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Not for the first time, I wished both of us could just say what we meant. But that, like so much else, was impossible
Sarah Dessen
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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Much
Time
Like
Wished
Meant
Impossible
Else
Firsts
First
More quotes by Sarah Dessen
Never would forever, with all its meanings, be so clear and distinct as in the true, guaranteed end of the world.
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Morning would come before we knew it. It always did. But we still had the night, and for now, we were together, so I just closed my eyes and drank it all in.
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But even more so, it reminded me that this was all really happening. Stanford. The end of the summer. The beginning of my real life. It was no longer just creeping up, peeking over the horizon, but instead lingering in plain sight.
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There's a kind of radar that you get, after years of being talked about and made fun of by other people. You can almost smell it when it's about to happen, can recognize instantly the sound of a hushed voice, lowered just enough to make whatever is said okay. I had only been in Colby for a few weeks. But I had not forgotten.
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After all with me & Marshall, it had never been about words or conversation, where there was too much to be risked or lost. Here, though, in the quiet pressed against each other, this felt familiar to me. And it was nice to let someone get close again, even if it was just for a little while.
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It wasn’t so much that I was positive. I just wasn’t fully subscribing to such a negative way of thinking anymore.
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So what do you wear to dump somebody? she asked me, twirling a lock of hair around one finger. Black, for mourning? Or something cheerful and colorful, to distract them from their pain? Or maybe you wear some sort of camouflage, something that will help you disappear quickly in case they don't take it well.
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When I pictured myself, it was always like just an outline in a coloring book, with the inside not yet completed. All the standard features were there. but the colors, the zigzags and plaids, the bits and pieces that made up me, Halley, weren't yet in place. Scarlett's vibrant reds and golds helped some, but I was still waiting.
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Some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic.
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Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you.
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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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That first love. And the first one who breaks your heart. For me, they just happen to be the same person.
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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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The silence wasn't like the ones I'd known lately, though: it wasn't empty as much as chosen. There's a entirely different feel to quiet when you're with some-one else, and at any moment it could be broken. Like the difference between a pause and an ending.
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Can she be divorced? I asked. And famous for her commercials and ideas? She can be anything, Boo told me, and this is what I remember most, her freckled face so solemn, as if she knew she was the first to tell me. And so can you.
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I took his wildness from him and tried to fold it into myself, filling up the empty spaces all those second place finishes left behind.
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Don't be a fool. Don't give up something important to hold onto someone who can't even say they love you.
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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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Maybe other writers have perfect first drafts, but I am not one of them. I always try to get the book as tight as I can, but you reach a point as the author where you have lost all perspective.
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If you try anything, if you try to lose weight, or to improve yourself, or to love, or to make the world a better place, you have already achieved something wonderful, before you even begin. Forget failure. If things don't work out the way you want, hold your head up high and be proud. And try again. And again. And again!
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