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She glared at him, feeling the old frustration. Sometimes in his presence she felt the deepest connection to him, and other times she felt completely alone-as though any bond to him was her own bitter imagination.

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Felt
Presence
Feelings
Connections
Sometimes
Completely
Glared
Imagination
Bond
Alone
Deepest
Feeling
Frustration
Though
Connection
Times
Bitter

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She got tired of herself. She got tired of not being able to say what she wanted or do what she wanted or even want what she wanted.
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I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.
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Developing characters is a strange thing. In the beginning they are abstract and I wonder how to move on from there.
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What you leave behind is the people you loved. You leave yourself in them.
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She'd loved him as much as he'd let her. More than he'd let her.
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They were here all at once, but not together. Survival took self-absorption, and it made them strangers with nothing to do and no way to relate. Emergencies gave you a shape and a plot to take part in, while death was no story at all. It left you nothing.
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Maybe there is more truth in how you feel than in what actually happens.
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Love didn't necessarily look the way you expected it to.
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You thought you had the choice to stay still or move forward, but your didn't. As long as your heart kept pumping an your blood kept blowing and your lungs kept filling, you didn't. The pang she felt for Tibby carried something like envy. You couldn't stand still for anything short of death, and God knew she had tried.
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He took her hand and they started walking toward the baggage claim. They didn't say anything to each other. They swung their held hands like little kids, like they believed anything could happen, like they might take off soaring into the air. All the things you wanted to happen could happen. Why not?
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Exactly! We run or we lose ourselves in something, somebody, anything to try and ease our pain.
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Wish for what you want, work for what you need. -Carmen's grandmother
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Luck never gives it lends.
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I love that blurry place where life’s transitions are made without you even knowing it.
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It was like a dream you might have after death in which lost people came back to life, your friends loved you again no matter what you had done, and your failures were unaccountably forgiven.
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Starting is hard so I really need to give myself permission to do a bad job. I always give myself leave to write total nonsense for as long as I need to release the pressure, because it's really hard to start if you feel like that first sentence you write has to actually mean something.
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She was still waiting for him to come back to her, even though he wasn't going to. She was still holding out for something that wasn't going to happen. She was good at waiting. That seemed like a sad thing to be good at.
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Her body was a prison, her mind was a prison. Her memories were a prison. The people she loved. She couldn't get away from the hurt of them. She could leave Eric, walk out of her apartment, walk forever if she liked, but she couldn't escape what really hurt. Tonight even the sky felt like a prison.
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Ruins stood for what was lost, and yet there were beautiful-peaceful, historic, intellectual. Not tragic or regrettable. Lena tried to keep hers that way too, and she succeeded to some extent. Why not celebrate what you had rather than spend your time mourning its passing? There could be joy in things that ended.
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His distress and pleasure mixed and married, giving birth to several anxious children.
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