Ava Dellaira Quotes

You can see the city lights from there, spreading out below like stars on the ground.

It was a world full of feelings that I didn't have words for yet.

It was as if an invisible band started playing the sound track to a new life. I heard you. I wondered if this was how May felt when she was in high school. It must have been because it was her music. All the songs we'd listened to together, playing at once. The world she'd disappeared into was here. I looked up from my blush, away from Sky, whose eyes were still on me, and turned to Natalie and Hannah. I laughed out loud, full of the secret someone I could become. Hello, hello, hello.

With Sky, I can make the scary stuff disappear. We walk through the neighborhood after dark, and our shadows stand on top of each other, stretching across the whole street. We kiss, and I feel that if my shadow could stay inside of his, then he could eclipse everything that I don't want to remember. I can get lost in the things about him that are beautiful.

I would've given him every part of me if he wanted it.

Christmas and the others can end up making you sad, because you know you should be happy.

If beauty is truth, and truth is beauty, they are defined by each other, so how do we know the meaning of either?

When you set an intention, you can create transformation.

And i still don't know how to make sense of the world. but maybe it's okay that it's bigger than what we can hold on to.

The story seemed to start such a long time ago. It didn't fit into my brain, even. It started when i figured out how things could get broken ( ... ) It started when knowing was sadder than all of the things themselfs.

You were the first to do her harm. You were the first person to make the world dangerous for her.

But no one else can save you, not really. Not from yourself.

The line at the end that says, 'Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands' makes perfect sense to me. It means they can go anywhere inside of you, because like the rain, like water, they find places that nothing solid could pass through. It explains the way that Sky gets into me, into places that I never knew were there. How he touches a part of me no one has ever touched. We both have secret places in us.

Her bedroom walls are covered with magazine pictures, so that the walls don't end at the walls. They go outward, to a dream of somewhere else.

But we aren't transparent. If we want someone to know us, we have to tell them stuff.

The house felt haunted, like only I understood the way all of our shadows, the ones we'd left, had seeped into the wood and stained it.

Maybe that's what being in love is. You just keep filling up, never getting fuller, only brighter.

And maybe that's what being in love does. So that a life, a person, a moment you need to keep, stays with you into infinity.

You remind me of my first concert. The one I told you about on New Year's. You remind me of the feeling of wanting to make something.

You learned right away that applause sounds like love.

I forgot for a moment to worry about how I was supposed to be. Because I was perfect right then. Everything

All there is is this deep-in-my-stomach feeling of terror, and this fear that there is no really happy ending anymore.

Nothing is worse than when someone who's supposed to love you just leaves.

For the shadows to stop growing. For people to stop being angry.

It's a myth that grief makes you closer.

But missing something is okay. It's better, anyways, than feeling stuck somewhere. I'll take longing over boredom any day.

I laid the tree down on the cement and started tearing through its trunk, until it was in jagged pieces. The smell of pine was overwhelming, like the tree's heart was leaking out.

I have found that sometimes, moments get stuck in your body. They are there, lodged under your skin like hard seed-stones of wonder or sadness or fear, everything else growing up around them. And if you turn a certain way, if you fall, one of them could get free. It might dissolve in your blood, or it might spring up a whole tree. Sometimes, once one of them gets out, they all start to go.

Judy, I read that you said your first memory was music. Music that fills up a home. And one day, suddenly the music could escape through a window. For the rest of your life, you had to chase it.

But you said you love me. You don't just leave after that.

All of a sudden we were out of the lot and on the highway next to the mountains, flying. I put my hand out the window, and then I put my head out. I felt my hair blow behind me and the air rush into me, and I forgot for a moment to worry about how I was supposed to be. Because I was perfect right then. Everything was. And Sky was a perfect driver. Not scary. Just steady. And fast. I wanted the music to last forever.

Sky turned to look at me, his eyes amused. "Are you?"
"Afraid of my voice?" I laughed, nervous. "Yeah, I guess."
Then Sky tilted his head to the side a little and got more serious. "I think we all are. With Kurt, it's more like he just faces the fear, you know?

I can't describe how it felt, being there right then, so close together, on the edge between who we were and who we wanted to be.

Words aren't good enough for a lot of things, but we have to try.

Maybe it's true that there are no happy endings. But, right now, Angie is grateful to be at what feels like a beginning.

I mean, words can't be good enough for a lot of things. But, you know, I guess we have to try.

I know I could have saved your ashes to put into the ocean, but I wanted you to have the journey, all the way with the currents, to the open sea. And I know that when I finally get to see the waves washing on the shore, to hear them, I will feel you there.

His eyes were like your voice - keys to a place in me that could burst open.

But what I love is the end of your poem, when the urn talks to us. It says this: 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--- that is all / ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.' I keep trying to figure out exactly what you mean, but that sentence is like a circle. If beauty is truth, and if truth is beauty, they are defined by each other, so how do we know the meaning of either? I think that we make our own meanings, by putting ourselves into them.

When we are in love, we are both completely in danger and completely saved.

Thruth makes you more you.

How could she just leave me here to live without her? I miss her so much. I love her. I want her to grow up and become who she was meant to be. I wanted her to grow up with me.

It was then that I could feel that the moths in him, with their wings so paper-thin, will never be near enough to the light. They will always want to be nearer - to be inside of it. It was then that I could feel the lost thing in him.

I think a lot of people want to be someone, but we are scared that if we try, we won't be as good as everyone imagines we could be.

A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself - and especially to feel, or not to feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at any moment is fine with them. That's what real love amounts to
letting a person be what he really is.

The universe is bigger than anything that can fit into your mind.

Sometimes your music sounds like there's too much inside of you. Maybe even you couldn't get it all out. Maybe that's why you died. Like you exploded from the inside.

I know I wrote letters to people with no address on this earth, I know that you are dead. But I hear you. I hear all of you. We were here. Our lives matter.

People can leave, and then they can come back. It sounds simple, like an obvious thing. But when I realized that, the truth if it seemed important.

It wasn't fair what happened to you, either. Or what happened to her. A lot of things aren't. I guess we can either be angry about it forever or else we just have to try to make things better with what we have now.

You taught them that people love you for what they want to see in you, not for what you are.

Because I think that by beauty, you don't just meaning something thats pretty. You mean something that makes us human. The urn, you say, is a 'friend to man'. It will live beyond its generation, and the next ones, and your poem is like that, too. You died almost two hundred years ago, when you were only twenty-five. But the words that you left are still alive

Love's worth it, for however long it lasts.

You made me feel what summertime really is. Underneath what's bright, you knew the hot dark rasp of it.

I think that by beauty, you don't just mean something that's pretty. You mean something that makes us human.

There are a lot of human experiences that challenge the limits of our language," she said. "That's one of the reasons that we have poetry.

There's more to life than being a passenger.

I think that I've been trying for a long time to feel like I am supposed to, instead of what I actually am.

Maybe when we can tell the stories, however bad they are, we don't belong to them anymore. They become ours. And maybe what growing up really means is knowing that you don't have to just be a character, going whichever way the story says. It's knowing that you could be the author instead.

I don´t want to be a ghost or a stupid sexy cat. I want to be something that I really want to be.

It's easy to feel like the bunny rabbi frozen in terror. And it's easy to feel like one of the fire balloons, at the whim of the wind, either rising up out of sight or burning down. Blow one direction or another.

It's sad when everyone knows you, but no one knows you.

Laurel, you couldn't have saved your sister. But, love, you've got to save yourself. Do that for me, okay? Because you are worth it.

The thing about traditions is that they hold up the shape of your memory.

But the truth is, the star was just on the sidewalk. Where people walk right over it.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Christmas and the others can end up making you sad, because you know you should be happy. But on Halloween you get to become anything that you want to be

After something really bad happens, the next worse thing is people feeling sorry for you about it. It's like confirmation that something is terribly wrong.

I think it's like when you lose something so close to you, it's like losing yourself. That's why at the end, it's hard for her to write even. She can hardly remember how. Because she barely knows what she is anymore.

You know when you think you know someone? More than anyone in the world? You know you know them, because you've seen them, like, for real. And then you reach out, and suddenly they are just ... gone. You though you belonged together. You thought they were yours, but they're not. You want to protect them, but you can't.

I want to be cleansed--I want to burn away all of the bad memories and everything bad inside of me. And maybe that's what being in love does. So that a life, a person, a moment you need to keep, stays with you into infinity. May smiling back at me. The two of us as little girls at Fallfest, with parents who danced. Your song playing into eternity. The night leaves on the cottonwood trees catching the white lights. And every little star that burns hotter than we could know.

You can be noble and brave and beautiful and still find yourself falling.

They rode the tramway to the top of the mountains, watched the watermeleon-colored sunsets, and danced in Mom's little studio to Beatles songs.

What I told you about saving people isn't true. You might think it is, because you might want someone else to save you, or you might want to save someone so badly. But no one else can save you, not really. Not from yourself. [ ... ] You fall asleep in the foothills, and the wolf comes down from the mountains. And you hope someone will wake you up. Or chase it off. Or shoot it dead. But when you realize that the wolf is inside you, that's when you know. You can't run from it. And no one who loves you can kill the wolf, because it's part of you. They see your face on it. And they won't fire the shot.

You were still vulnerable, furious at everything and in love with it at once.

Now they both act around each other like you do when you know something is going to end and you've decided not to know.

When parents talk about their pasts, the stories start to stick in your head. But the memories that you inherit look different from the now-world, and different from your own memories, too. Like they have a color all their own. I don't mean sepia-toned or something. My parents aren't even that old. I just mean that there is something particular about their glow.

There was something between me and the world right then. I saw it like a big sheet of glass, too thick to break through. I could make new friends, but they could never know me.

But I think the thing that takes
me the most courage is realizing that as many oceans as I
might cross, the stupid simple truth will always be on the
other side.

Because once you're afraid of one thing, you can get scared of a lot of stuff.

I wished I were somewhere with him, instead of there. I was feeling like some kind of strangely shaped balloon whose string he was holding, and if he let go, I'd float off into the ether.

What's left of what your body was - once the girl with bare shoulder blades , giggling, once the girl galloping an imaginary horse, once the girl sleeping in her sequined red dress - was now ash in a jar. Grains of bone. But then, I knew it wasn't you anymore. You were somewhere more.

I know that it can be hard to believe that someone loves you if you are afraid of being yourself, or if you are not exactly sure who you are. It can be hard to believe that someone won't leave.

There are some things that I can't tell anyone, except the people who aren't here anymore.

She is running from something inside her that he can't see.

It seemed everyone knew their place in it, but I was in the mood where I would rather be alone and look a houseplants.

We are each weird in a different way, but together, that's actually normal.

History repeats itself, you sang. I wonder if that's true. If there's a hurt
that's buried in us, maybe it keeps fi nding its way through.

Anyway, you're the one who doesn't want to be my boyfriend."
"How do you know?" I shrugged.
"You're not like that."
"What if you're wrong? What if I am?" "You are?" There was a moment of quiet. "Well, I am now."
"So am I,

Being a rock star is the intersection of who you are and who you want to be.

Because of love, of course. The more you love something, the harder it is to lose.

It's a testament to how much we loved you that we are still looking seventy-five years after your death. But sometimes I can't help wonder what would be different if we finally had an answer.

But life isn't like that. You can't be sure how it's going to come out, even if you do everything right. They turn around on you, lives do.

I feel like I am drowning in memories. Everything is too bright.