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A drop of poison on that gathering snow. That moment in the fairy tale when we know what just happened but the princess doesn’t.

Deb Caletti

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Deb Caletti
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 16
Novelist
Writer
San Rafael
California
Drop
Fairy
Tales
Snow
Happened
Tale
Moment
Gathering
Doesn
Princess
Moments
Poison

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It's hard to see clearly when your eyes are squinched tight out of fear.
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We can get so wrapped up in our own misconceptions that we miss the simple beauty of the truth.
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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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It was all the things you could never understand and could never possess that made you ache.
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All of my books come from something that I happen to be working out at a given point in my life. Its kind of self-therapy.
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...we are all a volume on the shelf of the... library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands.
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This is just one of those annoying and unjust differences between you and your younger sibling...I was probably fifteen before I could go to a friend's house without giving mom an FBI dossier on the people Bex can practically hitchhike on the freeway with a mere Have fun, honey.
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I shouldn't have to be a liar to make someone love me. I shouldn't be so afraid of losing someone that I'll do anything to make them stay.
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Maybe I was being too picky. Maybe I didn't want to be close to anyone. Maybe I'd just be the type who couldn't feel love all the way or something. I couldn't tell what was wrong, but what was wrong was that it just wasn't right.
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We had lain together, skin on skin, been as close as two people could, and he was a stranger. He was that someone who you are afraid of as a child, stranger. They never told you that stranger might be someone you knew.
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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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Sometimes I’ve even wished there was a human pause button, where you could choose some point in your life where you could stay always.
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Cars are all jammed up all along the road and a light turns red and someone honks. In every one of those cars there is a story or a hundred stories. For every light on in al of those huge city buildings there is a story. No one knows what I am about to face and no one knows my story and neither do I right then.
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One of the hardest tasks as a human being is knowing when to keep an open mind, and when not to.
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Summer, after all, is a time when wonderful things can happen to quiet people.
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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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Funny the only two times we use the phrase seeing someone are when we are referring to being in a a relationship or getting psychological help.
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You can hold a secret, hold it so far in that it drives nearly every thought and every move you make- your very heartbeat, almost.
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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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Sometimes you build up these walls, you build and you build and you build up these walls and you think they’re so strong, but then someone can come along and tip them over with only his fingers, or the weight of his breath.
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