solnyshko moyo.
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I always have someplace else I’d rather be, even if I don’t know where that is, yet.
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Like most, I was a mix of good and bad, anger and protectiveness, kindness and pride. But right now, I had only strangled fear and the promise of revenge.
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I found it curious that people kept animals for companionship and not food. When I'd asked Mama Oaks when she planned to cook the fat creature that slept in a basket in the kitchen, her eyes almost popped out of her head. Since then, she'd kept her pet away from me, like she suspected I meant to turn it into stew. Clearly, I had a lot to learn.
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No matter how interminable something feels, there is always, always an ending. Sometimes that's good, and sometimes it's bad sometimes it's a matter of indifference, and sometimes it's heartbreaking, and your life is never the same thereafter.
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He'd said the sun could burn me. It certainly looked angry enough, all orange and glowing mad.
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A divided heart offers a strange sensation.
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We’re bound by chains of love, but they don’t weigh us down. Instead, they allow us to be bigger and better than we are.
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Then in the interest of full honesty, I really wish you'd kiss me right now.
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If you don't tell me what's on your mind, I can't guess
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This is not a love story. It is my life, and as such, there is love, loss, war, death, and sacrifice. It's about things that needed to be done and choices made. I regret nothing.
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We're broken in complementary ways, thus rendering our damage comprehensible to each other.
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I’m sick of asking questions everyone else already knows the answers to.
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Survival feels like cowardice.
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I think my head's a minefield strewn with triggers, and maybe if I survive each explosion, what emerges from the wreckage will be me, really, truly me.
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Sometimes you find your heroes in the unlikeliest places.
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More than most, I know the pain of surviving.
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I admired Stalkers style. He was incredibly fast using two small blades strapped to the backs of his hands. Slash slash slash. Fighting him you wouldn’t die of one great wound but instead bleed out slowly surprised to find yourself weak and dying after a thousand cuts.
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He was the heat of a fire and the sweetness of the moon I'd only just met.
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Dying isn’t like living it requires no effort at all.
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