Sarah Dessen (born June 6, 1970) is an American writer who lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
Accepting all the good and bad about someone. It's a great thing to aspire to. The hard part is actually doing it.
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.
Just like that, with one phone call, she was a daughter again.
Sure, there was no guarantee any of these things would actually happen as he envisioned. But maybe that wasn‟t the point. It was the planning that counted, whether it ever came to fruition or not.
Despite our differences, we did have a history. No one understood where I was coming from the way he did.
Because' I repeated, as a breeze blew over us, "sometimes things just happen. That aren't expected. Or on the list. " "Such as?" he asked "I don't know," I said, frustrated. "That's the point. It would be out of the blue, taking us by surprise. Something we might not be prepared for. " "But we will be prepared," he said, confused. "We'll have the list.
I felt like I'd been swimming so hard, and the water growing warmer and warmer the closer I got to the top. I wasn't there yet, but now I could see the surface, rippling just beyond my fingers.
It's all in the view. That's what I mean about forever, too. For any one of us our forever could end in an hour, or a hundred years from now. You never know for sure, so you'd better make every second count.
Remy: Did you really believe, that first day, that we were meant to be together? Dexter: You're here, aren't you?
I think whenever a writer is really enjoying themselves and liking what they are doing, that shows on the page.
You should never be surprised when someone treats you with respect, you should expect it.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's so easy in the past tense.
Leaving was easy. It was everything else that was so damned hard.
So many versions of just one memory, and yet none of them were right or wrong. Instead, they were all pieces. Only when fitted together, edge to edge, could they even begin to tell the whole story.
Sometimes love can be an ugly thing.
You can never be sure of anyone until you're close enough to see them clearly.
How it felt to have the world moving beneath me, a hand gripping mine, knowing if I fell, at least I wouldn't do it alone.
If what you're asking is how I debated whether or not to love her the answer is I didn't. Not at all. It just happened. I didn't ever question it; by the time I realized what was happening, it was already done.
I wasn't ready for this, but then I probably never would be, and this year, like so much else, wouldn't wait. I had no choice but to get out of my car, with everyone watching and begin in earnest, alone. So I did
Fine. . . a word that you said when someone asked how you were but didn't really care to know the truth.