Quote

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.

Jandy Nelson

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Hands
Coats
Back
Shoulders
Years
Falling
Time
Losing
Like
Brother
Hand
Fall
Running
Grab

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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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The guy's life drunk, I think, makes Candide look like a sourpuss. Does he even know that death exists?
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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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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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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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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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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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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?
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Take a (second or third or fourth) chance. Remake the world.
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Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.
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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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For the first time in our lives, I’m somewhere she can’t find, and I don’t have the map to give her that leads to me.
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Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
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You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.
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Grief is forever. It doesn't go away it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.
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No hot guys should be allowed to have an English accent and drive a motorcycle. Not to mention wear the leather jacket or sport the cool shades. Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.
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I wish my shadow would get up and walk beside me.
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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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Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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And why do English people sound smarter than the rest of us? Like they should be awarded the Nobel Prize for a simple greeting?
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