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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

Ann Brashares

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Ann Brashares
Age: 57
Born: 1967
Born: July 30
Film Writer
Novelist
Writer
City of Alexandria
Virginia
Happened
Lives
Reason
Birthdays
Important
Summers
Really
Marked
Things
Joined
Time
Summer
Completely

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Wear them, they will make you brave.
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But like everything else, love changed.
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I'm dying with you before I'm living without you.
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I love her. I need her. I gave away everything I had for her. I just wanted her to know me.
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How many times could you give up on someone you loved?
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Love is like war easy to begin, hard to end.
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I agree that a love of reading is a great gift for a parent to pass on to his or her child.
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Do you have any idea how much I've loved you?
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Sometimes it is a relief to be invisible
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There was love expressed in the places you usually forget to look.
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There are going to be moments of deep, deep doubts, and you have to have faith that your initial idea was good and just muddle through.
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you remember what is lost, and you forget what's right in front of you.
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What if people knew they were recycled? Would that change anything?
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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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The weather turned. Her skin seemed to grow a million extra pores, and all of them opened to take in the warmth and tenderness of the air. The sun on her face made her want to cry. Into all those millions of open pores came the sunshine, and other feelings as well. In and out. She was porous.
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When you remembered to forget, you were remembering. It was when you forgot to forget that you forgot.
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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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Relief is a short-lived emotion, passive and thin. The agony of doubt disappears, leaving little memory of how it really felt. Life aligns behind the new truth.
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Sometimes he felt sure that the key to happiness was a poor 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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