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In books, the truth makes everything good and fine. The good prevail. The wicked are punished. There is happiness. But it's not like that really, is it? No, I say. I suppose it only makes everything known.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Makes
Punished
Truth
Prevail
Everything
Wicked
Book
Suppose
Really
Fine
Good
Books
Like
Known
Happiness

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She shrieks above the din. If you wish a battle, I shall give it. I am the last of my kind. I shall not lie down without a fight.
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There's a lot about discovering who you are and how difficult that is. And it never stops.
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I run after her, not really giving chase. I’m running because I can, because I must. Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.
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I told myself it was the snow—she couldn’t possibly get to Philadelphia on the roads. I told myself a hundred lies. Children do that. It’s amazing the sorts of things you’ll make yourself believe.
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Write like it matters, and it will.
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No one can live in the light all the time.
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If there was one truth Evie had learned in her short life, it was that forgiveness was easier to seek than permission. She didn’t plan to ask for either one.
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Everything is randomly connected.
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And now I understand that truth casts a spell of its own, one I'm not sure of how to hold on to, though I'm desperate to try.
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But aren't many gardens beautiful because they are imperfect?...aren't the strange, new flowers that arise by mistake or misadventure as pleasing as the well-tended and planned?
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She smiled as sweetly as a show poster for the glorified, all-American Ziegfeld girl just before dumping her second cigarette into Wally’s fresh cup of coffee.
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Hot off the presses, today’s headlines: The love of your life does not approve of my wanton flapper ways,” Evie said in a voice of affected mystery. “Really, Mabesie. You might want to reconsider—he is a bit of a killjoy.
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May I suggest that you all read? And often. Believe me, it's nice to have something to talk about other than the weather and the Queen's health. Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.
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That's what living in their world is-a big lie. An illusion where everyone looks the other way and pretends that nothing unpleasant exists at all, no goblins of the dark, no ghosts of the soul.
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Nobody Wants to be themselves. That's why there's tv. -Ephigenia.
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Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder?
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The police have asked for my help. There's been a murder. A murder! Oh, my. Let me just change my shoes, Evie said excitedly. It won't be a minute.
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It is a giggle full of high spirits and merry mischief, proof that we never lose our girlish selves, no matter what sort of women we become.
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I know because I read...Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.
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There are no wrong decisions ― only different ones.
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