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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.
Jennifer Donnelly
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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Says
Diamonds
Stars
Mama
Heaven
Fountain
Soul
Diamond
Look
Breaking
Cascade
Looks
Souls
Fountains
Things
Loves
Strangest
Like
Watches
Sparkling
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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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I just love historical fiction.
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It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
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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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Turn away. From the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and look at the light.
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The greenest of pastures are right here on earth.
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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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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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It has an L on it. L for love. See? It's the key to the universe, Dad. You said you were looking for it. You told Mom you were. I found it for you so you don't have to look anymore. So you can come home at night.
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Writers are damned liars. Every single one of 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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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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Airports should all belong to the same country. The country of Crappacia. Or Bleakovania. Or Suckitan.
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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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Who knew that listening to a guy sleep could be so much deeper than sleeping with a guy.
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I think your vision gets better as you get older.
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We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.
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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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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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