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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.

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Sadness
Anger
Easier
Came
Back
Evaporated
Bridget
Owned
Whereas

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Let me love you, but don't love me back. Do love me and let me hate you for a while. Let me feel like I have some control, because I know I never do.
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Today is the tomorrow we worried about yesterday.
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A loving soul was always more beautiful over the long haul, but actual prettiness was fleeting.
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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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You should find him because he loves you.
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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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It took the real thing to show you the size of your delusions.
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I was supposed to write a romantic comedy, but my characters broke up.
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She wasn't as destructive as Bee. She had never been as dramatic. Rather, she'd slipped carefully, stealthily away from her ghosts.
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Life isn't just fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all. -William Goldman
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But like everything else, love changed.
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Different people were good at different things, Lena mused. Lena was good at writing thank-you notes, for instance, and Effie was good at being happy.
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Carmen hated the 'life is too short rationalization. She thought it was one of the lamer excuses in the history of excuse-making. Whenever you did something because life is too short not to, you could be sure life would be just long enough to punish you for it.
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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?
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Tibby's wish would be to hold on to the idea of love even in the face of darkest doubt. Because that was the way in which she failed. Not once, but again and again.
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I love the idea of fictional worlds kind of all cohering in some way.
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What if people knew they were recycled? Would that change anything?
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You forget your victories, but you remember the losses.
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And I thought about the color and I realized what blue it was. It was the soft and changeable, essential blue of a well-worn pair of pants. Pants = Love
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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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