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Sometimes he felt sure that the key to happiness was a poor memory.

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Keys
Memories
Sure
Poor
Happiness
Felt
Sometimes
Memory

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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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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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She wondered if maybe tragedy was what it took to make your heart capable of admitting a new member.
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A loving soul was always more beautiful over the long haul, but actual prettiness was fleeting.
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There were certain qualities you possessed carelessly. And you couldn't retrieve them when they were gone. The very act of caring made them impossible to regain.
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Why does he have to be my boyfriend? Are you inferior if you don't have a boyfriend? Why does everybody have to be in love with somebody?
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I did the searching and remembering, she did the disappearing and the forgetting.
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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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You surround yourself with your pain or you avoid it and let it find you when you are trying to do other things
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I always interpret coincidences as little clues to our destiny
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The present no matter what I brought couldn’t change the past. The Past was set and sealed.
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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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She must have sensed she never really had him. That was a sadness of hers, he knew.
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you remember what is lost, and you forget what's right in front of you.
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Love made you admire funny things about a person, like how good she was at remembering to return her library books and at slicing cucumbers very thin. She was a veritable wonder at pulling a splinter out of her foot.
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Wish for what you want, work for what you need. -Carmen's grandmother
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To write a story, I think you really have to open yourself up to the world.
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For some reason our lives were marked by summers. . . . Summer was the time when our lives joined completely, when we all had our birthdays, when really important things happened
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Grief was like a newborn, and the first three months were hard as hell, but by six months you'd recognized defeat, shifted your life around, and made room for it.
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