As a writer, you live in such isolation. It's hard to imagine your book has a life beyond you.
Ann BrasharesBridget's anger evaporated and the sadness came back. The anger was easier. She owned and contolled it, whereas the sadness owned her.
Ann BrasharesShe went around with a broken heart, and she wasn't sure who'd broken it. She thought it was herself, mostly.
Ann BrasharesShe wasn't as destructive as Bee. She had never been as dramatic. Rather, she'd slipped carefully, stealthily away from her ghosts.
Ann BrasharesShe was astonished, and at the same time she knew. There were many things in life like that. You couldn’t imagine it, and then it happened and you couldn’t really imagine it hadn’t.
Ann BrasharesIt was funny how the old practices always came around again. It was the rhythm of human enterprise to invent and worship some new approach, to fully reject it a generation later, to realize the need for it again a generation or two after that and then hastily reinvent it as new, usually without its original elegance. Scientists hated to look backward for anything.
Ann Brashares