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You didn't fail. You just opted out. There's a difference.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Didn
Opted
Fail
Failing
Difference
Differences

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It was kind of soothing, these sounds of lives being lived all around me, for better or for worse. And there I was, in the middle of them all, newly reborn and still waiting for mine to begin.
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There's just something obvious about emptiness, even when you try to convince yourself otherwise.
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Wake up, Caitlin, Mr. Lensing had said. But what he didn't under­stand was that this dreamland was preferable, walking through this life half-sleeping, everything at arm's length or farther away.
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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.
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I have to admit, an unrequited love is so much better than a real one. I mean, it's perfect... As long as something is never even started, you never have to worry about it ending. It has endless potential.
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When you have a kid, you sign on for the whole package: good, bad, everything in between. you can't just dip in and out, picking and choosing the parts you want and quitting when it's not perfect.
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Love is needing someone. Love is putting up with someone's bad qualities because they somehow complete you.
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But there was something I liked about the idea of those seeds buried so deep having at least a chance to emerge
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Life has a way of disregarding even your best intentions.
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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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There was nothing, nothing to depend on. And why was I surprised?
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Because it is so hard, in any life, to believe in what you can’t fully understand.
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It was always late at night, when everything and everyone else was quiet, that those voices would rise like ghosts, soft and haunting, filling your mind until sleep finally came.
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There were so many levels to the unknown, from safe to dangerous to outright nebulous, scariest of all.
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The language of solace, and comets, and the girls we all become, in the end.
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But as i lay there, it only seemes like silence filling my ears. And the thing was, it was so freaking loud.
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But something, somehow, had made all these paths converge. You couldn't find it on a checklist, or work it into the equation. It just happened.
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So finally, I decided that the best response — the safest — was none at all.
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And so we stood there in the kitchen, my mother and I, facing off over everything that had built up since June, when I was willing to hand myself over free and clear. Now I needed her to return it all to me, with the faith that I could make my own way.
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its been a long night aren't they all?
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