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The guy's life drunk, I think, makes Candide look like a sourpuss. Does he even know that death exists?

Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 58
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Think
Exists
Thinking
Guy
Life
Death
Like
Makes
Doe
Look
Candide
Looks
Witty
Even
Drunk

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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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But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
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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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Take a (second or third or fourth) chance. Remake the world.
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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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I can't shove the dark out of my way.
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Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it's night, day breaks.
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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
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This is it--what all the hoopla is about, what Wuthering Heights is about--it all boils down to this feeling rushing through me in this moment with Joe as our mouths refuse to part. Who knew all this time I was one kiss away from being Cathy and Juliet and Elizabeth Bennet and Lady Chatterley!?
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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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We were all heading for each other on a collision course, no matter what. Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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... every available inch of his face busts into a smile - whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o'-lantern happy, which couldn't be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect.
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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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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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You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.
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It's such a colossal effort not to be haunted by what's lost, but to be enchanted by what was.
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Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?
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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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Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.
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