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Bridget cried for the leavers and the left. For the people, like herself, grimly forsaking what precious gifts they would ever get.

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Would
Grimly
Like
Forsaking
People
Bridget
Cried
Gifts
Precious
Left
Ever
Leavers

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She had never had a boy talk to her like that. There was no cover of bullshit, no flirtation, no added charm, but his look was searing. He was different from anyone she had known.
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Her vision of the world under the water represented a beautiful stillness, a version of heaven. It was the lost city of Lena, her alternate universe, the life she yearned for but didn't get to have.
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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 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.
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You know what the secret is? It's so simple. We love one another. We're nice to one another. Do you know how rare that is? - Carmen
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No matter how far back you cut a willow tree, it will never really die.
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If you didn't have a choice, you had to make a choice. If you didn't have options, you made some. You couldn't just let this world happen to you... he didn't see eternity. He saw this girl and this moment and this one slim chance.
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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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Wish for what you want, work for what you need. -Carmen's grandmother
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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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She wanted him to notice her so much.
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He's had a lot of chances to care, and he hasn't.
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I mean putting yourself out there in the way of overwhelming happiness and knowing you're also putting yourself in the way of terrible harm. I'm scared to be this happy. I'm scared to be this extreme.
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You are not going to die, I know I said I'd let you, but I can't.
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I knew her hair and her coloring and her shapes would be different next time, but the way she wore her body would keep on.
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You should find him because he loves you.
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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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I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.
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Your problem isn't the problem, it's your attitude about the problem.
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Love yourself and your friends unconditionally .
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