Quote

We stood back-to-back, blocking and striking in harmony sometimes it felt like his arms and legs were an extension of me. I could count on him to keep them off me from behind.

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
Behind
Extensions
Felt
Stood
Keep
Count
Back
Block
Sometimes
Legs
Like
Harmony
Blocking
Behinds
Striking
Arms
Extension

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Sometimes the past needed to stay buried it was the only way you could move on. And sometimes you had to dig it up, because that too was the only way.
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Nobility and self-sacrifice sound wonderful in theory, but now he’s seen how it feels. A dead hero is still dead at the end of the day, and you’re still alone.
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I’m sick of asking questions everyone else already knows the answers to.
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Did he die well? No, I thought. Nobody did. They just died.
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Just . . . love me, and let tomorrow look after itself.
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Because I love you.' It was easy to say it this time now that I understood what it meant. Then I quoted his own words back to him. 'Not just when it's easy. All the time.
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I’m as forgiving as the wall you hit at two hundred kilometers an hour.
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You ever have that feeling? Like you’ve known someone your whole life but you don’t know them at all.
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Love sounded terrible if it made you so weak, you couldn't survive with out it.
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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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His lashes, fluttered like butterfly wings. I could've made you happy, dove. You did, I whispered
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But courage wasn't an absence of fear it was fighting despite the knot in your stomach.
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But it was like a dance across a field strewn with razors, and I bled with every step I took.
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He has to take me as I am, broken bits and all.
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Most people can’t stomach silence it provides too much opportunity to think about things they prefer to avoid.
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. . . and I don’t expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. We’re not one soul, one being, however much we love each other.
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Men always want to be remembered whereas women realize that requires being dead.
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Possessiveness isn’t love. I’m not even sure it qualifies as an emotion.
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After people have gone, you forget their faults, and you recall the ideal more than the person.
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Dying isn’t like living it requires no effort at all.
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