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She cared about him too much, and he was a dangerous person to love. He wouldn't love her back.

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Cared
Wouldn
Dangerous
Persons
Back
Person
Much
Love

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When I turned fifteen, I remember my father gave me a credit card which I was allowed to use for two things: emergencies and books.
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Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks- the traffic signal that said Walk the second you go there- and downticks- the itch tag at the back of your collar- that happened to every person in the course of the day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day.
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His distress and pleasure mixed and married, giving birth to several anxious children.
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How could you cleanse yourself if you couldn’t forget?
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Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. I'm scared... , she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them.
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Lena always described how she dreaded and mourned things before they even happened. Carmen was beginning to suspect that she was permitting herself to mourn this long separation only now that it was over.
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People sometimes talk about the power of first impressions, and believe me, there is truth to it.
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Maybe it didn’t matter if you were a world-famous heartthrob or a painful geek. Maybe it didn’t matter if you friend was possibly dying. Maybe you just got through it. Maybe that was all you could ask for.
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What if people knew they were recycled? Would that change anything?
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She hadn't chosen the brave life. She'd chosen the small, fearful one.
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Some things have to be believed to be seen. -Ralph Hodgson
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You forget your victories, but you remember the losses.
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Lena knew she had spent too much of her life in a state of passive dread, just waiting for something bad to happen. In a life like that, relief was as close as you got to happiness.
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Love yourself and your friends unconditionally .
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I do believe that characters in novels belong to their writers and their readers pretty equally. I've learned a lot of things about the characters I write from people who read about them. Readers expand them in ways I don't think of and take them to places I can't go.
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Shy” was the sympathetic interpretation she got from older people. “Snotty” was the interpretation she got from people her own age.
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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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A loving soul was always more beautiful over the long haul, but actual prettiness was fleeting.
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Pain is fear, and I'm not afraid.
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What Daniel taketh away, Daniel giveth.
Ann Brashares