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I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what I wanted to be real.
Erin Morgenstern
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Erin Morgenstern
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: July 8
Novelist
Writer
Couldn
Difference
Differences
Tell
Wanted
Real
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Scent is often underestimated, when it can be the most evocative.
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I'm an emotional sort of person in general and I have a vivid imagination, so I feel the whole spectrum of emotion strongly when I write.
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You don't have to be a chef or even a particularly good cook to experience proper kitchen alchemy: the moment when ingredients combine to form something more delectable than the sum of their parts.
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Follow your dreams Bailey. Be they Harvard or somehing else entirely. No matter what that father of yours says, or how loudly he might say it. He forgets that he was someone's dream once, himself
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I have been surrounded by love letters you two have built each other for years, encased in tents.
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Celia. he says without looking up at her, why do we wind our watch? Because everything requires energy, she recites obediently, eyes still focused on her hand. We must put effort and energy into anything we wish to change.
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Are we going to discuss whatever it is you are here to discuss instead of dancing around it?” he asks. “I was never a particularly good dancer.
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I cannot let a place that is so important to so many people fade away. Something that is wonder and comfort and mystery all together that they have nowhere else. If you had that, wouldn't you want to keep it?
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I do not see as well without her. I do not hear as well without her. I do not feel as well without her. I would be better off without a hand or a leg than without my sister.
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Do you remember all of your audiences? Marco asks. Not all of them, Celia says. But I remember the people who look at me the way you do. What way might that be? As though they cannot decide if they are afraid of me or they want to kiss me. I am not afraid of you, Marco says.
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You look like a ghost, Bailey says. He can think of no better way to describe it. You appear the same way to me, so which of us is real?
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She turns her head, Bailey catches her eye, and she smiles at him. Not in the way that one smiles at a random member of the audience when one is in the middle of performing circus tricks with unusually talented kittens but in the way that one smiles when one recognizes someone they have not seen in some time.
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I do not like sitting idly by when something clearly isn't right. I feel... not trapped but something like it, and I don't know what to about.
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How are you managing to keep everyone from aging?” Celia asks after a while. “Very carefully,” Marco answers.
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Misdirection is one of my strengths.
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I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you.
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The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it’s still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now.
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It's not a real name, she says. Not one that he's carried with him always. It's one he wears like his hat. So he can take it off if he wants.
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He forgets that he was someone's dream once, himself.
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Timing is a sensitive thing.
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