Gabrielle Zevin Quotes
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We are not quite novels. We are not quite short stories. In the end, we are collected works
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On Elsewhere we fool ourselves into thinking we know what will be just because we know the amount of time we have left. We know this, but we never really know what will be. We never know what will happen.
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That Woman is in love with her own grief.
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Each period had required me to be a slightly different person, and that was exhausting. I wondered if school had always felt this way and whether it was like this for everone.
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I do believe that food lobbies exert enormous, at times insidious, power over what we eat, that our water supplies are not being protected as much as they probably should be and that, in general, people are more interested in smart phones than museums.
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I don't think I would have minded you being the keeper of my secrets.
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Above all, mine is a love story. Unlike most love stories, this one involves chance, gravity, a dash of head trauma. It began with a coin toss. The coin came up tails. I was heads. Had it gone my way, there might not be a story at all. Just a chapter, or a sentence in a book whose greater theme had yet to be determined. Maybe this chapter would've had the faintest whisper of love about it. But maybe not. Sometimes, a girl needs to lose.
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"I accept your condemnation," I said.
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But then again maybe "I will" is nicer. It has a future in it.
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Speak up,' says Myrna who has a fuzzy white caterpillar of a moustache. 'My hearing's not so good.' 'I WAS SHOT IN THE HEAD.' Liz turns to Thandi. 'I thought you said you didn't remember how you got the hole in your head.' Thandi apologizes. 'I just remembered.' 'Shot in the head!' Florence-scratchy-voice says. 'Oy, that's rough.' 'Aw, it's nothing special. Happens pretty regularly where I'm from,' Thandi says. 'WHAT?' asks Myrna with the moustache. 'Say it toward my left ear, that's the good one.' 'I SAID, "IT'S NOTHING SPECIAL,"' Thandi yells/
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Intimacy doesn't have all that much to do with backseats of cars. Real intimacy is brushing your teeth together.
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if you were older you might agree with me. you might say that real love steals nothing. you might say that real love leaves a person intact. you would be wrong, jane. love is a greedy toddler who knows only the word 'mine.
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My heart was a little bit broken, but I still had to go to school. I buttoned my dress shirt over it and my winter coat, too. I hoped it didn't show too much.
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It was a nice day, and I don't mean that it was sunny either. It was humid and not too cool, like winter was getting annoyed with itself and wanted it to be spring just as much as everyone else.
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When I was around eight, I learned how to touch-type at school, and I received a computer as a present. I started writing plays, and for many years I thought I would be a playwright.
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He told me that love was the only thing that really mattered in the world.
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Diving is a leap of faith plus gravity.
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He kissed me, though not in a sexy way. Gentle. Tender.
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Oh, all stories are the same, aren't they? Men and women fall in love or out of love. People are born; people die. It al ends happily or it all ends sadly, and the difference matters only to the people involved.
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Wounds are like water set to boil - they heal best left unwatched.
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The words you can't find, you borrow.
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We aren't the things we collect, acquire, read. We are, for as long as we are here, only love. The things we loved. The people we loved. And these, I think these really do live on.
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A life isn't measured in hours and minutes. It's the quality, not the length.
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Let's stay young forever. Young, stupid, and pretty. Sounds like a plan, don't you think?
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People are capable of great, great change during the span of one lifetime. And women even more than men.
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Maybe if I'd been braver in that moment, I would have cried.
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Love stories are written in millimeters and milliseconds with a fast, dull pencil whose marks you can barely see, they are written in miles and eons with a chisel on the side of a mountiantop
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There's a pleasure to loving someone even when you know there's no chance in them loving you back. The pain I felt let me know I was still alive.
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A question I’ve thought about a great deal is why it is so much easier to write about the things we dislike/hate/acknowledge to be flawed than the things we love.
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You tell a kid he doesn't like to read, and he'll believe you
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