Here you will find Weekly Quotes (every week on Sunday evening) or Special Quotes (for holidays or if I just find a quote I must share).
“I despise the rituals of fake friendship. I wish we could just claw each other’s eyes out and call it a day; instead we put on huge radiant smiles and spout compliments until our teeth hurt from the saccharine sweetness of it all.”
“Finally Doug broke the stalemate and looked at Megan.
“Thanks a lot,” he said sarcastically. Then he yanked off his plastic gloves, tossed them at her feet, and stormed away.
Finn let out a sigh as he gazed after his brother. “You know, my parents really should have stopped with me.”
“A moment of reserve. “That was it? The whole story?”
“Yes. God, you’re right. That was pants.”
I sidestep another aggressive couscous vendor. “Pants?”
“Rubbish. Crap. Shite.”
Pants. Oh heavens, that’s cute.”
“Then her fingers were moving of their own accord, playing a melody of dark feathers and brave flight, a song so wonderful that even the whistling wind picked up her tune and calmed the clouds.”
“The little island seemed to float on the dark lake-waters. Trees grew on it, and a little hill rose in the middle of it. It was a mysterious island, lonely and beautiful. All the children stood and gazed at it, loving it and longing to go to it. It looked so secret – almost magic.
“Well,” said Jack at last. “What do you think? Shall we run away, and live on the secret island?”
“Yes!” whispered all the children.
“Let’s!”
“Then Wade cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled as loud as he could: “ECHO!” Indeed, there was an impressive echo. Followed by the mighty roar of a troll.”
“It’s a grace feather. See how its colors shift from green to blue, like the sea? It means remembrance. It shows that no distance, no amount of water between two people, will make them forget. Someone gave it to say that they remembered you.”
“Only bad books have good endings.
If a book is any good, it’s ending is always bad – because you don’t want the book to end.”
“I wanted to tell her how much I liked her, how I felt this tugging feeling in my stomach that drew me close to her, but I couldn’t let the words out of my mouth because it felt like unleashing something I couldn’t control.”
“What she needs are stories.
Stories are a way to preserve one’s self. To be remembered. And to forget.
Stories come in so many forms: in charcoal, and in song, in paintings, poems, films. And books.
Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—or to find strength in a very long one.”