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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.

Jennifer Donnelly

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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Nails
Strings
Hurt
Forget
Hands
Fingertips
Doe
Bleed
Play
Nail
Heart
Rip

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The greenest of pastures are right here on earth.
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She's got a big belt around her hips. It has a shiny buckle with PRADA on it, which is Italian for insecure.
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I just love historical fiction.
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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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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 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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I think your vision gets better as you get older.
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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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Only the hopeless love God.
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We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.
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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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Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
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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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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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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.
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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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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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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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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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Who knew that listening to a guy sleep could be so much deeper than sleeping with a guy.
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