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Life was a short window and there was no sense in doing the wrong thing over and over even if it was so difficult to stop.

Anna Godbersen

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Anna Godbersen
Age: 44
Born: 1980
Born: April 10
Writer
Berkeley
California
Sense
Even
Thing
Window
Life
Short
Stop
Choices
Wrong
Difficult

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Diana felt she was beginning to understand why, in all those novels she read, the headiest loves were the loves that couldn't be.
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The value of secrets is ever fluctuating although ladies who have been in society for a long time learn that a secret kept can be worth more than a secret told.
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Always stay sharp on railways and cruise ships for transit has a way of making everything clear.
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Henry closed his eyes and imagined the sweet petulant woundedness with which she had stared at him on the beach. He felt a little proud that she could love him.
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Love is all right, as things go, but lovers can be a terrible waste of a girl's time.
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That was the way love was, she guessed-it left you always unsteady on your feet.
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That was how the heroine of a book would play it and Diana was still writing her own story the best heroines she'd always believed took their fate into their own hands.
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Henry turned his hat in his hands but went on looking at Diana in a way that made her want to crawl into his arms and stay there forever.
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After Henry's treatment of her she wasn't sure that men could honestly love women but she wanted to believe it. She wanted to be told pretty things and for the frightening clip of her heart to slow to something more reasonable.
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As she always did on any really important day, Penelope Hayes wore red.
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Girls took to dressing like boys, and though women had obtained the vote, we had swiftly moved on to pursuing flashier freedoms: necking in cars and smoking cigarettes and walking down city streets in flesh colored stockings.
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Her life, she realized, had all the charm of a steel trap.
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She was trying to sound tough and impatient, but she knew that vulnerable desire to be wooed was still brimming in her tone.
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Instead, he sat in the parlor of his family's Fifth Avenue mansion, growing older by the minute just like everybody else.
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Henry was thinking of the younger Holland sister of the way she could go from being an impetuous girl to a knowing woman in a few seconds and never lose the stars in her eyes.
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It seemed to her as though everything that was good and true had been blasted out of the world. All those things had been crushed destroyed made to disappear.
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We see our sins reflected everywhere: in the pallor of our intimates’ faces, in the scratching of tree branches against windows, in the strange movements of everyday objects. These may be messages from God or tricks of the eye, but in neither case are we permitted to ignore them.
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A young woman, newly wed, may find herself in the delightful position of wanting to do nothing without the company of her darling husband. She may indeed discover that she spends all her waking hours with her fellow to the exclusion of every other friend or family member. This is understandable, but wholly unacceptable, to society.
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I've always believed in savoring the moments. In the end, they are the only things we'll have.
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She had rarely been near Henry since then, and the sight of him now was like a concentrated dose.
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