Maybe the impossible is possible when you take everything else away.
On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.
Picture yourself five years from now. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there.
I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.
The information. Every bit that of information that was ever in your brain. But the information is not the mind Jenna. That we've never accomplished before. What we've done with you is groundbreaking. We cracked the code. The mind is an energy that the brain produces. Think of a glass ball twirling on your fingertip. If it falls, it shatters into a million pieces. All the parts of a ball are still there, but it will never twirl with that force on your fingertip again. The brain is the same way.
When your life has had few events to occupy it, it's amazing how a simple encounter can seem like an entire three-act play.
Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.
When is a cell finally too small to hold our essence?
I used to be someone.
Awareness There is a dark place. A place where I have no eyes, no mouth. No words. I can't cry out because I have no breath. The silence is so deep I want to die. But I can't. The darkness and silence go on forever. It is not a dream. I don't dream.
But remember, child, we may all have our own story and destiny, and sometimes our seemingly bad fortune, but we're all part of a greater story too. One that transcends the soil, the wind, time even our own tears. Greater stories will have their way.
Words have longer lives than people.
Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.
Tell me who I am. (29)
There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.
A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten . . .
There are a lot of memories we imagine. We play them over and over in our minds, trying to orchestrate our movements and words to perfection. Or maybe it's just that I've lived inside of my head more than any other person in the history of the world. Maybe none of us can really predict how we will act at any give moment. Maybe we're all at the mercy of circumstance in spite of our well-laid plans.
it is amazin, she thinks, how simple appearances can be created - a rush, a smile, a new coat of paint, a slow, calm voice, a hug, a new dress - a resolve to keep out questions and cling to secrets
There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.
He believes me. But that is nothing new. He always did because I was a rule follower. I played by the rules he understood. But there are new rules now, ones he doesn't know yet. He'll learn. Just as I'm learning.
It's other people who make us wise, and I haven't known nearly enough.
Do certain events in our lives leave a permanent mark, freezing a piece of us in time, and that becomes a touchstone that we measure the rest of our lives against?
Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)
Multiple closets for different needs. Overkill.
People will notice the beauty of what they usually ignore ~
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