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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
Air
Bells
Doors
Sleeping
Buries
Deep
Rings
Gust
Sleep
Disappear
Knocks
Everyone
Blow
Disappears
House
Grief
Slightest
Someone
Ground
Bell
Time
Door
Blows

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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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The. World. Is. Not. A. Safe. Place.
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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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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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When people fall in love, they burst into flames.
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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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Someone might as well roll up the whole sky, pack it away for good.
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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 wish my shadow would get up and walk beside me.
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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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And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it's night, day breaks.
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But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
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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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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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Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
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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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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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