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Remember how it was when we kissed? Armfuls and armfuls of light thrown right at us. A rope dropping down from the sky. How can the word love and the word life even fit in the mouth?

Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 58
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Sky
Word
Kissed
Light
Dropping
Remember
Rope
Right
Thrown
Even
Mouth
Love
Mouths
Life
Fit

More quotes by Jandy Nelson

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You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.
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Years ago, I was crashed in gram’s garden and Big asked me what I was doing. I told him I was looking up at the sky. He said, “That’s a misconception, Lennie, the sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.
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But then I think about my sister and what a shell-less turtle she was and how she wanted me to be one too. C'mon, Lennie, she used to say to me at least ten times a day. C'mon Len. And that makes me feel better, like it's her life rather than her death that is now teaching me how to be, who to be.
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But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
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Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?
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Meeting your soul mate is like walking into a house you've been in before - you will recognize the furniture, the pictures on the wall,the books on the shelves, the contents of drawers: You could find your way around in the dark if you had to.
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Sometimes you think you know things, know things very deeply, only to realize you don't know a damn thing.
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Take a (second or third or fourth) chance. Remake the world.
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The. World. Is. Not. A. Safe. Place.
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People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.
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I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I'm watching it burn right to the ground.
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It’s never occurred to me that the stars are still up there shining even in the daytime when we can’t see them.
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This is our story to tell. You’d think for all the reading I do, I would have thought about this before, but I haven’t. I’ve never once thought about the interpretative, the story telling aspect of life, of my life. I always felt like I was in a story, yes, but not like I was the author of it, or like I had any say in its telling whatsoever.
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The Color Of Extraordinary.
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This is what I want: I want to grab my brother’s hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.
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When he plays all the flowers swap colors and years and decades and centuries of rain pour back into the sky
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In one split second I saw everything I could be, everything I want to be. And all that I'm not.
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Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.
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I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.
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grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell a house that blows into the air at the slightest gust that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping
Jandy Nelson