Benjamin Alire Saenz Quotes

My dad says it's all right if people make fun of you. You know what he said to me? He said, 'Dante, you're an intellectual. That's who you are. Don't be ashamed of that.

Mom had told me about that - she called it a dangerous light. It's beautiful to look at, but it blinds people, she said, that kind of light. It's not good to be out in it.

I knew that a part of him would never be the same. They cracked more than his ribs.

Do you know what gardenias smell like?"
"Yes."
"That's what it's like to be glad. You wake searching for the smell of gardenias. Or the smell of oranges. Or the smell of agaves. Or the smell of rosemary. And you think, God, I can smell. And you walk out and you see the light falling on everything - on the delicate leaves of a mesquite or the brilliant white of an oleander in bloom that almost blinds you or the bougainvillea that explodes pink like a firecracker. And you think, God, I can see.

It's always been interesting to me how we mistake good genes for virtue.

See, I think there are roads that lead us to each other. But in my family, there were no roads - just underground tunnels. I think we all got lost in those underground tunnels. No, not lost. We just lived there.

I wish I didn't have a heart that God wrote Sad on.

There are more songs living inside her than there are leaves on her tree.

And I thought that maybe there were ghosts inside of me that I hadn't even met yet. They were there. Lying in wait.

I wanted to tell her that I thought she had a beautiful heart.

This is my theory: the people who shouldn't hate themselves, do hate themselves. And the people who should hate themselves, don't hate themselves. The world is all backwards. See, this is one of the many reasons why God and I are not good friends.

I didn't care because what mattered is that Dante's voice felt real. And I felt real. Until Dante, being with other people was the hardest thing in the world for me. But Dante made talking and living and feeling seem like all those things were perfectly natural. Not in my world, they weren't.

They trampled the world with their sick and twisted and crooked kind of love. The bastard didn't think that anyone else's love mattered at all. As if a father's love knew everything, could see everything, could cure everything. And what would have happened if that man, Robert Lawson, had been allowed to keep his son? What would have fucking happened then? Men like him and Mando, they didn't understand anything but their own imperfect hearts. That was their sickness - that they believed themselves to be the center of all light. That kind of light was a darkness of the land. A plague that was killing them all.

You are thirst and thirst is all I know

How was I supposed to know him when he didn't let me?

Maybe all that silence about my brother did something to me. I think it did. Not talking can make a guy pretty lonely

Nothing. It's just that most smart people are perfect shits.

I lived in pain because I chose to live in pain. Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with the idea of tragedy, the idea that I was destined to live a tragic life. I had this romantic idea about the life of a writer and what he was supposed to suffer. [ ... :] Somehow I made my own pain a kind of god.

You know what I think, Ari? I think Mexicans don't like me.

Senior year. And then life. Maybe that's the way it worked. High school was just a prologue to the real novel. Everybody got to write you
but when you graduated, you got to write yourself. At graduation you got to collect your teacher's pens and your parents' pens and you got your own pen. And you could do all the writing. Yeah. Wouldn't that be sweet?

He thought that everyone should listen to her voice, because there was so much sadness and happiness in it, all at the same time. And he knew she could make the world be quiet, and he thought that maybe the world needed to be quiet. That was the problem with the world - it never stayed quiet long enough to listen.

He looked like an angel. And all I wanted to do was put my fist through his jaw. I couldn't stand my own cruelty.

I don't know if I believed in the war or not, Ari. I don't think I did. I think about it a lot. But I signed up. And I don't know what I felt about this country. I do know that the only country I had were the men that fought side by side. They were my country, Ari. Them. Louie and Beckett and Garcia and Al and Gio - they were my country. I'm not proud of everything I did in that war. I wasn't always a good soldier. I wasn't always a good man. War did something to us. To me. To all of us. But the men we left behind. Those are the ones who are in my dreams.

It didn't matter that he'd never see her again because she was safe, and she didn't have to live this kind of life. Her life would be good. She was safe.

She was hard as stone. And I hated her. I think I still hate her. Though in between then and now, I loved her. I would have done anything for her. And I did. I did everything she asked.

Her eyes were as sad as they were fierce.

They broke more than his ribs.

The sun flickers. Like a flame hit by a sudden gust of wind. Like the lights of a bomb shelter during an air raid. Even the sun flickers. That's what she kept telling herself. A gust, a bomb, a small explosion. Then the disruption passed - everything calm again. Everything returning to normalcy. Except that she felt herself trembling. Except she knew that this was the beginning. It was her body that had flickered.

Why do you like to cuss?" "Everybody likes to cuss." "I don't." "They don't call you Mr. Excitement for nothing.

Adam says I isolate. He is addicted to telling me that I spend too much time in my head. It's an unhealthy behavior. Look, I don't see how not bothering other people with your screwed-up vision of the world constitutes unhealthy behavior.

In transition? What kind of a Mexican mother are you?" "I'm an educated woman. That doesn't un-Mexicanize me, Ari.

We were in the middle of a drought, and it hadn't rained for months and months and months. And that's when I knew that your father was like the rain. He was a miracle.

And afterward, we played Frisbee with Legs in the park and we were all right. And I needed us to be all right. And he needed us to be all right too. And so we were.

Don't ever underestimate the people who love you.

Love is a storm that twists and mangles us. If you love - if you really love - if you have that kind of heart - then you know. (And if you don't, there is no explaining.) The storm comes from within. There is nothing you can do to prepare.

It was warm in the kitchen and I felt safe.

Typically, I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything.

I hated being volunteered. The problem with my life was that it was someone else's idea.

He was on fire, she could almost touch the rage. He could scare people. He could make anyone afraid, if he wanted to.

I wondered what it would be like, to love a girl, to know how a girl thinks, to see the world through a girl's eyes. Maybe they knew more than boys. Maybe they understood things that boys could never understand.

[He] was brave. He didn't care if the whole world knew he was kind.

Well, you have to become a person first,

Life had its seasons, and the season of letting go would always come, but there was something very beautiful in that, in the letting go. Leaves were always graceful as they floated away from the tree.

Did the thought ever occur to you that I might care about you? People are allowed to care about each other."
"You don't know me well enough to care about me."
"Let me clue you in on something, Andres. Just because you hate yourself doesn't mean that I have to hate you.

Those words tasted bitter.
But the worst part was that those words were living inside me. And they were leaking out of me. Words were not things you could control. Not always.

Ophelia always said Franny was the Fourth of July.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to rank the people in your life. That's not how the heart worked. The heart didn't make lists.

Tears. They're like seeds in a watermelon. Good for spitting out.

Maybe Sam was right about things hiding inside of us. How many more things were hiding there?

And understood that rage could be quiet. Could be soft. Rage didn't have to be a killer.

His smile was breaking my heart.

Do you think we'll ever discover all the secrets of the universe?

I wanted to tell him not to cry anymore, tell him that what those boys did to that bird didn't matter. But I knew it did matter. It mattered to Dante. And, anyway, it didn't do any good to tell him not to cry because he needed to cry. That's the way he was.

Why did people think they could be alone? Everyone you loved or hated or touched or who made you tremble or bruised you - they were always there, ready to enter and take over the room. It didn't matter at all if you opened the door or not. They came rushing in. They knew the way, knew how to make themselves at home.

Letting someone touch you in the place where it hurts the most, if I could do that, if I could just do that, well, that would mean I was alive.

We'd been so sure of ourselves, but now we were lost.

The problem with trying hard not to think about something was that you thought about it even more.

Nobody wants to read happy stories.

I watched her hands as they worked the batter over with a wooden spoon. I wanted to kiss them.

I could have asked my father lots of questions. I could have. But there was something in his face and eyes and in his crooked smile that prevented me from asking. I guess I didn't believe he wanted me to know who he was. So I just collected clues. Watching my father read that book was another clue in my collection. Some day all the clues would come together. And I would solve the mystery of my father.

Did you love your brother?"
"I don't remember."
"You don't remember?"
"No, Adam, I don't."
He knew I was lying. I guess I didn't care. Look, I don't want to remember should count as I don't remember. That's what I was thinking.

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The problem is not that I don't love my mother and father. The problem is that I don't know how to love them.

It looked like it was going to rain. They always came this time of year, the rains. I heard the distant thunder. As we were walking toward Dante's house, it began to rain. And then it began to pour. I looked at Dante. "I won't run if you don't."
"I won't run."
So we walked in the rain. I wanted to walk faster, but instead I slowed down. I looked at Dante. "Can you take it?"
He smiled.

I took out my journal. I'd been avoiding writing in it. I think I was afraid all my anger would spill out on the pages. And I just didn't want to look at all that rage. It was a different kind of pain. A pain I couldn't stand. I tried not to think. I just started writing.

. . . Alive
is a place. Alive is the new word for home.

For an instant she seemed to be nothing more than light.

Maybe that's why I felt sad and empty - because I'd missed him all my life.

Summer was here again. Summer, summer, summer. I loved and hated summers. Summers had a logic all their own and they always brought something out in me. Summer was supposed to be about freedom and youth and no school and possibilities and adventure and exploration. Summer was a book of hope. That's why I loved and hated summers. Because they made me want to believe.

When something gets broken, it can be fixed.

If we'd never met, then there would be only three seasons." "Hmm," I said. "Am I supposed to guess which season?" "Yup." I thought a moment - ​then I smiled. "Spring. Then there would be no spring." "Spring," she said.

Do you think the heart needs love to keep on beating?

He didn't know anything about hummingbirds except that his father had told him that they liked to fight. So maybe you could like to fight and still be beautiful, like the hummingbirds.

Healthy people have healthy boundaries. Unhealthy people, well, let's not get into that. It's like this: some people have walls which means they let no one in. This equals unhealthy. Some people let everyone in and let themselves be stepped all over. This equals unhealthy.

Have you noticed that some people don't give
A damn and just keep on shopping?

What do you love, Ari? What do you really love?"
"I love the desert. God, I love the desert."
"It's so lonely."
"Is it?"
Dante didn't understand. I was unknowable.

winter was coming.

But what really bugged the living crap out of me was that my mother had more friends than I did. How saw was that?

But you know we're always going to have to rely on the goodwill of those of you who are straight for our survival. And that's the damned truth.

I'd rather have a cup of coffee and a cigarette than live in all that honesty.

And even though rain was a miracle because this was the desert, that night it was not a miracle because the rain sounded like a thief trying to break into the house.

I looked out the window at the black clouds ahead of us. I opened the back window and smelled the rain. You could smell the rain in the desert even before a drop fell. I closed my eyes. I held my hand out and felt the first drop. It was like a kiss. The sky was kissing me. It was a nice thought. It was something Dante would have thought. I felt another drop and then another. A kiss. A kiss. And then another kiss.

Weird?"
"Yeah, weird. But in a good way."
"Good," I said, "I've always wanted to be weird in a good way.

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If you want to be a writer, you don't want to live in a comfortable place.

I don't care about Hernandez." Grace paused and looked into his coal black eyes. "I care about you." "What does that mean?" "It means - " She paused and smiled to herself. "It means we're hoeing a long row of summer cotton." She smiled to herself and thought of Richard Garza. "You and I. Andrés Segovia and Grace Delgado. Lots of weeds, Andrés. And we're hoeing. We're hoeing as fast as we can. And if we don't get the roots, then the weeds will grow back. And all our work will be for nothing.

I came to you one rainless August night.
You taught me how to live without the rain.
You are thirst and thirst is all I know.
You are sand, wind, sun, and burning sky,
The hottest blue. You blow a breeze and brand
Your breath into my mouth. You reach - then bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
You wrap your name tight around my ribs
And keep me warm. I was born for you.
Above, below, by you, by you surrounded.
I wake to you at dawn. Never break your
Knot. Reach, rise, blow, Sálvame, mi dios,
Trágame, mi tierra. Salva, traga, Break me,
I am bread. I will be the water for your thirst.

I'll tell you a secret. I'm not responsible for whether my students care or don't care. That care has to come from them - not me." "Where does that leave you?" "No matter what, Ari, my job is to care." "Even when they don't?" "Even when they don't." "No matter what?" "No matter what.

Dad told me once that we have to be very careful with words. "They can hurt people," he said. "And they can heal people." If anyone was careful with words, it was my dad.

I love swimming"
"I know," I said.
"I love swimming," he said again. He was quiet for a little while. And then he said, "I love swimming - and you."
I didn't say anything.
"Swimming and you, Ari. Those are the things I love the most.

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We stood there for long time. Neither one of us said anything. I felt small and insignificant and inadequate. I hated feeling that way. I was going to stop feeling that way. I was going to stop.

I wished it was raining," he said.
"I don't need the rain," I said. "I need you.

I do not know what it means to be okay. I have never known and maybe I will never know.
Okay is just a word I use so I won't have to talk about what's inside.
Okay is a word that means I am going to keep my secrets.

And then Fito sort of hung his head and he was blinking his eyes, like he was trying to blink away all the tears that he'd held inside all his life.

Somehow, miraculously, they forced themselves, told themselves they were going to live. They wrote themselves new lives. Fictions, perhaps, but what did it matter? They had kept the chaos at bay. They had managed to stop cursing the darkness. They'd lit a torch.

That's how she loved people - ​by feeding them.

The sky was angry and shouting, and it reminded Andrés of how Mando and his father had shouted at each other and had drowned out the sound of love.

I didn't understand how you could live in a mean world and not have any of that meanness rub off on you. How could a guy live without meanness?

I realized that Sam wasn't angry at all. She was hurt. At that moment I heard all the hurt she'd ever held. And it seemed to me that the whole house had quieted down to listen to her pain.

I was darker than he was. And I'm not just talking about our skin coloring. He told me I had a tragic vision of life. "That's why you like Spider-Man.

Try it again," I said. "Kiss me."
"No," he said.
"Kiss me."
"No," And then he smiled. "You kiss me."
I placed my hand on the back of his neck. I pulled him toward me. And kissed him. I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And he kept kissing me back.

What did being connected to the world get you? It got you sadder. Look, the world is not sane. If you stay connected to an insane world, well, you just go crazy. This is not a complicated theory. It's just simple logic.