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The most haunting thing was not that he didn't love her anymore. She could have accepted that eventually. The most haunting thing was that he did. He loved her from afar. He loved her in a way that was preserved in time, that couldn't be sullied. And she tended it in her careful, curatorial way.

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Thing
Preserved
Way
Eventually
Time
Accepted
Love
Careful
Anymore
Sullied
Couldn
Tended
Loved
Haunting
Didn
Afar

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I always interpret coincidences as little clues to our destiny
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She felt like parts of her soul were missing, had left her body long ago. It had happened not in Greece three months ago, but long before that. It was in Greece that she'd realized those parts had left her and were not coming back.
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Women always seemed to bring the size they wished they were to the fitting room, rather than the size that would actually fit.
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He could lose himself in her forever, he thought.
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There was nothing new in sitting on this dock, on this or that wooden bench, watching for his boat to come. In some ways, she was always waiting for him.
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It’s more that I’m afraid of time. And not having enough of it. Time to figure out who I’m supposed to be… to find my place in the world before I have to leave it. I’m afraid of what I’ll miss.
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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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No matter how far back you cut a willow tree, it will never really die.
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All I could think to do was love her. That's all a person can do.
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There were those emotions down there, and though she couldn't quite feel them, they were strong and she feared them. It was like watching a thunderhead from high up in a plane, and though you weren't under it, you knew how it would feel if you were. You knew you'd have to land eventually.
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She knew that when she got old it would be more fun to look back on a life of romance and adventure than a life of quiet habits. But looking back was easy. It was the doing that was painful. There were plenty of things she would like to look back on but wasn't willing to risk.
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You get older and you learn there is one sentence just four worlds long and if you can say it to yourself it offers more comfort than almost any other. It goes like this… Ready ” “Ready.” “At least I tried.
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I'm dying with you before I'm living without you.
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She closed her eyes. I didn't know that. i didn't know anything. It scares me the things I told myself. But I would have told myself almost anything, because I wanted to believe him. Why? Because I wanted to be with you.
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He'd pushed her. He'd scared her. He'd besieged her. He'd vowed he wouldn't, and he did.
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she never showed girly weaknesses like cellulite or crushes. she never lingered on injustices committed against her.
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Gestating characters feels something like the mental equivalent of gestating a baby. In both cases, to create them you lose yourself. Or at least you reshape yourself to encompass them.
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