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Gossip is the foul smell from the Devil's backside.
Laurie Halse Anderson
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Laurie Halse Anderson
Age: 63
Born: 1961
Born: October 23
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Laurie Beth Halse
Backside
Backsides
Foul
Gossip
Smell
Devil
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be aggressive, BE-BE Aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E
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You have to know what you stand for, not just what you stand against.
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I need to finish this scarf/shawl/blanket thing so I can start something for Emma- a hat, maybe, or a sweater for her stuffed elephant.
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If I run or breathe too deep, the cheap stitches holding me together will snap, and all the stickiness inside will pour out and burn through the concrete.
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I don’t know what I’m doing in the next five minutes and she has the next ten years figured out. I’ll worry about making it out of ninth grade alive. Then I’ll think about a career path.
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I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them.
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I look at my homely sketch. It doesn't need anything. Even through the river in my eyes I can see that. It isn't perfect and that makes it just right.
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Memory cuts both ways it can either provide you with tremendous strength and a foundation to carry you through your life, or it can be a demon that just ruins your present and your future because you can’t let go of the past.
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I am not going to think about it. It was ugly, but it’s over, and I’m not going to think about it.
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I reach for funny books all the time to help me get through life.
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I wish adults would spend less energy freaking out about the cutting itself and work harder to understand what drives kids to self-harm.
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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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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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Oppressive bastards, think they own the place. I told them that karma's going to kick their asses.
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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 am angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading poetry or eating ice cream or kissing a boy.
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Why not spend that time on art: painting, sculpting, charcoal, pastel, oils? Are words or numbers more important than images? Who decides this? Does algebra move you to tears? Can plural possessives express the feelings in your heart? If you don't learn art now, you will never learn to breathe!
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I am the space between my thighs, daylight shining through.
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I won the wintergirl trip over the border into dangerland.
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I swallowed the fear. It’s always there– fear– and if you don’t stay on top of it, you’ll drown. I swallowed again and stood tall, shoulders broad, arms loose. I was balanced, ready to move. My body said, “Yeah, you’re bigger and stronger, but if you touch this, I will hurt you.
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