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She was alive, and they were dead. She had to try to make her life big. As big as she could. She promised Bailey she would keep playing.

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Trying
Make
Bailey
Would
Promised
Life
Dead
Playing
Alive
Bigs
Keep

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So far, she’d been her usual lame self: solitary and routine-loving, carefully avoiding any path that might lead to spontaneous human interaction. Lena Kaligaris
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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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She closed her eyes. I didn't know that. i didn't know anything. It scares me the things I told myself. But I would have told myself almost anything, because I wanted to believe him. Why? Because I wanted to be with you.
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We aren't in high school. We aren't really in our families and we aren't in our houses. Those are the places we grew up and the times we spent together, but they aren't us. If think they are, then we're lost, because times end and places are lost. We aren't any place or any time . . . We are everywhere.
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Time is what keeps things from happening all at once.
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She'd cried over a broken heart before. She knew what that felt like, and it didn't feel like this. Her heart felt not so much broken as just ... empty. It felt like she was an outline empty in the middle. The outline cried senselessly for the absent middle. The past cried for the present that was nothing.
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Love didn't necessarily look the way you expected it to.
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Wish for what you want, work for what you need. -Carmen's grandmother
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She cared about him too much, and he was a dangerous person to love. He wouldn't love her back.
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She remembered me.' This was his worst weakness, his most toxic drug.
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You'll turn out ordinary if you're not careful.
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What you leave behind is the people you loved. You leave yourself in them.
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I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.
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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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She thought she was independent and strong, but she got one small taste of love and she was hungrier than anyone. She was ravenous.
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She had willed her heart to stay small and contained, but it wouldn’t be. Oh, well.
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I think pants have unique qualities, especially in a woman’s life. Whatever bodily insecurities we have, we seem to take out on our pants.
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Besides being asked why I write about young characters, I am often asked how I write about young characters. How do I throw myself across the chasm of full adulthood to relive that period? I guess I don’t, really. Age is not so much a feature of your character, as the spot where you stand for a pretty fleeting time on the arc of your life.
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You don't have time, Len. That is the most bitter and the most beautiful pieve of advice I can offer. If you don't have what you want now, you don't have what you want. -pg276
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What if people knew they were recycled? Would that change anything?
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