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I can say I made a lot of mistakes, but I don't regret things. Because at least I didn't spend a life standing outside, wondering what living would be like.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Made
Standing
Things
Spend
Would
Outside
Life
Mistake
Like
Least
Wonder
Wondering
Living
Mistakes
Didn
Regret

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That was the thing. You never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking.
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She fell, she hurt, she felt. She lived. And for all the tumble of her experiences, she still had hope. Maybe this next time would do the trick. Or maybe not. But unless you stepped into the game, you would never know.
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He's very nice. He's something I replied. She considered this zipping her purse shut. Then she said Well everyone is. Everyone is Something. For some reason that stuck with me simple and yet not every since she'd said it. It was like a puzzle as well two vague words with one clear one between them.
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Growing up means :propelling yourself forward into whatever lies ahead, one turn of the wheel at a time.
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The past did affect the present and the future, in ways you could see and a million ones you couldn't. Time wasn't a thing you could divide easily there was no defined middle or beginning or end. I could pretend to leave the past behind, but it would not leave me.
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When I was a teen, I was never really into the captain of the football team or the student body president. The guys I liked were quirky and different: They listened to music I'd never heard of, never had lunch or gas money, and could always make you laugh.
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All we had was her room, her stories, and the quiet that settled in as we tried in vain to spread ourselves out and fill the space she'd left behind.
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It was like that part of my life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything.
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Whether it was a song, a person, or a story, there was a lot you couldn’t know from just an excerpt, a glance, or part of a chorus.
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If he'd been any other boy, and this was any other world, I would have kissed him. Nothing could have stopped me.
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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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Too many locks, not enough keys.
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But it was too early to know: there were always more pages to go, more words to be written, before the story was over.
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As I rolled over, stretching out, my only thought was to go back to the dream I'd been having, which I couldn't remember, other than that it had been good, in that distant, hopeful way unreal things can be.
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It hadn't even occured to me that somebody would believe mine.
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Welcome to adulthood, she said. It sucks as much as high school.
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We laughed ourselves silly, taking back our shared past, gently, piece by piece.
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Looking at the pond, all I could think was that it is an incredivle thing, how a whole world can rise from what seems like nothing at all.
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