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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

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Jandy Nelson
Age: 58
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Everyone
Blow
Disappears
House
Grief
Slightest
Someone
Ground
Bell
Time
Door
Blows
Air
Bells
Doors
Sleeping
Buries
Deep
Rings
Gust
Sleep
Disappear
Knocks

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I can't shove the dark out of my way.
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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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We wish with our hands, that's what we do as artists.
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Take a (second or third or fourth) chance. Remake the world.
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When people fall in love, they burst into flames.
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She's a sun-kissed beach girl who goes gothgrungepunkhippierockeremocoremetalfreakfashionistabraingeekboycrazyhiphoprastagirl to keep it under wraps.
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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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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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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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... if you're someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time, aren't you also someone who knows the best thing can happen at any time too?
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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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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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Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.
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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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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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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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Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?
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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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Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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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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