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Actually, I love trying to figure out why certain books become hits while others, which may be just as good, have trouble finding an audience.

Jay Asher

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Jay Asher
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: September 30
Novelist
Writer
Arcadia
California
Others
Findings
Become
Finding
Certain
Figure
May
Figures
Book
Trouble
Trying
Books
Good
Audience
Love
Actually
Hits

More quotes by Jay Asher

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How in the world was I alone? Because I wanted to be. That's all I can say. It's all that makes sense to me.
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You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own.
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Could be my soul mate / two kindred spirits / Maybe we're not / I guess we'll never / know
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God, I am freaking out. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe I just look guilty of something and he’s picking up on that.
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Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful.
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I simply wanted a kiss. I was a freshman girl who had never been kissed. Never. But I liked the boy, he liked me, and I was going to kiss him. That's the story, the whole story, right there.
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Sometimes we have thoughts that even we don't understand. Thoughts that aren't even true—that aren't really how we feel—but they're running through our heads anyway because they're interesting to think about.
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We both laugh. And it feels good. A release. Like laughing at a funeral. Maybe inappropriate, but definitely needed.
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I could picture life—school and everything else—continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine who would attend or what they would say.
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She wants to believe my excuses so bad. Every time I lie, she wants to believe me so much.
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He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.
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If time was a string connecting all of your stories, that party would be the point where everything knots up. And that knot keeps growing and growing, getting more and more tangled, dragging the rest of your stories into it.
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I’m sorry.” Once again, those were the words. And now, anytime someone says I’m sorry, I’m going to think of her.
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You can't go back to how things were. How you thought they were. All you really have is...now.
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A week went by and nothing. But eventually, as they always will, the rumors reached me. And everyone knows you can't disprove a rumor.
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If my love were an ocean, there would be no more land. If my love were a desert, you would see only sand. If my love were a star- late at night, only light. And if my love could grow wings, I'd be soaring in flight.
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I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.
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This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it.
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When you try rescuing someone and discover they can't be reached, why would you ever throw that back in their face?
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I want to look back. To look over my shoulder and see the Stop sign with huge reflective letters, pleading with Hannah. Stop!
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