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Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
Jennifer Donnelly
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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Filled
Happiness
Happy
Need
Purse
Needs
Purses
Men
Heartache
Shakespeare
Useless
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Only the hopeless love God.
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I've always admired your rather formidable will, your refusal to back away from difficulties, but sometimes strength isn't about perseverance. Sometimes it's about knowing when to quit.
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Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.
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Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.
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I struggled for a long time to get anything published.
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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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Yeah. Sure. My brother's dead. My mother's insame. Hey, let's have a crepe.
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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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There is an advantage to be found in most everything that happens to you, even if it is not immediately apparent.
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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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I just love historical fiction.
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I will go out again this very night with my rockets and fuses. I will blow them straight out of their comfortable beds. Blow the rooftops off their houses. Blow the black, wretched night to bits. I will not stop. For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.
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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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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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We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.
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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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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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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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Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.
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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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