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The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not.

Jennifer Donnelly

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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Brutal
Stupid
Goes
World

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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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I just love historical fiction.
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It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
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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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Never take what's offered, always ask for more.
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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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I know it is a bad thing to break a promise, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you.
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Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.
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For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.
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You can't argue with the dead, no matter what you say, they always have the last word.
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He loves the sparkling fountains and their cascades and says the strangest things as he watches them. they look like stars breaking. Or, They look like Mama's diamonds. Or, They look like all the souls in heaven.
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I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.
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I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.
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Things are NEVER what they seem, Pa, I thought. I used to think they were, but I was wrong or stupid or blind or something. Old folks are forever complaining about their failing eyesight, but I think your vision gets better as you get older. Mine surely was.
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Only the hopeless love God.
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Becuse God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.
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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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He pressed himself into me and kissed my neck, and it was as if everything strong and solid inside me, heart and bones and muscle and gut, softened and melted from the heat of him.
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Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
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The King walks. He nods. His glance is like God's touch - under it all things spring to life. A wave of his hand and a hundred musicians tear into the Handel, making a sound you've never heard before, and never will again. A sound that goes through you, through flesh and bone, and reorders the very beat of your heart.
Jennifer Donnelly