Barbara Delinsky Quotes

Except she wasn't Vicki Bell anymore. She was Vicki Bell Beaudry, owner of the Red Fox with her husband, Rob, whose family was nearly as rooted in Bell Valley as the Bell family was, hence a questionable welcome there, too.

Thanks to the Betamax and Jason's diligent collection of tapes, she'd even been able to rerun the shows she'd missed while in Haiti. It was her job, she reasoned. And now she'd blown it!

Being friends is different from being lovers. It's a sea change.

When you lose the most precious thing in your life, how do you go on? How do you not?

And so it went. Smiling, Annie might have liked to freeze the moment in time. These three, so precious to her, were in synch with each other. There was a feeling of excitement and hope.

Quinnipeague in August was a lush green place where inchworms dangled from trees whose leaves were so full that the eaten parts were barely missed. Mornings meant 'thick o' fog' that caught on rooftops and dripped, blurring weathered gray shingles while barely muting the deep pink of rosa rugosa or the hydrangea's blue. Wood smoke filled the air on rainy days, pine sap on sunny ones, and wafting through it all was the briny smell of the sea.

Which is more abiding – a mother's love or a child's need for it?

There are always hurdles in life. Getting over them is how we move forward.

Nicole craved sweets. Her list included peach pie, rhubarb pie, and pumpkin pie, all of which would be on hand the following week for the Fourth of July cookout on the bluff, so she knew Quinnie cooks would have their recipe cards nearby. In addition to pies, she wanted recipes for blueberry cobbler, apple crisp, molasses Indian pudding, Isobel Skane's chocolate almond candy, and, of course, Melissa Parker's marble macadamia brownies.

That," he added before she could, "because someone needs to be around here to buy the food and see to the house and the kids." He patted the air. "I know that, Sarah. I'm the first one to say that your role is as important as mine, it's just that the demands are different." He put a hand on the back of his neck.

To wear every day, not big things that are only for dress." Another pause. "Yes, they were very expensive, but expensive doesn't make them right. I buy costume jewelry that I love, and I wear it all the time, because

The question was whether James would love me if I was someone else.

Her ticket to freedom lay in her lap. Ever an avid reader, Annie had escaped into books in recent months, when all else failed to calm her. As a friend, a book had advantages over the human variety. It was there whenever she needed it, it vanished as easily, and it never asked questions, expected witty replies, made awkward suggestions, or otherwise overcompensated for its own inability to right the wrongs of the world.

It's a girl!" he cried, and stood there, not quite knowing what to do, until the others crowded around him, hugging him, hugging each other, laughing, crying, asking questions. A girl. Michael should have known. "How big is she?" "Who does she look like?" "How's Leigh?" "When can we see them?" The babbling continued nonstop until, shortly thereafter, Jon was allowed to carry his daughter into the hall just outside the delivery room, where the Popewells waited excitedly.

Annie took his hand. She kissed it and held it to the pulse point at her neck. She didn't speak. Words would have been an intrusion on what was happening between them. She could almost see the tiny ends of the soul-wire that had been severed in October, winding around each other, knotting, connecting in a way that she doubted would ever again come undone. That was how she wanted it.

Right or not, a mother always blamed herself when something went wrong.

MICHAEL WAS STILL FILMING. HE HAD ALREADY used up two cartridges recording the nervousness in the waiting room and was working on the third. Things were getting monotonous. But he kept filming. It was either that or fall asleep, and he refused to fall asleep. He didn't care if it was four in the morning, he wasn't missing the birth of Leigh's baby. Of course, it might have been nice if they'd let him into the delivery room with Leigh and Jon. Videographers did that all the time. Okay, so he had a cold. Wasn't that what dentist's masks were for?

I had nothing to fear from my father.
Except his disappointment.
Which was no small thing.

plants and containers that I know will work in their rooms. Mayer's?" Snorting, she tucked the phone between shoulder and ear; holding the bucket with both hands, she tipped it toward the Ficus benjamina. "Mayer's doesn't do that, but they want to, because their business is static right now. They want me to move right in there and be the centerpiece of their store, and, you know, it might work. I could bring people in, only they won't go any farther than my plants unless the rest of the place is exciting, which right now it is not." When the phone started to slip, she pushed it back up and began on the Ficus lyrata. "They're

She shifted in her chair, eyeing her front door with trepidation as she began to wonder if something might be wrong. What if he'd been hurt somewhere - if he'd been in an automobile accident or, more bizarre but nonetheless

When the truth emerges, it can't be ignored. Nor will it wait.

Sam snapped his fingers and crooked a finger his way. "Get over here, Michael. This is your niece." Michael joined the group. His gait was slightly unsteady, though not because of any lingering effects of the accident. Those were pretty much gone. He intended to be point guard this year, and he intended to be a starter. No, the shakiness had to do with the sense of witnessing awesome things in the here and now. Without a thought to the camcorder, he stared down at the baby.

Sarcasm is the language of the devil.

Remember the first time you ever came? Tell the truth. You were dreading it."
His brown eyes laughed warmly. "What wasn't to dread? A godforsaken island in the middle of the Atlantic-"
"It's only eleven miles out."
"Same difference. If it didn't have a hospital, it wasn't on my radar screen."
"You thought there'd be dirt roads and nothing to do."
He gave a wry chuckle. Between lobstering, clamming, and sailing, then movie nights at the church and mornings at the cafe, not to mention dinners at home, in town, or at the homes of friends, Nicole had kept him busy.
"You loved it," she dared.
"I did," he admitted. "It was perfect. A world away.

Out. He watched her when they were at Kate's tennis

Men weren't always a solution. There were times when they made things worse.

There, on the far side of of the Atlantic, would be Maine, but despite the shared ocean, her island and this one were worlds apart. Where Inishmaan was gray and brown, its fragile man-made soil supporting only the hardiest of low-growing plants, the fertile Quinnipeague invited tall pines in droves, not to mention vegetables, flowers, and improbable, irrepressible herbs. Lifting her head, eyes closed now, she breathed in the damp Irish air and the bit of wood smoke that drifted on the cold ocean wind. Quinnipeague smelled of wood smoke, too, since early mornings there could be chilly, even in summer. But the wood smoke would clear by noon, giving way to the smell of lavender, balsam, and grass. If the winds were from the west, there would be fry smells from the Chowder House; if from the south, the earthiness of the clam flats; if from the northeast, the purity of sweet salt air.

Time can fly as fast as it wants, but they will take their pleasant time about living.

Listen to me, Dad. When Dylan's first cornea went bad, I grieved for the perfect child he should have been. I told myself that the diagnosis was wrong. I bargained with God - you know, make his eyes right and I'll do anything. When that didn't work I was absolutely furious that my child had to face this. In the end I had no choice. I had to accept it, because that was the only way I could help Dylan." She straightened. "Grieving is a process. Anger is part of it." She paused. "Right now, you're angry that Mom left you alone. But you're taking it out on Jill and me, and we both need you. You can drink all you want -

You'll always be with me, Mom. Kind of like Jordan's perennials. Every year, something'll bloom in my life to remind me of you. It'll always be different, never the same, but it'll be good. Love lasts.

Especially at a time when one's life was new, roots helped.

But wasn't a best friend also someone you could trust not to hurt you? I had hurt Vicki, yet here she was, opening her home and heart to me again. So maybe being a best friend entailed the ability to forgive.

I swear, the cats did know me. They came without pause,

Don't touch," she cautioned as she had before. She pulled her mind back down. "I'm fine.

returned to the typewriter, angrily erasing and correcting each mistake she'd made, desperately wishing she could as easily wipe out her mental image of the man in her carriage house.

Her husband's voice. He has abused her verbally for so many years that she actually hears him yelling at her. It sends her into a tizzy." "Has she reached the stage where she knows that he isn't really there?" Brianna asked. "Intellectually, yes. Emotionally, no. There are times when she's paralyzed by it.

Then J.D. appeared at the door. He was alone. She found Sam's eyes. They were filled with defeat. She was about to go to him when his face suddenly brightened. Glancing toward J.D., she saw Michael come up from behind. He was wearing a new blazer and slacks, looking adorable and terribly grown-up. Annie felt a great swelling fullness inside as Sam excused himself and strode across the room. He stopped several yards from Michael and waited. Annie stopped, too, with her heart in her throat. Michael didn't once take his eyes from Sam. He blinked and swallowed. In a flash of Annie's memory, he was a scared little boy on his first bicycle, with Sam calling, "You can do it, Mike. Give a push off, then pedal. That's it. Good boy. Keep going. You've got it." With the videocam in one hand and his eyes filled with sudden determination, he walked forward. That was all Sam needed. He met the boy halfway in a hearty hug. "I'd just about given up hope.

Taking responsibility is a step toward redemption.

Aim high, hit high.

She relived the frantic shopping and packing, the last teary gatherings with friends, the fear of a faceless roommate, the terror of academic failure. She also relived the excitement, because, in hindsight, going to college had been the single most pivotal point in her life.

Love was such a complex emotion, so overpowering and all-consuming. Love conquered all, the old saying went.

On that bright May morning, with the lilacs budding and the kids off to school, Tom Markham approached his wife with the best of intentions.

Inviting viewers along with her chin, she started to walk. Talk came easily. She hadn't expected that, when she stumbled into this role, but she and the camera had become friends. "It's been six months since we began work on the small Cape that Rob and Diana LaValle put in our care. They needed more space, but since

How to describe what she felt as she stood at the head of an all-new cobblestone drive looking at the rebuilt facade of what had once been a weary old Cape? There was relief that the hard work was done, and surprise - always surprise - that everything had come together so well. There was also a sense of ownership. Caroline hadn't asked to be the mouthpiece of the show, but after nearly ten years as host, it was her baby as much as anyone's. Gut

The good news was that the newspaper he had ordered was right at his door as promised. The bad news was that he had forgotten to buy milk for his breakfast. So he dumped the cereal back into the box, swept the overflow into the sink, and put second best, a bagel, into the toaster while he read the paper. He was barely past the first page when the toaster started to smoke. He pushed up the handle; the bagel stayed down. Smoke continued to curl toward the ceiling, setting off the fire alarm. Swearing broadly, he silenced it by knocking it down with the handle of the mop that had come in so handy the night before.

poured himself into his work

Wolves go after a wounded deer, it is the nature of the beast.

What about me, Peter?" "You can cook. You can clean. You can be waiting here for me when I get home. I'd think that would be enough." "Well, it's not!

Did you hear about the lawyer hurt in a crash? An ambulance stopped suddenly.

Tom was not. "Seems to me," he said, "that she's at her drawing board evenings more than she's watching TV, and that you're the one who uses the sitting room for

Life is like a game of cards. It deals you different hands at different times. You don't have that old hand anymore, ... Look at what you have now.

Strangely, he wasn't in the mood to look at files and papers. Not with Heather Cole to look at. For that matter, even the journals might have fallen short - a shocking thought, but one he wasn't about to analyze at the moment. I wasn't sure you'd be here, and

Charlotte Evans was used to feeling grungy. As a freelancer, she traveled on a shoestring, getting stories other writers did not, precisely because she wasn't fussy about how she lived. In the last twelve months, she had survived dust while writing about elephant keepers in Kenya, ice while writing about the spirit bear of British Columbia, and flies while writing about a family of nomads in India.

Mothering is precarious. You try to do the right thing - you think you have - then wham.

she pulled out her cell and punched in their number, one of the few she knew by heart and the absolute easiest to dial.

Searching for self implied either not liking who you are or wanting to escape who you've been.

Are you still teaching?

Waking up Thursday morning to another dreary day and the sense of being physically stuffed, they focused on FISH. While Charlotte interviewed the postmaster about the origin, techniques, and ingredients for his best-in-Maine lobster bakes, Nicole set off to gather recipes for glazed salmon, baked pesto haddock, and cod crusted with marjoram, a minted savory unique to Quinnipeague, and sage.

wanting her parents' approval, needing to think she was making them proud. Parents held a remarkable power over their children. It didn't matter how old those children grew, or how distant in their everyday lives. They received messages from their parents from the moment of birth. Those messages were nearly as deeply etched on the psyche as hair, eyes, and height in the genes.

What made a friend a best friend? Did it have to be someone who knew your people, who shared your life outlook or your views on religion or politics? Could it just be someone who could talk and listen and commiserate?

Still there were times, as Jill whirled through her final preparations, when Emily stood watching her, wondering where the years had gone, wishing them back.

the kind. He had given Sarah this robe three birthdays ago. It was one

More space for their clothes. I can't tell you how many times I've had nowhere to hang a single damn suit because a woman's closet was so stuffed. Hire a closet planner. She'll think you're brilliant." "She hired one herself a few years back. I need something she hasn't thought of herself.

In plotting a book, my goal is to raise the stakes for the characters and, in so doing, keep the reader mesmerized.

Parents do bear some of the responsibility if they don't talk to their kids, are never around, even deny their kids the love that young girls often crave when they decide to have a baby.

life isn't black or white. There isn't only one picture that's perfect. It's about piecing together shades of gray to make something quite stunning. And the picture shifts. That's another Dad-ism. Remember his sea shadows? Each time the shadow moves, there's a new image. Only sometimes those clouds are stuck up there, so we're the ones who have to move to see it.

Home development is about wishful thinking. It's about capturing a dream.

I believe in growth - in myself and in the characters I create.

Like it was different up here with him now. Less solitary.More complete.The freedom to be and the freedom to enjoy.

You don't seem it." "I am happy." "But you've just given me all the reasons I don't need to have

Confrontation was a great idea – unless the odds were so stacked against you that it was pointless.

Mother-daughter disagreements were, in hindsight, basically mother stating the truth and daughter taking her own sweet time coming around.

Pain is pain. You have a right to feel it.

There is no point in doing something unless you do it well.

Clams served on Quinnipeague were dug from the from the flats hours before cooking, and the batter, which was exquisitely light, held bits of parsley and thyme. Other fried clams couldn't compare.

Always a sucker for blue eyes, she was relieved to be released.

Rain didn't make things messy. People did that all on their own.

Is it harder to dream about what you don't have, than to live in fear of losing what you do?

Concentrating when it's the hardest is what builds character

Who says you have to be the best anyway?" "My dad." Michael gave him a curious look. "Is it because you've done time that you think you're not as good as anybody else?" "Oh, I think I'm as good. Other people are the problem." "Because you're an ex-con?" "And a carpenter. Not as much status in that as in what your dad does." "But if you do it well, that's all that counts. That's what Mom always says. She says I can be whatever I want in life, as long as I do it with passion. Do you do your work with passion?

The trouble with waking up in the morning is that you look like who you are. That's great if you like who you are – not so great if you don't.

Falling short of self-destructive, her apathy toward the potential hazard was, given her internal upheaval, not unusual. Only later would she look back on her attitude as irresponsible; only later would she understand that she must have wanted something, anything to happen, to prove to herself that some part of her was still alive.

But you don't know what I want, do you. You formed an idea of who I am and What I do, and you've woven that idea in your life. You may listen to my words, but you don't hear my thoughts. You don't hear my needs. You don't see me. You haven't seen me in years.

What she did have, after raising two children, was the equivalent of a PhD in mothering and my undying respect.

I write about the emotional crises that we face in our lives. Readers tell me that they identify with my characters. They know them. They are them. I'm an everyday woman writing about everyday people facing not- so-everyday challenges. And believe me, I love readers like you to bits. I've built my career one reader at a time. I owe a dept of gratitude to you all!

What was it they said about the difference between a lawyer and a bucket of crap being the bucket?

Clear water sped over rocky clusters whose colors ran from ivories to mossy greens, blues and grays. Though clouds covered the sun, the sway of dappling evergreens gave the water sparkle.

Remember my mother - how much she suffered before she died, how thin and gray she seemed after so much surgery? I don't picture her that way anymore. I picture her as she was before she got sick.

What if the past won't stay packed away in a box with my name on it, just sitting there until I feel like taking if off the shelf and lifting the lid?

There were ones with garden supplies and ones with health supplies, but neither offered anything remotely appropriate. There

A SIZEABLE LEGACY HE LEFT her. It was a legacy of beautiful memories, of love and passion, of desire and ecstasy, of nearness and the myriad means of communication two lovers could find. It was a legacy of experience, both private and public, personal and professional, encompassing all she'd learned from their brief liaison. It was a legacy of pain, of hurt and heartache, of humiliation and distrust, of frustration and disillusionment, of the sheer hell of a loneliness made worse by comparison with what might have been. And, finally, there was the small gold heart she wore constantly, ruby-eyed and shining, a poignant reminder of that part of her own heart which was, now and forever, lost.

gentle curves that had not been

Recalling "Love Games," she returned to the present with a jolt and glanced at the set in time to find the show over for the day. She'd missed it!

Little bits were one of Dorey Jewett's gems: small, sweet lobster knuckles that were sautéed in butter. There were no herbs involved, just enough of a Ritz-cracker coating to absorb the butter for ease of eating.

She turned the water on again, rinsed a dish, put it in the dishwasher. "I know you didn't have jewelry." She listened. "Yes, Mother, other women would love what I have, but that's not the point. The point is that a gift lacks something if I have to dictate exactly

Every man wants love, if he can get past the fear of exposure.

Barbara, you have done it again! Sweet Salt Air is a fabulous story of friendship, betrayal, courage and love with family and friends. Having been raised in Maine, she writes 'to the T, in describing beautiful and simple lives on a Maine Island.

June would always be Charlotte's favorite month on Quinnipeague. She loved the frothy roil of the sea as it recovered from a day of rain, and in those early mornings, before the fog lifted and sun warmed the island, there was nothing, nothing better than a wood fire, wool socks, and hot chocolate made from scratch.

matter that the robe was pure silk and had cost a fortune, their daughter wouldn't be caught dead in anything

I'm not convinced that abstinence-only education works.