Jennifer Donnelly Quotes
Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either
Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?
I know it is a bad thing to break a promise, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you.
Most of the mess that is called history comes about because kings and presidents cannot be satisfied with a nice chicken and a good loaf of bread.
History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.
Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.
Life’s all about the revolution, isn’t it? The one inside, I mean. You can’t change history. You can’t change the world. All you can ever change is yourself.
He's wearing boots, a kilt, and a long-sleeve tee. No coat, even though it's December. Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.
I'm wishing he could see that music lives. Forever. That it's stronger than death. Stronger than time. And that its strength holds you together when nothing else can.
Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.
A new word. Bright with possibilities. A flawless pearl to turn over and over in my hand, then put away for safekeeping.
I've always admired your rather formidable will, your refusal to back away from difficulties, but sometimes strength isn't about perseverance. Sometimes it's about knowing when to quit.
Funny, 'ow you can 'old a jewel in your 'and, and toss it away, and not even know what you 'ad until it's gone.
I could almost hear the characters inside, murmuring and jostling, impatient for me to open the cover and let them out.
When you can write music that endures, bravo. Until then, keep quiet and study the work of those who can.
There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.
She's got a big belt around her hips. It has a shiny buckle with PRADA on it, which is Italian for insecure.
Namaste. It was a Nepalese greeting. It meant: The light within me bows to the light within you.
For the first time, I saw what was in his heart, and I wondered if he might ever want to look deep enough to see mine.
Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.
Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.
Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.
You can't argue with the dead, no matter what you say, they always have the last word.
One expects decent people to stand up for the good of all. Decent people shut their doors and hide behind them as decent people do. Massacres could never happen if it weren't for decent people.
I listened as the words became sentences and the sentences became pages and the pages became feelings and voices and places and people.
Had you but seen it, I promise you, your high-minded principles would have melted like candle wax. Never would you have wished such beauty away.
You are a ghost, Andi," she says. "Almost gone." I look at her. I want to say something but I can't get the words out. She squeezes my hands. "Come back to us," she says. And she's gone.
The rain comes down harder as I write. It sheets off the roof in torrents. I wish it would pound against me. Pound the life from my body. The flesh from my bones. The pain from my heart.
I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine.
Turn away. From the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and look at the light.