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Writers are damned liars. Every single one of them.

Jennifer Donnelly

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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Writers
Single
Every
Damned
Liars

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It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
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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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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 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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Bravery is feeling fear but doing the thing anyway.
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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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Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either
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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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Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine.
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I struggled for a long time to get anything published.
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Never take what's offered, always ask for more.
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He pressed himself into me and kissed my neck, and it was as if everything strong and solid inside me, heart and bones and muscle and gut, softened and melted from the heat of him.
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Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.
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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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There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.
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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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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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We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.
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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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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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