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We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.

Jennifer Donnelly

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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Lad
Punished
Sins
Sin

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I just love historical fiction.
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It's only the body that's gone. Only the body. There's a part that doesn't go in the ground, a part that stays inside you forever.
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I think your vision gets better as you get older.
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He's wearing boots, a kilt, and a long-sleeve tee. No coat, even though it's December. Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.
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Writers are damned liars. Every single one of them.
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Sometimes, when you catch someone unaware at just the right time and in just the right light, you can catch sight of what they will be.
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A new word. Bright with possibilities. A flawless pearl to turn over and over in my hand, then put away for safekeeping.
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Who knew that listening to a guy sleep could be so much deeper than sleeping with a guy.
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For the first time, I saw what was in his heart, and I wondered if he might ever want to look deep enough to see mine.
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There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.
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I grew up on a mixed diet of mass and class, and I still read that way. I hate it when people apologize for what they read. Some bestsellers aren't exactly literary. So what? They're fun and rip-roaring, Who instituted the book police and why do we have to answer them? Grrrrr!
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Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.
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The guitar's still around me. I slip it off and put it down. I want to feel him. To feel his breath on my neck. The warmth of his skin. To feel something other than sadness. Hold me, I tell him silently. Hold me here. To this place. This life. Make me want you. Want this. Want something. Please
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The greenest of pastures are right here on earth.
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There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now - white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.
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For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.
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Men are the weak ones, luv. Didn't you know? Oh, you make a lot of noise, but its the women who are strong. Where it counts. In 'ere.
Jennifer Donnelly
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Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.
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Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine.
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It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
Jennifer Donnelly