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More and more I find myself at a loss for words and didn't want to hear other people talking either. Their conversations seemed false and empty. I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.

Paula McLain

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Paula McLain
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: October 7
Author
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Fresno
California
People
Find
Conversation
Look
Loss
Nothing
Hear
Preferred
Looks
Either
Conversations
Feel
Alone
False
Feels
Talking
Seemed
Made
Words
Sea
Never
Didn
Empty

More quotes by Paula McLain

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I also liked to look around at the houses surrounding the park and wonder about the people who filled them, what kinds of marriages they had and how they loved or hurt each other on any given day, and if they were happy, and whether they thought happiness was a sustainable thing.
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Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other. Maybe it was a state of mind.
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You have to digest life. You have to chew it up and love it all through.
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To marry was to say you believed in the future and in the past, too-that history and tradition and hope could stay knit together to hold you up.
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I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn’t ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.
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Books could be an incredible adventure. I stayed under my blanket and barely moved, and no one would have guessed how my mind raced and my heart soared with stories.
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... and yet he could also be very charming, in a bookish, infinitely apologetic way.
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Not everyone out in a storm wants to be saved
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And sometimes I think there isn’t anything to us but our mistakes.
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Dogs are easy. If their tails are up and their eyes are soft, you're in.
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She was also incredibly confident, with a way of moving and talking that communicated that she didn't need anyone to tell her she was beautiful or worthwhile.
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There was only today to throw yourself into without thinking about tomorrow, let alone forever. To keep you from thinking, there was liquor, an ocean's worth at least, all the usual vices and plenty of rope to hang yourself with. Love is a beautiful liar.
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This was my one brush with love. Was it love? It felt awful enough. I spent another two years crawling around in the skin of it, smoking too much and growing too thin and having stray thoughts of jumping from my balcony like a tortured heroine in a Russian novel.
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But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.
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Happiness is so awfully complicated, but freedom isn't. You're either tied down or you're not.
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But when Bumby nursed, his fist clutching the fabric of my robe, his eyes soft and bottomless and locked on mine, as if I were the very heart of his universe, I couldn't help but melt into him.
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I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.
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I would gladly have climbed out of my skin and into his that night, because I believed that was what love meant.
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The way I see it, how can you really say you'll love a person longer than love lasts?
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I'd never met anyone so vibrant or alive. He moved like light.
Paula McLain