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He wished he had some kind of X-ray vision for the human heart.

Kim Edwards

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Kim Edwards
Age: 66
Born: 1958
Born: May 4
Author
Novelist
Writer
Killeen
Texas
Wished
Rays
Vision
Human
Humans
Heart
Kind

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You missed a lot of heartache, sure. But David, you missed a lot of joy.
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Lately, the world felt fragile, like a blown egg, as if it might shatter beneath a careless touch.
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He'd kept this silence because his own secrets were darker, more hidden, and because he believed that his secrets had created hers.
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A moment was not a single moment at all, but rather an infinite number of different moments, depending on who was seeing things and how.
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She saw herself moving through another life, an exotic, difficult, satisfying life.
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He had never even glimpsed her.
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Its impossible to control the reception of your work - the only thing you can control is the experience of writing itself, and the work you create.
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But she had felt since childhod that her life would n ot be ordinary. A moment would come- she would know it when she saw it- and everything would change.
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The city of Pittsburgh gleaming suddenly before her . . . so startling in its vastness and its beauty that she had gasped and slowed, afraid of losing control of the car
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Once, this whole world had been hidden beneath a shallow sea.
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Either things grow and change or they die.
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Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.
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All that sunny afternoon, traveling north and east, Caroline believed absolutely in the future. And why not? For if the worst had already happened to them in the eyes of the world, then surely, surely, it was the worst that they left behind them now.
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I love to swim, and I love being near water.
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After all these years, I feel so free. Who knows where I might fly?
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Twin threads ran through her: fear and excitement.
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In some deep place in her heart, Caroline had kept alive the silly romantic notion that somehow David Henry had once known her as no one else ever could. But it was not true. He had never even glimpsed her.
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...bleak territory of the heart.
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Writing is always a process of discovery—I never know the end, or even the events on the next page, until they happen. There’s a constant interplay between the imagining and shaping of the story.
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