Sarah Dessen Quotes
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I knew I had to keep him to myself, as I'd slowly begun to keep everything. We had secrets now, truths and half-truths, that kept her always at arm's length, behind a closed door, miles away.
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What is family? They were the people who claimed you. In good, in bad, in parts or in whole, they were the ones who showed up, who stayed there, regardless.
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And to know me, as you have discovered, is to love me.
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So finally, I decided that the best response — the safest — was none at all.
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But as was so often the case, it was the one person missing who you thought about more than the ones who were right in front of you.
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"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?"
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She was so emotional, on the verge of tears. This was what I'd wanted to prevent with all those quick disappearances, the tangledness of farewells and all the baggage they brought with them. But now, looking at Deb, I realized what else I'd given up: knowing for sure that someone was going to miss me. What happened to goodbye, Michael in Westcott had written on my Ume.com page. I was pretty sure I knew, now. It had been packed away in a box of its own, trying to be forgotten, until I really needed it. Until now.
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There has to be a middle. Without it, nothing can ever truly be whole. Because it is not just the space between, but also what holds everything together.
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Maybe other writers have perfect first drafts, but I am not one of them. I always try to get the book as tight as I can, but you reach a point as the author where you have lost all perspective.
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Self respect, Colie. If you don't have it, the world will walk all over you.
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I think when you're a beginning author with any publishing company, there's only so much they can put behind you.
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Not for the first time, I wished both of us could just say what we meant. But that, like so much else, was impossible
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I don't talk about my books while I'm writing them: not even my husband knows what a novel's about until it's done.
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Maybe I'd just figured out there were some things you were better off not knowing
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But the original was there as well—more jaded and rudimentary, functional rather than romantic. It fit not just the yellow house but another door, deep within my own heart. One that had been locked so tight for so long that I was afraid to even try it for fear of what might be on the other side
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Really? Screaming?” He shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. But there were definitely some freak-outs on both sides. Though, to be honest, the silence was worse.” “Worse than screaming?” I said. “Much,” he said, nodding. “I mean, at least with an argument, you know what’s happening. Or have some idea. Silence is… it could be anything. It’s just –” “So freaking loud,” I finished for him. He pointed at me. “Exactly.
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Some things you don't have to tell. Some things, between sisters, are understood.
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What," I said, "is that a crime here or something? Like only buying one thing at the Gas/Gro?
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You knew the truth all along, Colie. That's all matters. You knew.
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The thing is I'm a great believer in the perfect moment. They don't come around that often.
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Whenever something great happens, you’re always kind of poised for the universe to correct itself.
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"So you're always honest," I said. "Aren't you?" "No," I told him. "I'm not." "Well, that's good to know, I guess." "I'm not saying I'm a liar," I told him. He raised his eyebrows. "That's not how I meant it, anyways." "How'd you mean it, then?" "I just...I don't always say what I feel." "Why not?" "Because the truth sometimes hurts," I said. "Yeah," he said. "So do lies, though."
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Relationships dont always make sense. Especially from the outside
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I was actually pretty miserable in high school. I couldn't wait for it to be over. And when it finally was, I remember sitting at graduation with all these classmates getting nostalgic and emotional already and all I could think was, "Get me out of here. I never want to see you people again." So it's ironic that I spend half my day putting myself back there by choice [while writing].