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Everything had felt so precarious since her mother's death, like she was walking on a bridge made of paper.
Sarah Addison Allen
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Sarah Addison Allen
Age: 53
Born: 1971
Born: March 30
Author
Asheville
North Carolina
Katie Gallagher
Like
Paper
Walking
Since
Death
Felt
Mother
Precarious
Everything
Bridge
Made
Bridges
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Like magic, she felt him getting nearer, felt it like a pull in the pit of her stomach. It felt like hunger but deeper, heavier. Like the best kind of expectation. Ice cream expectation. Chocolate expectation.
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Girls like us, when we love, it takes everything we have.
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Sometimes its necessary to embrace the magic, to find out what's real in life, and in one's own heart.
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I think of the future all the time. All my life I've chased dreams of what could be. For the first time in my life, I've actually caught one. I'll give you one day at a time, Claire. But remember, I'm thousands of days ahead already.
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Always make your needs and expectations known,she used to say. That way no one gets hurt.
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Misfits need a place to get away, too. All that trying to fit in is exhausting.
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Right now everyone is drinking bad wine made of sour grapes and hysteria. Let them drink it, and let them regret it in the morning.
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But surprises were nothing new to her. Like opening a can of mushroom soup and finding tomato instead be grateful and eat it anyway.
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Embarrassment felt a lot like eating chili peppers. It burned in the back of your throat and there was nothing you could do to make it go away. You just had to take it, suffer from it, until it eased off.
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Every life needs a little space. It leaves room for good things to enter it.
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Superstitions are man's way of trying to control things he has no control over.
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When you're happy for yourself, it fills you. When you're happy for someone else, it pours over.
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We have history, you and I. You just don’t know it yet.
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Not every man was sorry when he hurt a woman.
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Crystalline swirls of sugar and flour still lingered in the air like kite tails.
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Her life was monotonous, but it kept her out of trouble. . . . This, her father would say, was called being an adult.
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I lost myself trying to find happiness in things that didn't love me back.
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It was early evening when they walked outside, the sky the color of pink lemonade.
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When someone needs help, you help. Right?
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Watching them, she realized they made so much sense together. Every look, every touch, was a reassurance, almost electric, as if they were shocking each other with every contact.
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