...to her all books were the same and, as with her subjects, she felt a duty to approach them without prejudice...Lauren Bacall, Winifred Holtby, Sylvia Plath - who were they? Only be reading could she find out.
Together, in that room, our childhood notions of love melted away. We discovered love was not a fairytale. Sometimes there were no happy endings, and when there were, you needed to work like hell to keep the happiness alive.
You said you were a fairy princess You said you were a shooting star You said we'd go to Bora Bora Now look at where the fuck we are
Back then we gave it our all, we neither lied nor made mistakes, we didn't fail and didn't do anything wrong. It's just that...TIME has passed and changed it all.
When he sees my pain, the old and new, he pushes me to give it to him. To give in to his need to consume all of it and make it his.
Who's out there?" I say. "Just teenagers," my father says. "Why are they like that?" "That's just the way they are." "Will I be like that when I grow up?" "You? Perish the thought.
I can't believe you didn't say you were Simon Lewis," she said. "I thought you were just a mundane." Simon leaned slightly away. "I am just a mundane.
They lost Olivia at Newport Beach. The panic made Alice hyperventilate. You were meant to be watching her, Nick kept saying. As if that were the point. That Alice had made a mistake. Not that Olivia was missing, but that it was Alice's fault.
...and that there were many things grow-ups did which couldn't properly be judged by young people until the young people were grown-ups themselves...
...and that there were many things grown-ups did which couldn't properly be judged by young people until the young people were grown-ups themselves...
Not your distress. Never that. I loved— I loved being there. Next to you. The pile of limbs that was Us. Together in the same bed. Even if it meant waking up with a few new bruises.
When it comes to words, rather than using our own voice, authentic and unpracticed, we steal someone else's to shield our fear.
My grandmother simply shook her head and said, "You know what you saw. The bird doesn't need to be counted, and neither do you.
A shadow is never created in darkness. It is born of light. We can be blind to it and blinded by it. Our shadow asks us to look at what we don’t want to see
I have found what I need most to heal a broken bond is time together—the very thing I avoid is the thing most desired.
WHAT ARE THE CONSEQUENCES when we go against our instincts? What are the consequences of not speaking out? What are the consequences of guilt, shame, and doubt?
When I said, “I am my mother, but I’m not,” I was saying my path would be my own.
Each of us has one. Each voice is distinct and has something to say. Each voice deserves to be heard. But it requires the act of listening.
Listening over and over to the voices through a family of instruments allowed us to recognize and appreciate the dignity and uniqueness of each living thing in the meadow and forest.
When you were in the hospital, dying, I called your mom. I didn’t tell her you were gravely ill, but we did have phone sex.
I had a dream about you coming up with non sequiturs. You were a purple giraffe and I was an orange rhino. But we were eating liquid skittles.
