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An ending was an ending. No matter how many pages of sentences and paragraphs of great stories led up to it, it would always have the last word.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Always
Pages
Would
Word
Lasts
Last
Stories
Paragraphs
Matter
Paragraph
Many
Ending
Great
Sentences

More quotes by Sarah Dessen

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It was so easy to disown what you couldn't recognize, to keep yourself apart from things that were foreign and unsettling. The only person you can be sure to control, always, is yourself. Which is a lot to be sure of, but at the same time, not enough.
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Two a.m.' He swallowed, then said, You know. The person you can call at two a.m. and, no matter what, you can count on them. Even if they're asleep or it's cold or you need to be bailed out of jail...they'll come for you. It's like, the highest level of friendship.
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Too many locks, not enough keys.
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That was the thing. You just never knew. Forever was so many different things. It was always changing, it was what everything was really all about.
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What did it feel like, I wondered, to love someone that much? So much that you couldn't even control yourself when they came close, as if you might just break free of whatever was holding you and throw yourself at them with enough force to easily overwhelm you both.
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There's just something obvious about emptiness, even when you try to convince yourself otherwise.
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Sometimes. It was a good escape. Until, you know, it wasn‟t.
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I think I'm too lazy a writer to do something like historical fiction. You have to do so much research. I just write what I know.
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This thought was interrupted, suddenly, by a crash from the front entrance. We all looked over just in time to see Adam bending back from the glass, rubbing his arm. Pull open, Maggie called out. As Leah rolled her eyes, she said, He never remembers. It's so weird.
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I just can't ever be a free spirit and just relax. When it comes to work, this is good. I'm very disciplined, which with writing is often half the battle, or more. But it also means that if I want to, say, play hooky and chocolate and watch Bravo all afternoon, I feel horribly guilty. I wish I could find a nice balance.
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It's still a memory worth having, even if it's not exactly what you imagined.
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Their words, like the music, had the potential to be endless.
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As if it didnt matter what was on, but instead how hard i was listening.
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So while it seemed like you were seeing everything, you really weren't. Just bits and pieces that looked like a whole.
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You’re always a kid around your parents… Unless they’re acting like children. Then you don’t get the chance.
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In the end, though, maybe it's not how you reach a place that matters. Just that you get there at all.
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It's always very pure, that last moment before an ugly, unsettling truth hits someone. The most stark of before-and-afters.
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It is kind of hard to hold a lot in. But for me… it’s sometimes even harder to let it out.
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You get what you give, but also what you're willing to take. The night before, I'd offered up my hand. Now, if I held on, there was no telling what it was possible to recieve in return.
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It hadn't even occured to me that somebody would believe mine.
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