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But what was the point of living so quietly you made no noise at all?

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Point
Living
Made
Quietly
Noise

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Travel opens your mind as few other things do. It is its own form of hypnotism, and I am forever under its spell
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Dead bodies are such trouble,” Evie said with a little sigh, and Mabel had to turn her head away so as not to laugh.
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Life don’t come to you, Memphis. You gotta take it. We have to take it. Because ain’t nobody handing it to us.
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Does my new feminism make me look fat?
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There are times when one friend requires the blind faith of another.
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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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This is the world we live in, Gemma, for better or for worse. Make of it what you can, he says, and I pull him to me.
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Women who have power are always feared.
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Everything is randomly connected.
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People have a habit of inventing fictions they will believe wholeheartedly in order to ignore the truth they cannot accept.
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There is an ancient tribal proverb I once heard in India. It says that before we can see properly we must first shed our tears to clear the way.
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What makes a girl a girl? What makes a guy a guy? Do you have to be what they want you to be? Or do you stop and listen to that voice inside you? I know who I am. I'm Petra West. And I'm a girl. You want me to sleep somewhere else, fine. Whatever. But I'm not going to pretend to be somebody I'm not. I've done enough of that.
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I wish to live for myself. I should never want to be trapped.
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The desperation meeting the silence with its unmasked wish.
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Evie didn’t mind yelling, but she hated feeling judged. It got under her skin and made her feel small and ugly and unfixable.
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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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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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Next time we see you, you’ll be on trial for some ingenious crime!” Dottie said with a laugh. Evie grinned. “Just as long as they know my name.
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We create the illusions we need to go on.
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We don't look at each other anymore. Not really. Not since I pulled him from that opium den. Now when I look at him, I see the addict. And when he looks at me, he sees what he would rather not remember. I wish I could be his adored little girl again, sitting at his side.
Libba Bray