Emily Murdoch Quotes

I focus on the endless treetops scrapin' the sunset into gooey colors, the birds trillin' and fussin' at our departure. I close my eyes for a second, breathin' in deep to make serious memories, the kind that sick forever.

Happiness is free, Mama says, as sure as the blinkin' stars, the withered arms the trees throw down for our fires, the waterproofin' on our skin, and the tongues of wind curlin' the walnut leaves before slidin' down our ears.

Good things come to those who let them in. All you have to do is take a chance.

A world is a world is a world.

We make attachments to what's familiar. We find the beauty, even in the lack. That's human. We make the best of what we're given.

When he looks at her, I can tell his eyes are locked on something in the past
something that seared deeply and left the worst kind of scar: the inside kind.

Music is a bridge, it connects folks on a higher level, saying what words can't say.

I hate her with the fury of gasoline set on fire. I burn for Jenessa, who deserves better than this, better than some screwed-up, drug-addicted mother, better than this chaos that always seems to find us, rubbin' off on us like some horrible rash.

I take my hand back, like a leaf letting go. It hurts too much to hang on. So why does it hurt so much to let go?

My emotions swirl like leaves caught in the breath of a dust devil, and the only thing I can seem to hold onto is the anger.

A book is a living, breathing thing. It spends the first chapters of its life curled up in the mind, symbiotic with its creator as it grows fat and round. And then the book is born.

My stomach squirms like worms (in a good way) just thinking about him. And I reckon when love's in short supply, you know it all the more when it finds you.

I know so many words. It's perplexing to come across so many I don't.

I answer her with my silence, understanding the full power of it for the first time. Words are weapons. Weapons are powerful. So are unsaid words. So are unused weapons.

Funny how we can't hold onto time, even when it's strapped to our wrists

The snow wears moonlight like perfume.

I don't tell him I couldn't have gorged if I'd tried, my stomach stuffed full of butterflies and grown-up worries.

But it's the eyes that hold me captive, empty of concentric creek ripples and breezy tree branches playing the sky like my bow plays my violin.

If you find me, take me home.

In a sea of trees turned into a sea of total strangers, familiar means everything.