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Love seems to be something to approach with caution, as if you'd come across a wrapped box in the middle of the street and have no idea what it contains.

Deb Caletti

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Deb Caletti
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 16
Novelist
Writer
San Rafael
California
Middle
Wrapped
Idea
Caution
Seems
Contains
Ideas
Boxes
Come
Street
Something
Across
Love
Approach
Streets

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Supposedly there's an actual, researched link between extreme creativity and mental illness, and I believe it because I've seen it with my own eyes.
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When what you want is a relationship, and not a person, get a dog.
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But an apology too — you think you’re giving something, but you’re not. You’re really asking for something. You’re asking for forgiveness, you’re asking for the other injured person to make it okay for you. Apologies were harder work for the person getting one than the person giving one.
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But what I wanted back had never really been there. He was a temporary illusion, a mirage of water after walking in the desert. I had made him up. And he could have killed me. You've got to stop the ride sometimes. Stop it and get off.
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But sometimes, too, you have this little feeling of knowing, this fuzzy, gnawing sense that someone will become a major something in your life. You just know that theirs will be a life you will enter and become a part of.
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The scariest part of forever is that nothing is.
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I vow... to not let the back & forth of forgiveness interrupt the steadiness of love.
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I tended to give a book a chance and another chance and another, sometimes seeing it all the way to the end, still hoping for for it turn out different. Maybe I was confused about what you owed a book. What you owed people, for that matter, real or fictional.
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... But then again, a person could turn ugly. Their actual look could change when their actions were repulsive.
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Love. She looked at me with those blue eyes. Isn't it astonishing how confused and complicated such a small,simple word is? It attracts so many other things, doesn't it, that stick to it like barnacles on rock...fear, guilt. Need. You can't even see the rock anymore. I imagine love in its purest form is a rare thing.
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You take care of the people you love, but it’s true, too, that you take care of the things you own.
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Hope could be the most powerful thing or the most useless.
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We should not give away a moment to anyone who does not deserve it.
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Maybe a person's world can grow bigger in all the right ways, not too wide that it becomes shallow, just large enough to preserve its depth.
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You could put your confusion and upset and worries into whatever book you were reading. You could sort of set them down in there, and you could come out with your head on a little straighter. I don't why stories worked that way, but they did.
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She'd be one of those parents who left a kid behind at a rest stop, driving for miles before she noticed. We'd hear about her on the evening news.
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All of us create our own versions of an event, of our lives, even, not because were liars, necessarily, but because we can only see and understand the truth from our own viewpoint, and a shifting viewpoint at that.
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Here, kitty, kitty, Chico says. The cover of his cage is still on, making his tiny clown voice slightly muffled. I feel bad for him under there, just waiting to start his evil little day...Freud walks toward Chico in his slinky fashion, sits under his cage and just stares. We have satanic pets...our pets seem to have made a pact with the devil.
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The magic of purpose and of love in its purest form. Not televison love, with its glare and hollow and sequined glint not sex and allure, all high shoes and high drama, everything both too small and in too much excess, but just love. Love like rain, like the smell of a tangerine, like a surprise found in your pocket.
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If letting go, if letting people and things work themselves out in the way that they needed to without your help was the most important thing, then it was also the hardest.
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