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I felt a constant, low-flying desperation, the kind you feel when you are trying, trying, trying to get something you will never, ever get.

Deb Caletti

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Deb Caletti
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 16
Novelist
Writer
San Rafael
California
Feels
Trying
Desperation
Kind
Flying
Something
Lows
Never
Constant
Felt
Ever
Feel

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An untold story has a weight that can submerge you, sure as a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean.
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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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Yeah. When you want what's real and you try to find that in high school, you might as well be looking for a mossy rock beside a babbling brook on the corner of Sixth and Pine in downtown Seattle.
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Fear was the biggest bullshitter, he’d said. But sometimes, too, fear told the truth.
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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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Maybe it was wrong, or maybe impossible, but I wanted the truth to be one thing. One solid thing.
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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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When you raise an animal, you live it like your own child.
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I didn't walk over and talk to him, though, not then. If I needed the time for a tree branch to become just a tree branch again and the wind to become just the wind, then a boy, most of all, needed some time to be only a boy.
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I don’t know why we do it. But sometimes we just swim straight for the net.
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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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If time heals all wounds, and a book can hold a person's entire life, then you can speed up the process with a pulp time warp.
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...forever is hard enough without it beginning now.
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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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Darkness does this. It finds all the places you are hiding in. It finds all the things you are holding onto tightly and makes you let go.
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Ive never met a popcorn ball I didnt like.
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So I put up with bad behavior in the name of loving the way I thought you were supposed to love.
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I mean it’s purposeful, even if we don’t realize it. The desire to put things in our path, to figure out how to finally leave the behind….
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You were a stone wall, a fort in high, unreachable trees, an island, my own island, that no boat could reach.
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...wanting things for the wrong reasons can turn anyone's life into a marshmallow on a stick over a hot fire: impossibly messy and eventually consumed, one way or another.
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