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We can get so wrapped up in our own misconceptions that we miss the simple beauty of the truth.

Deb Caletti

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Deb Caletti
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 16
Novelist
Writer
San Rafael
California
Misconceptions
Misconception
Wrapped
Miss
Missing
Beauty
Simple
Truth

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It took me years to figure out that upset was upset, and tumultuousness was not the same thing as passion. Love isn't drama.
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But my apology was a thousand apologies.
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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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Sometimes you've got to make a mess before you clean it up.
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Ive never met a popcorn ball I didnt like.
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...forever is hard enough without it beginning now.
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I would have spoken, had my heart not been in my throat
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Empathy took the edge off, and the truth is, we need our edge. Our edge is trying to speak to us, and we are too, too good at shutting it up.
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I finally learned that it was all right to say something wasn’t working for me when it wasn’t working. The world doesn’t come crashing down when you speak the truth.
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The most true-love words are not the ones that grasp and hold and bind you, twisting you both up together in some black dance. No, they are ones that leave you free to stand alone on your own solid ground, leave him to do the same, a tender space between you.
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Stories took twists and turns down fairy-tale paths or down very human everyday ones. You think you’re at the end of the book, and it’s only the end of a chapter.
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My subconscious speaks in a foreign language.
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Fear was the biggest bullshitter, he’d said. But sometimes, too, fear told the truth.
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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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A person could leave you so quickly. So much history and time and memories, but they snuck away from you, and other things took their place. How could you hold on? Wait. A bigger question. The biggest. How could you hold on and let go?
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I'd always thought telling the truth to other people was hard, but maybe that was a snap compared to telling the truth to yourself. Sometimes we just refused to know what we knew.
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What’s that about? Love must be more about power than we think, if even in its most intimate moment of expression we think about not being the one who risks the most.
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It was possible, maybe, to have facts in your mind that weren't facts at all. You could build a whole life's story on false assumptions. You could make truths out of untruths and untruths out of truths. Until you spoke them, really said them out loud or checked for sure, you may not have known which were which.
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She would bring you some great book because she was a book matchmaker, because she loved books the way other girls loved clothes.
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Because words were hills and valleys you traveled, so lovely sometimes that they hurt your eyes.
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