Quote

You shy, Francesca?” Javier asks me later on. I shake my head. “Not really.” I’m just sad, I want to say. And I’m lonely.

Melina Marchetta

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Melina Marchetta
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: March 25
Screenwriter
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Carmelina Marchetta
Head
Asks
Really
Francesca
Shy
Shake
Shakes
Lonely
Later

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Be prepared for the worst, my love, for it lives next door to the best.
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It is what a man does for strangers that counts more than what he does for his family.
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But you're almost eighteen. You're old enough. Everyone else is doing it. And next year someone is going to say to someone else 'but you're only sixteen, everyone else is doing it' Or one day someone will tell your daughter that she's only thirteen and everyone else is doing it. I don't want to do it because everyone else is doing it.
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I love it when you're demented like this.
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I'm beginning to realize that things don't turn out the way you want them to. And sometimes, when they don't they can turn out just a little bit better.
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Josie, life is not a Mills and Boon book. People fall out of love. People disappoint other people and they find it very hard to forgive.
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Where did this come from? Do you know what this is? Luca is going to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night and squirt it on his tongue. It's like drugs for ten-year-olds. Today it's Ice Magic. Tomorrow, heroin.
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You don't die. You just... get really angry and then after you're angry you hurt a lot and then the best thing is that one day you remember something she said or did and you laugh instead of crying.
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It's funny how you can forget everything except people loving you. Maybe that's why humans find it so hard getting over love affairs. It's not the pain they're getting over, it's the love.
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A kiss is the prize?’ he asked sadly. ‘Even more than giving me the rest of you? It should be the other way round, Princess. In the real world, it's called courting. You let a lad kiss you and then you offer him more.’ ‘Let me tell you something, Olivier,’ she said with tears of sorrow in her eyes, ‘this is my real world.
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I don't say anything and he casually leans against my desk, picking up the novel that's sitting there. It's bullshit, he tells me, flicking through it. There's no such thing as Atticus Finch. I shrug. It'd be nice if there was, though.
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Are you an idiot, or an idiot?' Gargarin hissed. 'The first one. I really resent being called the second.
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Because today, I think I'm leaning on the side of wonder.
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How unladylike of you to mention such a thing.
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Our spirit is mightier than the filth of our memories.
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So, like I asked, what’s with the nightie?” “It smells like what I always think mothers smell like,” I tell him honestly, knowing I don’t have to explain. He nods. “My mum has one just the same and you have no idea how disturbing it is that it’s turning me on.
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If I want more, I need to go and get it, demand it, take hold of it with all my might, and do the best I can with it.
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Then he holds her and for a moment I hear total silence that totally silent part of a cry that announces that the most horrible grief is going to follow. And it does, and he's muffling it, but I can hear and I want someone to come over and jab her with a sedative because its pitch pierces my soul.
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City people. They may know how to street fight but they don't know how to wade through manure.
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Because photos are testimony that someone did live. A reminder of past we may have loved or hated. A piece of our lives.
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