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That was the thing about being on the inside: the world was just going on, even when it seemed like time for you had stopped for good.
Sarah Dessen
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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
World
Seemed
Inside
Even
Thing
Going
Good
Time
Like
Stopped
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Just because someone's pretty, doesn't mean she's decent.
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I didn't want to talk about what happened, so it seemed safest not to talk at all.
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Like so many before them, they didn't care that my dad was only the messenger. They still wanted to shoot him.
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Grieving doesn't make you imperfect. It makes you human.
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Needing was so easy: it came naturally, like breathing. Being needed by someone else, though, that was the hard part. But as with giving help and accepting it, we had to do both to be made complete-like links overlapping to form a chain, or a lock finding the right key.
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You can't just turn your heart off like a faucet you have to go to the source and dry it out, drop by drop.
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In those first few hours officially single again the world seems like it expands, suddenly bigger and more vast now that you have to get through it alone.
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I wanted to be somewhere else ... Someplace where the sight of me sobbing would tie me to no one and no one to me.
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I wondered if he ever thought of me, and hated the pang I felt when I told myself he didn't.
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The end of a wedding reception is always so depressing. And only the bride and groom are spared, jetting off into the sunset while the rest of us wake up the next morning to just another day.
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I thought of all the times we'd been together, how I kept coming closer, then retreating, while he stayed right where he was. A constant in a world where few, if any, really existed.
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I watched my mother do what she did best, and realized there would never be a way to cut myself from her entirely. No matter how strong or weak I was, she was a part of me, as crucial as my own heart. I would never be strong enough, in all my life, to do without her.
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Their words, like the music, had the potential to be endless.
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Oh darling, don't be bitter. It's the first instinct of the weak.
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And that was as far as he got before i heard it. The thumping of footsteps, running up the lawn toward me: It seemed like I could hear it through the grass, like leaning your ear to a railroad track and feeling the train coming, miles away. As the noise got closer I could hear ragged breaths, and then a voice. It was my mother.
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I just have to be super strong when it comes to my work time. Shut the browser, ignore the email alerts, and just WRITE.
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But those words were only the middle of the story. There was a beginning here, too.
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I'd chosen instead to just change my route, go miles out of the way, as if avoiding it would make it go away once and for all.
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