Abby Slovin Quotes

She looked up at me with a look that told me everything, gave me a glimpse of everything I would be missing in one instant.

Winter's my favorite...The best parts are the coats and sweaters. Hugging all the warmth back in.

Never too late for the right kind of change.

She did not know why the heat felt so heavy in that house, why all of a sudden it felt so much less like warmth than she remembered.

The apartment was merely a collection of looted, hollowed out shades of paint.

The streets were awash with blues and grays – suspended in the air, bouncing off buildings, reflecting off car windows – as Brooklyn neared nighttime.

Parker stared at the bare branches along Saint Marks Place as they swayed with the wind, reaching for one another, and longed for the warmth of a million little leaves and their multicolored smiles.

In the distance, they could see the headlights from cars crossing the bridges like fireflies swarming the streets toward home.

The honesty of her plain skin was striking without foundation.

She looked up and saw the right angles of time above her as the clock hit three.

Sometimes you don't get to close one door before another opens. We're not all given that luxury, for closure.

She suddenly realized how much she loved the rain; loved the way it seemed like the sky was purging something it held onto; the feeling of relief that settled over the earth the moment it passed. As if the universe, and all its tiny pieces, took one collective sigh and moved on to the next thing.

Eventually, as her grandmother's sobs softened, she pulled her away and – looking deeply into the clouds of her grey eyes – lifted her and led her home for the last time.

In a brief, surreal moment, she could see the young man he used to be in his smile.

I can't even think about words because the sunset stole them all.

Even with the windows up she could smell the thick, spiky aroma of cut grass and the distant hum of a lawnmower somewhere down the street. It was a sad hum, though, like the buzzing of a bee that had lost the desire to make honey.

Love was something that sat comfortably in her dreams, so she never fully expected it to materialize.

Parker sat on the opposite end of the couch, distracted by thoughts of the coming year and all the secrets it kept from her.

By midday, temperatures had not reached their typical highs for late spring, and passersby seemed to struggle with the desire to dress for summer despite the chill in the air.

Like a palindrome, like the way a perfect day should be.

She didn't quite know how to translate faces; so she wondered about Jerry, but that's all she could do.

I used to build things, maintain them and what-not. Sometimes, we'd take things apart completely just to get a good look at the thing on the inside. Then, put it all back together ... Now, I'm lucky if I can build a complete sentence.

It's a leap of faith to think that being anonymous will change anything.

Her grandmother experienced them differently, as if they brought her remnants from another time, another life even, which she refused to acknowledge in any other context.

She approached the car with a confident stride that implied she had lived on the block her whole life.

Its roots emerged forcefully from the earth like the Great Wall and extended at least ten feet toward the house, demanding to be seen from beneath the soil.

A girl? Her mother looked at her, curiously, as if the word were unknown to her; ancient and puzzling as an artifact behind a glass encasement.

For the life of me, I don't understand these bumper stickers. I would think, the more you believe in something, the less you'd want to stick it on your car. Just ridiculous the way people flaunt beliefs like they're pocketbooks.

She let go and yet for the first time did not feel she was giving up.

At some point, time isn't something on the horizon anymore, something you think about happening one day, but something that's already happened, only there to replay in your mind.

Parker fixated on the envelope's precise penmanship as she lifted it. Her grandmother rarely took the time to write her own name in the return address, let alone give it the aesthetic attention that this one so seemed to demand. Once, when Parker questioned her on this, her grandmother casually asserted that she "didn't quite believe in envelopes" as if this were a debatable concept like Socialism or wearing white after Labor Day.

His eyes felt like bathwater; fluid, therapeutic almost.

Fact is just fiction with different storytellers

She looked out the window at the soggy sidewalks on Saint Marks Place, as a late snowfall began to melt in the face of a much warmer early spring day.

She was now on her way to an old world that was nothing but new to her.

Parker let the letter drop to the floor, an act she often criticized in movies for its melodrama.

Sometimes walls go up between friends and you can't see the other side. And sometimes they come down. That's just the way walls are, and they're everywhere.

Parker soon became familiar with the one certainty of sorrow, that ultimately loneliness trumps logic.

Parker, I'm old," She said matter-of-factly. "I get away with these things." She continued to wave and smile wildly. "People treat me like an idiot so I'm allowed to act like one from time to time. It's one of the perks.

For a brief moment, the rusted steel beams above her sparkled like stars.

There are no words for the sight of a smiling face.

Sometimes, we have to change the way we see things in order to see the way they truly are. We have to look at all the angles and cracks and crevices until we know what it is we're looking at. And we can't stop until we see it all!