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They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.

Sara Gruen

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Sara Gruen
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Vancouver
British Columbia
Horses
Fats
Horse
Grew
Happy
Matter
Children

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I look after those who look after me. He smacks his lips, stares at me, and adds, I also look after those who don't. - Sara Gruen (Water for Elephants)
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Gorillas are in danger of being wiped out by the Ebola virus. I feel like we have limited time to get to know them and understand them and they're going to disappear - that's terrifically sad. Wouldn't it be great if we could stop that?
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I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want.
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Jacob: I've never seen so much manure. Wade: Baggage stock horses. They pack'em in 27 a car. Jacob: how do you stand the smell? Wade: what smell?
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Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.
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Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.
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Sometimes I think if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn.
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Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.
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I'm truly grateful for my microwave, which allows me to easily clarify butter, steam vegetables, and - when I am really lazy - feed my three kids in less than five minutes.
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We traveled for two weeks with a pickled hippo.
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I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I lie motionless, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. I'm afraid to breathe in case I break the spell.
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Why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?
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You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it's beyond your control.
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But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.
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I have to convince myself that this is not a pointless life, even the body is telling me so.
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I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.
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Even when I look straight into the milky blue eyes I can't find myself any more. When did I stop being me?
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I roll onto my side and stare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace. The sky, the sky--same as it always was.
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Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
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Being the survivor stinks.
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