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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.

Paula McLain

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Paula McLain
Age: 59
Born: 1965
Born: October 7
Author
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Fresno
California
Forever
Vices
Keep
Plenty
Beautiful
Throw
Liquor
Today
Ocean
Liar
Without
Tomorrow
Rope
Love
Worth
Liars
Thinking
Least
Usual
Alone
Hang

More quotes by Paula McLain

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Why is it every other person you meet says they're an artist? A real artist doesn't need to gas on about it, he doesn't have time. He does his work and sweats it out in silence, and no one can help him at all.
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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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... and yet he could also be very charming, in a bookish, infinitely apologetic way.
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My life was my life I would have to stare it down, somehow, and make it work for me.
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You have to digest life. You have to chew it up and love it all through.
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I preferred to look at the sea, which said nothing and never made you feel alone.
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All that was left for me was a terrible kind of paralysis, this waiting game, this heartbreak game.
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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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Dogs are easy. If their tails are up and their eyes are soft, you're in.
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Not everyone out in a storm wants to be saved
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Nothing hurts if you don't let it.
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I miss good old-fashioned honorable people just trying to make something of life. Simply, without hurting anyone else. I know that makes me a sap.
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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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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.
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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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Happiness is so awfully complicated, but freedom isn't. You're either tied down or you're not.
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I'd had my share of rain. My mother's illness ... had weighed on me, but the years before had been heavy, too. I was only twenty eight.
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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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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.
Paula McLain