And then he smiles, and in all the places around the globe where it's night, day breaks.
The Color Of Extraordinary.
Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.
How can the word love, the word life, even fit in the mouth?
What kind of world is this? And what do you do about it? What do you do when the worst thing that can happen actually happens?
When he plays all the flowers swap colors and years and decades and centuries of rain pour back into the sky
It’s never occurred to me that the stars are still up there shining even in the daytime when we can’t see them.
The sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.
All her knowledge is gone now. Everything she ever learned, or heard, or saw. Her particular way of looking at Hamlet or daisies or thinking about love, all her private intricate thoughts, her inconsequential secret musings – they’re gone too. I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I’m watching it burn right to the ground.
But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
I don't know how the heart withstands it.
This is it--what all the hoopla is about, what Wuthering Heights is about--it all boils down to this feeling rushing through me in this moment with Joe as our mouths refuse to part. Who knew all this time I was one kiss away from being Cathy and Juliet and Elizabeth Bennet and Lady Chatterley!?
If bad luck knows who you are, become someone else.
And why do English people sound smarter than the rest of us? Like they should be awarded the Nobel Prize for a simple greeting?
I didn't know love felt like this, like turning into brightness.
I'm layering away: sauce, noodles, I belong to you, cheese, sauce, my heart is yours, noodles, cheese, I hear your soul in your music, cheese, cheese, CHEESE.
Maybe some people are just meant to be in the same story.
For the first time in our lives, I’m somewhere she can’t find, and I don’t have the map to give her that leads to me.
At least, the sun had the decency to stay the hell away from us.
Life’s a freaking mess… there’s not one truth ever, just a bunch of stories, all going on at once, in our heads, in our hearts, all getting in the way of each other. It’s all a beautiful calamitous mess.
grief is a house that disappears each time someone knocks at the door or rings the bell a house that blows into the air at the slightest gust that buries itself deep in the ground while everyone is sleeping
I can't shove the dark out of my way.
Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?
Years ago, I was crashed in gram’s garden and Big asked me what I was doing. I told him I was looking up at the sky. He said, “That’s a misconception, Lennie, the sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.
It's time for second chances. It's time to remake the world.
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