Quote

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

Jennifer Donnelly

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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Feel
Guitar
Neck
Feels
Please
Necks
Something
Hold
Warmth
Make
Tell
Breath
Life
Place
Breaths
Around
Skin
Silently
Stills
Skins
Slip
Still
Sadness
Slips

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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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Yeah. Sure. My brother's dead. My mother's insame. Hey, let's have a crepe.
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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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A new word. Bright with possibilities. A flawless pearl to turn over and over in my hand, then put away for safekeeping.
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The greenest of pastures are right here on earth.
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Turn away. From the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and look at the light.
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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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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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The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not.
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It's only the body that's gone. Only the body. There's a part that doesn't go in the ground, a part that stays inside you forever.
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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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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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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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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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She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.
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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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I think your vision gets better as you get older.
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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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You can't argue with the dead, no matter what you say, they always have the last word.
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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.
Jennifer Donnelly