Any highway . . . they all take you to the same place, don't they?
The apple . . . came before Adam and Eve in the story of creation. It had to have been there at least three years because that's how long it takes for a new tree to bear fruit.
I know how difficult it can be when the image you've had of something doesn't match its reality; when the friend beside you turns into a monster.
What she hadn't realized was that sometimes when your vision was that sharp and true, it could cut you. That only if you'd felt such fullness could you really understand the ache of being empty.
You might have to lose control before you could find out what you'd been missing.
She felt a cage coming down around her; too late she realized that he had her trapped by the heart. And like any unwilling animal that was well and truly caught, she could escape only by leaving a piece of herself behind.
What you had could never make up for what you'd lost.
Some people don't know what to do with an act of kindness.
Missed opportunities were never superficial wounds; they cut straight to the bone.
There is a place in you that you don't even know exists, where you can simply stand back and watch without feeling any pain.
Or in other words, it's the substance you've got when you start that determines the outcome.
What is right, in the end, is not always what it seems to be, and some rules are better broken.
The truth was, history repeated itself on a daily basis; mistakes were made over and over. People were haunted by what they had done, and by what they hadn't had time to do.
The thinnest slice would be teeming with memories of a love so strong it turned you inside out and left you gasping, and would be an identical match to a slice stored in the heart of a soul mate.
But rules only work when everyone plays by them. What happens when someone doesn't, and the fallout bleeds right into his life? Whats stronger- the need to uphold the law, or the motive to turn one's back on it?
Memories are like a still life painted by ten different student artists: some will be blue-based; others red; some will be as stark as Picasso and others as rich as Rembrandt; some will be foreshortened and others distant. Recollections are in the eye of the beholder; no two held up side by side will ever quite match.
Coop kissed me deeply, drawing my breath from me in a long, sweet ribbon. "Perhaps I haven't mentioned it, but I'm an expert when it comes to first steps." Are you," I said. "Then tell me how." You close your eyes," Coop answered, "and jump.
On the surface, we're polar opposites. Under the skin, though, we're the same: people think they know what they're getting, and they're always wrong.
she told me she'd be a phoenix." The image of the mythical creature rising from the ashes glitters in my mind. "They don't really exist." "She said that depends on whether or not there's someone who can see them.
Time is an optical illusion- never quite as soild or strong as we think it is
That's what happens to dreams, life gets in the way.
Families were never what you wanted them to be. We all wanted what we couldn't have: the perfect child, the doting husband, the mother who wouldn't let go. We live in our grown-up dollhouses completely unaware that, at any moment, a hand might come in and change around everything we'd become accustomed to.
Things break all the time. Day breaks, waves break, voices break. Promises break. Hearts break.
They ask, how could this happen here? Well. How could it not happen here?
A dutiful mother is someone who follows every step her child makes...And a good mother is someone whose child wants to follow her.
"Everyone still deserves to have their say."
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