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But the bottom line is that, as humans, we are by nature selfish creatures. The only way we care about anything, really, is by making it about us.

Sarah Dessen

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Sarah Dessen
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: June 6
Novelist
Writer
Evanston
Illinois
Really
Creatures
Way
Line
Lines
Making
Nature
Care
Anything
Selfish
Humans
Bottom

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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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Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you.
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its been a long night aren't they all?
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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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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.
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And trying to break it down this way, to minor and major offenses, maybes and what-ifs, was like arguing over the origin of cracks in a broken egg. It was done. How it happened didn't matter anymore.
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I bet you can't eat ten bananas! I bet you're right.
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It was like reaching for someone's hand, then missing their fingers, or even their arm, and hitting their shoulder instead. But no matter. You hang on tight anyway.
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My books are so tame!
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It doesn't matter, anyway, why you like me. Just that you do.
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I watched my mother do what she did best, and realized there would never be a way to cut myself from her entirely. No matter how strong or weak I was, she was a part of me, as crucial as my own heart. I would never be strong enough, in all my life, to do without her.
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He was the closest thing I'd ever had to something, or someone, that mattered. But in the end, close didn't count. You were either in, or you weren't.
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I think part of the problem sometimes is that there's so much happening in my books, to whittle it down into a single script is hard.
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A thump thump thump noise that was so unfamiliar, and yet I couldn't quite place it. But I knew it. It was - Mmm-hmmm, Monica murmured, just as Wes came view into the path. He was running, his pace quick and steady. He was in shorts, his shirt off, staring ahead as he passed. His back was tan and gleaming with sweat.
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In midair, dangling lost above the world.
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