Sarah Dessen Quotes
I'm starting to think, though, that some things never get that. The replay, and all. So at some point you have to make peace with it as it is, not keep waiting for a chance to change it
When you have a kid, you sign on for the whole package: good, bad, everything in between. you can't just dip in and out, picking and choosing the parts you want and quitting when it's not perfect.
Looking back, it seemed like it should have been harder to lose someone, or have them lose you, especially when they were in the same state, only a few towns over.
With my mom, when someone was gone, they were gone. She didn't waste another minute thinking about them, and neither should you.
Never would forever, with all its meanings, be so clear and distinct as in the true, guaranteed end of the world.
Instead, we just sat there, together but really apart, watching a show about a stranger and all her secrets, while keeping our own to ourselves, as always.
"I just don't know," I said, my voice sounding bumby, not like mine, "how do you help someone who doesn't want your help. What do you do when you can't do anything?"
I don't lie." "You don't lie," I repeated. "That's what I said." "Ever." "Nope." Sure you don't, I thought.
Nate: “And,” he said, “boys at twelve aren’t exactly slick with the ladies.” Ruby: “’Slick with the ladies’?” I said. “Are you twelve?
I understood now. This voice, the one that had been trying to get my attention all this time, calling out to me, begging me to hear it - it wasn't Will's. It was mine.
It was always late at night, when everything and everyone else was quiet, that those voices would rise like ghosts, soft and haunting, filling your mind until sleep finally came.
I thought again how you could never really know what you were seeing with just a glance, in motion, passing by. Good or bad, right or wrong. There was always so much more.
So many versions of just one memory, and yet none of them were right or wrong. Instead, they were all pieces. Only when fitted together, edge to edge, could they even begin to tell the whole story.
All you could do was take on as much weight as you can bear. And if you're lucky, there's someone close enough by to shoulder the rest.
We were willing to do so much for the people we loved, even if it meant hurting ourselves. Maybe that, in the end, was what love- all kinds- was really about.
Right now, though, I wanted not to think forward or backward, but only to lose myself in the words.
So while it seemed like you were seeing everything, you really weren't. Just bits and pieces that looked like a whole.
And for one second, it was like I could feel the timing clicking together, finally pieces falling into place.
Wes wants to be with Macy. And Macy, whether she'll admit it or not, wants to be with Wes. And yet they're not together, which is not only unjust, but when you think about it, tragical!
She said writting novels was like childbirth: if you truly remembered how awful it got, you'd never do it again.
The end of a wedding reception is always so depressing. And only the bride and groom are spared, jetting off into the sunset while the rest of us wake up the next morning to just another day.
Remy: Did you really believe, that first day, that we were meant to be together? Dexter: You're here, aren't you?
Then what are you like, Annabel?" he shot back. "A liar, like you told me that first day? Come on. That was the biggest lie of all.
If there's one thing I've learned in the last few months, it's that sometimes you just have to close your eyes and jump.
During this time we've been apart, it's you I've thought of when I'm at my weakest, and you who have pulled me through.
How ballsy it was to just assume you know, with one glance, the things another person could live without. As if it was the same for everyone, that simple.
Writing a novel is like childbirth: once you realize how awful it really is, you never want to do it again.
I planned my whole future around Adam," she said now, quietly. "And now I have nothing." "No," I told her, "now you just don't have Adam. There's a big difference, Lissa. You just can't see it yet.
I'd seen another shade of him, and if it had been light where we were now, he'd have seen the same of me. So I was grateful, as I had been so often in my life, for the dark.
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.
It was a basic plot in any number of her books: girl strikes out, makes good, finds love, gets revenge. In that order. The making good and striking out part I liked. The rest would just be bonus.
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.
When someone starts to change, and it’s obvious, it's sort of natural to wonder why. Right?
It wasn’t so much that I was positive. I just wasn’t fully subscribing to such a negative way of thinking anymore.
How it seemed like you could see everything, but certain things were blocked out, hidden.
I mean, at first, it was kind of disappointing. But people recover from disappointment. Otherwise we'd all be hanging from nooses. Right?
But all the love in the world won't save a sinking ship. You have to either bail or jump overboard.
That was the thing about being on the inside: the world was just going on, even when it seemed like time for you had stopped for good.
Look at it this way: I might be saying you're fat, but at least I'm not punching you in the face.' Are those the only options?' Not always. Just sometimes.
