Hilary T. Smith Quotes

Do you ever shut up? There's nothing wrong with you. You're just looking for excuses not to be brave.

I buckle over, sobbing, my head resting against the hard shower tiles. I remember crying like this when Sukey died, the tears harsh, devouring, total. I hadn't known I was capable of being so sad, and the discovery shocked and terrified me. It was like finding an extra door in the house I'd always lived in, and opening it to find that the grief had carved out new rooms, new hallways, an entire black annex of its own. There were dark places in my mind I'd never known existed, and now that I'd seen them I knew they'd always be there, lying in wait, even when the original door had been sealed up.

I want to be good for the world - pure and true and wise and somehow saintly, somehow illuminated. I want to have experienced something that has changed me, and so I act changed.

Did you see that guy in the back, from the radio station?'

His smile is a jar full of fireflies.

'Crazy Girl,' he says.
'All I saw was you.

I'm not the same. How could I be the same?

I remember the day when my seventh-grade teacher called my parents to tell them I'd been crying in the bathrooms at lunchtime after Sukey died - how disappointed Dad was that I was using Sukey's death as an excuse to get attention from my teachers; how delicately Mom suggested that Sukey would have wanted me to be happy; my humiliation at letting them down.

I want to kiss you," I say, "but I seem to be holding this cat."
Skunk lifts his hand and touches it to the side of my face. His fingers are warm from carrying the hot skillet to the table. He regards me very seriously, and for a moment I wonder if he's about to tell me we should Focus on Bicycle Repair. Instead he just looks at me for a very long time.
"You're beautiful," says Skunk, "and completely batshit.

If you ever get that free, you need to reel yourself in, because the edges of the world are as sharp as glass, and if you ride over them you're going to get torn up.

The universe, I realize, is full of little torches. Sometimes, for some reason, it's your turn to carry one out of the fire - because the world needed it, or your family needed it, or you needed it to keep your soul from twisting into a shape that's entirely wrong.

Beautiful, I think to myself as I float back into sleep, my whole body thrumming with a tender, exhausted state of exhilaration. Beside me, Skunk's body is warm under his T-shirt. The last thing I see before falling asleep is the Kali painting on Skunk's wall. Her blue-gold body is draped in equal parts flowers and severed heads - as if beauty and horror were interchangeable and what matters most is trusting in the dance.

On the water, I can see Sukey's ships, dark cities of their own. They are objects I will never touch, places I will never stand, sleeping giants that would not be disturbed even if all the shimmering lights and pretty buildings on land crumbled and fell down. Maybe we all need ships to hold our dreams, to be bigger and steadier than we ever could be, and to guard the mystery when we cannot, to keep it safe even when we have lost everything.

My outstretched arms found hers, and I was home.

People are like cities: We all have alleys and gardens and secret rooftops and places where daisies sprout between the sidewalk cracks, but most of the time all we let each other see is is a postcard glimpse of a skyline or a polished square. Love lets you find those hidden places in another person, even the ones they didn't know were there, even the ones they wouldn't have thought to call beautiful themselves.

I hate that question, "Are you okay?" It's like asking someone if they think you look fat. You're almost guaranteed to get a lie.