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It's nice to have options even if you can't take them.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Options
Nice
Take
Even

More quotes by Sarah Dessen

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That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.
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Writing a novel is like childbirth: once you realize how awful it really is, you never want to do it again.
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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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So this had been all I wanted, a boy who understood how I felt. Now, though, I sometimes wished for more.
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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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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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So finally, I decided that the best response — the safest — was none at all.
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It sounded stupid, but of course everything does when you're just getting the bare bones facts, only the basics.
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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.
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But anyone can begin. It was the part with all the promise, the potential, the things I loved. More and more, though, I was finding myself wanting to find out what happened in the end.
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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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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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With my mom, when someone was gone, they were gone. She didn't waste another minute thinking about them, and neither should you.
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Clearly, sharing something could take you a long way, or at least to a different place than you'd planned. Like a friendship or a family, or even jsut alone on a curb on a Saturday, trying to get your bearings as best you can.
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It was hard to remember what the yard had looked like even twelve hours before, undisturbed and pristine. Like it takes so little to change something, but to make you forget the way it once was, as well.
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Says the girl with no thyme.
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As if he was beating me to the punch, his words living forever, while I was left speechless, no rebuttal, no words left to say.
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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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n the dark everyone felt the same: the edges blurred. When I think of myself then, what I was like two years ago, I feel like a wound in a bad place, prone to be bumped on corners or edges. Never able to heal.
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I didn't want to leave things the way we had, unresolved, ... and tried to tell myself he cared about me enough not to look elsewhere for what I wasn't giving him.
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