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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
Children
Horses
Fats
Horse
Grew
Happy
Matter

More quotes by Sara Gruen

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The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang onto that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
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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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He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. He's ill, Jacob. I say nothing. He's a paragon schnitzophonic. He's what?! Paragon schnitzophonic, repeats Uncle Al. You mean paranoid schizophrenic? Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter.
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I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.
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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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When two people are meant to be together, they will be together. It's fate.
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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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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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Honey, I plan to marry you the moment the ink is dry on that death certificate.
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Dear God. Not only am I unemployed and homeless, but I also have a pregnant woman, bereaved dog, elephant, and eleven horses to take care of.
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I just can't. I'm married. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.
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How is it that everyone on this train has so much alcohol? We always head to Canada at the beginning of the season, she says taking her seat again. Their laws are much more civilized. Cheers.
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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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With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.
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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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Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.
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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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The only thing that makes me crazier than writing is not writing.
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Being the survivor stinks.
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I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.
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