Ann Brashares (born July 30, 1967) is an American writer of young adult fiction. She is best known as the author of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series.
He had to fight. That's all he had. Not memories, not experiences, not skills. He had a will. And his will was to fight until he couldn't fight anymore.
Everything good requires sacrifices.
Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks- the traffic signal that said "Walk" the second you go there- and downticks- the itch tag at the back of your collar- that happened to every person in the course of the day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day.
She used to cry roughly three times a year. Now she seemed to cry three times before breakfast. Could that be considered progress?
You don't have time, Len. That is the most bitter and the most beautiful pieve of advice I can offer. If you don't have what you want now, you don't have what you want. -pg276
Everything I ever said to you was true and is true.
Her vision of the world under the water represented a beautiful stillness, a version of heaven. It was the lost city of Lena, her alternate universe, the life she yearned for but didn't get to have.
There was love expressed in the places you usually forget to look.
But there were times when you felt miserable and you wanted to feel better, and other times when you felt miserable and you figured you would just keep on feeling miserable.
Marnie hated to see her spend so much of herself on someone who didn't care.
I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.
She wanted him to see all of her and also none of her. She wanted him to be dazzled by the bits and blinded by the whole. She wanted him to see her whole and not in pieces. She had hopes that were hard to satisfy.
As the three of them walked home from the trees, nobody needed to say it, but Ama knew. They had questioned their friendship. They had searched and wondered, looking for a sign. And all along they'd had their trees. You couldn't wear them. You couldn't pass them around. They offered no fashion advantage. But they had roots. They lived.
Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. "I'm scared. . . ," she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them.
What if people knew they were recycled? Would that change anything?
She got tired of herself. She got tired of not being able to say what she wanted or do what she wanted or even want what she wanted.
Someday when you're twenty, maybe, I'll see you again. You'll be this hot soccer star at some great school, with a million guys more interesting than I am chasing you down. And you know what? I'll see you and I'll pray you want me still.
Life isn't just fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all. -William Goldman
If you didn't have a choice, you had to make a choice. If you didn't have options, you made some. You couldn't just let this world happen to you. . . he didn't see eternity. He saw this girl and this moment and this one slim chance.
Developing characters is a strange thing. In the beginning they are abstract and I wonder how to move on from there.