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They tied me back together, but they didn't use double knots. My insides are draining out of the fault lines in my skin, I can feel it, but every time I check the bandages, they're dry.

Laurie Halse Anderson

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Laurie Halse Anderson
Age: 63
Born: 1961
Born: October 23
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Laurie Beth Halse
Feel
Skin
Draining
Feels
Skins
Knots
Every
Faults
Dry
Time
Lines
Double
Use
Tied
Didn
Check
Together
Fault
Bandages
Back
Checks
Insides

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It's a shame we can't just admit that we failed family living, sell the house, split up the money, and get on with our lives.
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I needed to hear the world but didn't want the world to know I was listening.
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Why not draw naked guys, just to be fair? Naked women is art, naked guys a no-no, I bet. Probably because most painters are men.
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I can see us, living in the woods, her wearing that A, me with a S maybe, S for silent, S for stupid, for scared. S for silly. For shame.
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Be careful what you wish for. There's always a catch.
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Censoring books that deal with difficult, adolescent issues does not protect anybody. Quite the opposite. It leaves kids in the darkness and makes them vulnerable. Censorship is the child of fear and the father of ignorance. Our children cannot afford to have the truth of the world withheld from them
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I handed my tools. The two of them reached down to help me out of the crater I'd dug. ''Isn't that a little deep?'' Yoda asked. ''It'll help the roots get established,'' I explained. ''Established where? China?
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I stuff my mouth with old fabric and scream until there are no sounds left under my skin.
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I make it through the first two weeks of school without a nuclear meltdown.
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IT happened. There is no avoiding it, no forgetting. No running away, or flying, or burying, or hiding.
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I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them.
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This girl shivers and crawls under the covers with all her clothes on and falls into an overdue library book, a faerie story with rats and marrow and burning curses. The sentences build a fence around her, a Times Roman 10-point barricade, to keep the thorny voices in her head from getting too close.
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I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I'm stable.
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You’re not dead, but you’re not alive, either. You’re a wintergirl.
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I live in the borderlands. The word ghost sounds like memory. The word therapy means exorcism. My visions echo and multiplymultiply. I don't know how to figure out what they mean. I can't tell where they start or if they will end. But I know this. If they shrink my head any more, or float me away on an ocean of pills, I will never return.
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You were born with the seeds of your talent, the ability to observe the world around you and weave piece of it into a story. I believe that most -- if not all -- people are born with these seeds. What separates the writers from the non-writers is that the writers actually sit down and, you know... write.
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My English teacher has no face. She has uncombed stringy hair that droops on her shoulders. The hair is black from her part to her ears and then neon orange to the frizzy ends. I can't decide if she had pissed off her hairdresser or is morphing into a monarch butterfly. I call her Hairwoman.
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I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t find her way to the exit. All eyes on me.
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He says a million things without saying a word. I have never heard a more eloquent silence.
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Didn't help to ponder things that were forever gone. It only made a body restless and fill up with bees, all wanting to sting something.
Laurie Halse Anderson