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Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.

Jennifer Donnelly

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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Emotions
Fast
Emotion
Meth
Hope
Hooks
Hard
Crystal
Crystals
Kills
Hook

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She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.
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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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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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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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For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.
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Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.
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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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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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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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It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
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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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Who knew that listening to a guy sleep could be so much deeper than sleeping with a guy.
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But his words fall away. He looks confused. He looks flustered and sorry. Like you do when you run up to someone you think you know and take her arm and she turns around and you were wrong.
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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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There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.
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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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The greenest of pastures are right here on earth.
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Writers are damned liars. Every single one of them.
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I think your vision gets better as you get older.
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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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