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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.
Ann Brashares
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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Beginning
Permitting
Happened
Lena
Even
Dreaded
Long
Mourn
Always
Suspect
Things
Described
Suspects
Carmen
Separation
Mourned
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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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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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You hold on to old experiences: injuries, injustices, and great love affairs, too. And you hold them in your joints and your organs, and wear them on your skin.
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It was their mothers, long ago. Tibby noted with joy that all four of them were wearing jeans.
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This body is breaking down, but I am not.
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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.
Ann Brashares
To write a story, I think you really have to open yourself up to the world.
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They were here all at once, but not together. Survival took self-absorption, and it made them strangers with nothing to do and no way to relate. Emergencies gave you a shape and a plot to take part in, while death was no story at all. It left you nothing.
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Sometimes you need to make a mess. -Loretta, the Rollinses' hosekeeper
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Forget Jack, I'm in love with the cold, dirt floor.
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I told him, though, that he better be good to you. When you came along, I said I'd share you, but I told him to remember that you're my sister. I loved you first.
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You have been with me from the very first life. You are my first memory every time, the single thread in all of my lives. It`s you who makes me a person.
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I dont really write with the idea of trying to teach any lessons. I want to tell a story as truthfully and engagingly as I can, and then let the chips fall where they may.
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Their friendship was only one aspect of their lives but it seemed to give meaning to all the others.
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Marnie loved her better and more honestly than anyone else in the world, with the possible exception of her mother, who loved her intensely if not honestly.
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All the things she planned to feel, the way she planned to look and seem, the appropriate things she planned to say. None of them came to pass.
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As the three of them walked home from the trees, nobody needed to say it, but Ama knew. They had questioned their friendship. They had searched and wondered, looking for a sign. And all along they'd had their trees. You couldn't wear them. You couldn't pass them around. They offered no fashion advantage. But they had roots. They lived.
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The phone was her worst enemy and her best friend but she never knew which until she answered it.
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The happiness at getting what you want is not usually commensurate with the worry leading up to it.
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She realized all at once the deeper thing that bothered her, the thing that made him not just irritating but intolerable: how he kept loving her blindly when she deserved it so little.
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