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She perched on her windowsill, gazing at the lurid sun soaking into the Caldera, trying to appreciate it even though she couldn’t have it. Why did she always feel she had to do something in the face of beauty?
Ann Brashares
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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Feel
Gazing
Feels
Appreciate
Even
Sun
Trying
Couldn
Something
Beauty
Windowsill
Always
Face
Lurid
Though
Perched
Faces
Soaking
More quotes by Ann Brashares
My household is, in a nice way, very busy.
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I love her. I need her. I gave away everything I had for her. I just wanted her to know me.
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How is it that a person could be so relieved and so disappointed, both at the same time.
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As much as I'm drawn to writing about teenage girls, I like the idea of having the freedom to branch out and write about different ages, for different ages.
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Bridget's anger evaporated and the sadness came back. The anger was easier. She owned and contolled it, whereas the sadness owned her.
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No matter how far back you cut a willow tree, it will never really die.
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It’s natural to overlook and even sacrifice the things that belong to us most easily most gracefully. So here’s me asking you to please not make that mistake.
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Lena realized that a fundamental layer of their happiness depended on the four of them being close to one another. Their lives were independent and full. Their friendship was only one aspect of their lives, but it seemed to give meaning to all the others.
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Try, reach, want, and you may fall. But even if you do, you might be okay anyway. If you don't try, you save nothing, because you might as well be dead.
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But like everything else, love changed.
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The dreams weren’t as pleasing when they had no chance of coming true
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There was one thing Bridget like about guys. They took insults well.
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She knew that when she got old it would be more fun to look back on a life of romance and adventure than a life of quiet habits. But looking back was easy. It was the doing that was painful. There were plenty of things she would like to look back on but wasn't willing to risk.
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She used to cry roughly three times a year. Now she seemed to cry three times before breakfast. Could that be considered progress?
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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 knew whose love she doubted. It wasn't her parents' and it wasn't her friends: It was her own.
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It was probably good you couldn't flip the love switch because sometimes it was what you needed even if you didn't want it.
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You forget your victories, but you remember the losses.
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When you remembered to forget, you were remembering. It was when you forgot to forget that you forgot.
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Carmen didn't like change, and she certainly didn't like endings.
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