Quote

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.

Jennifer Donnelly

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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Even
Boots
Kilts
Long
Wearing
Tees
People
Warm
Auras
Though
Sleeve
Keep
Sleeves
Beautiful
Coat
Need
December
Needs
Coats
Kilt

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We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.
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Bravery is feeling fear but doing the thing anyway.
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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 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 play until my fingers are blue and stiff from the cold, and then I keep on playing. Until I'm lost in the music. Until I am the music--notes and chords, the melody and harmony. It hurts, but it's okay because when I'm the music, I'm not me. Not sad. Not afraid. Not desperate. Not guilty.
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Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?
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I played a role. That is what actors do. But I played it too well. I went too far. And by the time I wanted to stop, to take a bow and leave the stage, it was too late.
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The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not.
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Voice is not just the sound that comes from your throat, but the feelings that come from your words.
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One expects decent people to stand up for the good of all. Decent people shut their doors and hide behind them as decent people do. Massacres could never happen if it weren't for decent people.
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History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.
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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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Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.
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Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.
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There were times when I lifted my face to the sky, stretched my arms wide to the winter night, and laughed out loud, so happy was I. The memory of it makes me laugh now, but not from happiness. Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.
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Writers are damned liars. Every single one of them.
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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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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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There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.
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She was his soulmate, as much a part of him as the very flesh and bone that made him. She was with him, in him, in everything he did. She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.
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