Quote

Celia laughs and a curl of her hair falls across her cheek. Marco tentatively moves to brush it off her face, but before his fingers reach her, she pushes herself off the ledge, her silver gown a billowing cloud as she falls onto the pile of jewel-toned cushions.

Erin Morgenstern

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Erin Morgenstern
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: July 8
Novelist
Writer
Moving
Clouds
Brushes
Jewel
Ledge
Fall
Fingers
Jewels
Gowns
Toned
Across
Cloud
Pushes
Ledges
Reach
Cheeks
Curls
Curl
Laughing
Falls
Pile
Cushions
Hair
Onto
Cheek
Gown
Billowing
Face
Moves
Brush
Marco
Tentatively
Faces
Silver
Laughs
Marcos
Celia

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The truest tales require time and familiarity to become what they are.
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But you built me dreams instead.
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I dont think there's anything wrong with being a dreamer. There is not. But dreams have ways of turning into nightmares.
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I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared.
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I'm a firm believer that lighting affects mood, and twinkly lights on strings bring something magical to occasions ranging from concerts to weddings, though I'm fond of using them as year-round home decor. There's a reason why they're sometimes called fairy lights. When the night is right, there aren't any strings at all.
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...have a theory that she is in love with the dream of someone and not an actual person.
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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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The rain increases and umbrellas sprout like mushrooms amongst the graves.
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Perhaps it is controlling the chaos within more than the chaos without.
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It is destroying me that I cannot ask you to dance.
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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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So it’s really best to keep your secrets when you have them, for their own good, as well as yours.
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I wished for her,” he says.
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I don't think there's anything wrong being a dreamer.
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Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink.
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I made a wish on this tree years ago, Marco says. What did you wish for? Bailey asks. Marco leans forward and whispers in Bailey's ear. I wished for her.
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The finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones.
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You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows that they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift.
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And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister's story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead.
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„I forgive you for stealing my shawl.“ She smiles as he laughs. And then she vanishes. A simple trick of distracting his attention long enough to slip out through the hall, despite the lingering temptation to stay.
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