Quote

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: 59
Born: 1965
Born: November 25
Writer
New York City
New York
Time
Door
Blows
Air
Bells
Doors
Sleeping
Buries
Deep
Rings
Gust
Sleep
Disappear
Knocks
Everyone
Blow
Disappears
House
Grief
Slightest
Someone
Ground
Bell

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The. World. Is. Not. A. Safe. Place.
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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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You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.
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The Color Of Extraordinary.
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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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... 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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... 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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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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When people fall in love, they burst into flames.
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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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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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She's a sun-kissed beach girl who goes gothgrungepunkhippierockeremocoremetalfreakfashionistabraingeekboycrazyhiphoprastagirl to keep it under wraps.
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I can't shove the dark out of my way.
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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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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 forever. It doesn't go away it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.
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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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Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
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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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