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I've always known who I am. I might not work perfectly, or be like them, but that's okay. I know I work in my own way.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Perfectly
Okay
Known
Might
Work
Way
Always
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It was becoming clear to me that I shouldn't bother to get too attached to anything. Turn your back and you lose it. Just like that.
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Some things you don't have to tell. Some things, between sisters, are understood.
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Silence is so freaking loud
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I always say that teenagers are the first to know if you're pandering to them.
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Leaving was easy. It was everything else that was so damned hard.
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Told you. Everything sounds better in the car wash.
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All you could do was take on as much weight as you can bear. And if you're lucky, there's someone close enough by to shoulder the rest.
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The worst part was that I had things I wanted to tell my mother, too many to count, but none of them would go down so easy. She'd been through too much, between my siters-I could not add to the weight. So instead, I did my best to balance it out, bit by bit, word by word, story by story, even if none of them were true.
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The mistakes you make now count. Not for everything, and not forever. But they do matter, and they shape you.If you take nothing else from what I've been through, at least remember this: make your choices well. Because you'll always be accountable for them. That's what being an adult is all about.
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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 think I'm way too much of a control freak to co-author anything with anyone. I have a hard enough time writing with myself! I admire people that can do it, but it's not for me.
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From up above, in a plane passing over, you’d just see one little light in all this dark, with no idea of the lives that were being lived within it, and in the house beside, and beside that one. So much happening in the world, night and day, hour by hour. It was no wonder we were meant to sleep, if only to check out of it for a little while.
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During the long stretches of quiet two-lane highway, with the sun setting in the distance, it was somehow easier to say things aloud, and regardless of what was said, we just kept moving toward that horizon.
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With love like that, you can't get pick about how it finds you or the details. All that matters is that it's there. Better late than never.
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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.
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How fast were you? Wes asked me. I said, Not that fast. You mean you couldn't... fly? he said, smiling at me.
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Still, there was also was something reassuring about working for Commercial, almost hopeful. Like things that were lost could be found again. As we drove away, I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on.
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It wasn't about being happy or unhappy. I just didn't want to be me anymore.
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I looked down again at the sign in my hand - ENJOY THE RIDE! - and it seemed, suddenly, to be just that. A sign.
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When you've never gotten love from someone, you don't know what it might look like if it ever does appear. You look for it in everything: any bright light overhead could be a star.
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