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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?

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Mistake
Planned
Beauty
Imperfect
Beautiful
Flowers
Wells
Arise
Well
Garden
Misadventure
Many
Flower
Tended
Aren
Gardens
Strange
Pleasing

More quotes by Libba Bray

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He frowns. A dance with the carnivorous Felicity? Why? Has she eaten all the other available gentlemen?
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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 can be whatever. You can be whatever. We can be whatever. Whatever, together.
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Yes, go on. Leave. You're always coming and going. The rest of us are stuck here. Do you think he'd still love you if he knew who you are? He doesn't really care—only when it suits him.
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I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. I've got to think.
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I'm just saying it's not all sand castles and ninjas.
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I should never be left alone with my mind for too long.
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Mawah meenon ne le plus poohlala, I say with an affected bow.
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When you looked up to the sky and cried 'Why?' sometimes the sky shrugged, yet other times it answered with warm assurance of linked hands.
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When she can't bring me to heal with scolding, she bends me to shape with guilt.
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She knew what it was to wait for someone who would never come home. She knew that grief, like a scar, faded but never really went away.
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She's no beauty, mate
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Maybe girls need an island to find themselves. Maybe they need a place where no one's is watching them so they can be who they really are
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A gentle breeze catches in the branches then and I hear it, soft and low, a murmured prayer--Gem-ma, Gem-ma--and then the leaves bend down and trail delicate fingers across my cold cheeks.
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Sometimes I see things, I think. Out of the corner of my eye, taunting me, and then it’s gone. And dreams. Such horrible dreams. What if something terrible happened to me? What if I am damaged? The rain is a cool kiss on my sleeve as I link my arm with hers. We’re all damaged somehow.
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Oh, sure. Of course, they say now that we’ve got Freud and the motorcar, God is dead.” “He’s not dead just very tired.
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So, now I've been to see a drug counselor who told me I need to lay off the drugs and talk about my feelings, and a shrink who heard what I had to say and immediately put me on drugs.
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Oh, I didn't think it wise to hide it. Might not be able to find it again, I say, cheerily. It's sitting in plain view on your chair in the great hall. I do hope that was the best place for it.
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My personal motto is: WWWWD?: What Would Wonder Woman Do?
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No, I call. Come back. I'm here, he says. But I can't see. It's too bright. You can't hold back the light, Gemma. I'm here. Trust me.
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