Kirsty Eagar Quotes

Kind of hard to forget a bruise exists when you're prodding at it.

He's kissing me, quick desperate kisses, like I'm something he needs to live; and I'm kissing him back, crazy with the ache I feel for him, trying to kiss him better, trying to fix him. I'm touching his face, feeling the roughness of his beard, the wet of his tears, feeling the tremors passing through his body, hearing his ragged breathing. And each kiss is a failure. A failed attempt to escape from all that's happening. And I only know this when he slows, drawing it out, letting me taste regret, letting things linger. He pulls away, and I'm saying "Don't, don't, don't", trying to bring him back, kissing his face. But I've lost him.

And that's my problem. You can't rely on anybody being around for you, because things change. Specifically, people die, or something comes up in their life, which you find out is actually quite separate to you.

It's hard to explain, but it's related to me know that for every moment of beauty this place gives me, I probably miss a thousand more. And I want them all. I swear I'd live on the dunes if I could. I was born out of my time. I should have been around during the end of the eighteenth century, when the Romantic Era kicked off, and writers and artists were obsessed with nature: the ocean, the mountains, the sky. And they believed in following their own path, experimenting, not blindly obeying rules.
I found a quote by Henry David Thoreau- "I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life" ... It made me cry. Urgency is so beautiful.

I reserve my right to choices, too, and I choose to behave badly.

This is what I love about life. The UP. You can be completely down and out, and in the next you feel like you're flying, for no reason at all.

Am I worried about the future? I don't know. When I think of the word it's like seeing a cavity, a space where a tooth used to be.

It was something they'd done a thousand times before. If Jamie went surfing with a mate and paddled in first, he always took time for that final wave. And there was something so familiar in the ritual that for a moment he felt like everything was right.

He felt forgiven.

This is its ancient soul, the quiet place, away from all its beats and rhythms. And my mind is unable to comprehend the sheer expanse of it. It's as though I've suddenly blinked and found myself standing on a tightrope strung between two skyscrapers. I am paralysed by awe. The feeling you get when confronted by something infinite and inevitable and indifferent to you.

Ultimately, he's never been within reach. That's the key to why I'm so caught up on him – I know that. I'm obsessed. And what feeds an obsession is not getting what you want.

And what really struck me was that the woman still meant so much to Grandad after all of those years. She burned in his memory in a way that she never would have if he'd left his wife and sons for her. It got me thinking about how sometimes it's the people we don't get to have who stay with us the most.

I let myself feel good for no reason. I let joy happen right there and then, and it's inside me and around me, it's the lights on the road ahead, the clean black of the night, the cold air coming through the window. It's like hearing a song for the first time and being struck by it, haunted by it, wanting to hunt it down and catch it, because the song sums up something you didn't know you wanted to say, giving you chills and goose bumps. But even as you find out what it's called, and you're thinking you'll download it, you've already lost. Because the feeling was right then and there and it's already fading like a dream.
You just have to see those times for what they are: a chance to look down at your life. And when you do, you see it's a skin made up of shiny little moments.

See, I know what they think about me. That I'm some project. And, yeah, I'll accept their help. But I'm gonna pay my way. 'Cause you can't let people like that give you anything. They think they own you then. And you know what? Nobody's ever going to own me.

Oooh, intrigue?' Sylvie said playfully. 'Want to know a secret? I am someone else. Nobody knows the real me.'
Jess opened the door, sick of being toyed with, wanting to get away. Her voice was flat. 'You're a girl. It's the same for all of us.

There was thin, reverberating silence; the sort of delicately plucked note that isn't heard, but felt in the heart.

The moon is weird tonight. A yellow devil with a knowing face and hard triumphant eyes. The top of his head is cropped off diagonally, as though he is wearing an invisible hat at a jaunty angle. Usually when I see the moon I feel like I've been blessed, but not tonight. The moon is telling me to watch my feet.
pg. 50

I draw the light with my fingers, and it seems to spark in response. And it's then that the magic of this place, this night beach, gets to me. Because that sparkling thing could be anything. A fallen star, a little buried sun. I feel like I'm a kid again. When there was so much to see. So much wonder.

I couldn't bear to be talked about. Some girls are shiny-sharp enough to not be damaged, but I didn't think I would be.

It's like hearing a song for the first time and being struck by it, haunted by it, wanting to hunt it down and catch it, because the song sums up something you didn't know you wanted to say, giving you chills and goose bumps.

He exhales, then leans forward, reaching under the table to hold my knee. 'I didn't mean that. I want to be here. You know what I kept thinking about while I was away? When we went for a surf the morning after - how I felt coming up from the beach with you afterwards. I was thinking, 'How good is this?

If I was a sheep, I'd be black.

My father's eyes can be the coldest place on earth.

I am sick of playing games where you're not allowed to show how you feel. I don't have to play anymore. He just won.

Without wonder, you are dead and I am older. The girl in the mirror looks devastated. Like someone really has pushed a brick through her ribcage.

I'm already moving towards the kitchen as I say this, because one thing I've learned is that you never, ever enter negotiations with a three-and-a-half-year old. It's like negotiating with terrorists.

Aw, bugger it. Don't die wondering.

The grief I'm feeling is heavy and raw, pressing down on me, breaking my chest apart. It hurts to even touch the edges of it. It's to do with Grandad being gone. The loss of him, and the loss of me. I heard someone say once that grandparents are the guardians of our childhoods, and for the first time I really understand what that means.

It's always about the money. And the problem with that is: if the people who love you are always weighing up what you cost, then you're never really sure who's got your back.

As if the ocean cares that it's been zoned residential – what the sea wants, the sea shall have.

Mum turns back to face the screen, and I realise I'm still nodding. Anxiety Girl in action. She has the power to nod until she makes the connection she so desperately needs, or until her head falls off, whichever comes first.

Art is a kind of rapture. Surrender enough, you find truth.

That's the thing. You think you've got balls, but when it comes down to it, you find out you'd do anything to save yourself.

Yet, in the middle of all this grief, I realize there's a part of me clinical enough to want to document it. People talk about artists like they're these sensitive, delicate beings who don't use the toilet, but I think the real ones are something else. They're users. They're mercenaries. They're hunters. And they don't let anything – other people, or themselves – get in the way of it.

Angry Girl has no cavity. She has teeth.

Shame isn't a quiet grey cloud, shame is a drowning man who claws his way on top of you, scratching and tearing your skin, pushing you under the surface.

I have been acutely aware of the noise of the wash. The slow, steady beat of those little waves lapping the shore sounds like the rhythm of an ancient heart. And I know that this place is old, so old time doesn't matter.

When I come over the top of the dune I see the ocean and I feel like I'm seeing it for the first time.
Today it's blue, straight and simple. Raw blue.

The urge to let go of the wheel and just see what happens is compelling. If
I live, I'll wake to find myself in hospital. I won't have to do anything, deal with anybody, talk, be
scared anymore, because I will have become somebody else's responsibility. And if I die, well then
everything's solved. No more being angry like this.

I don't want romance and stolen kisses and sweetness and hand holding. I want something so big it's like two planets colliding, with an aftershock that I feel for the rest of my life.

Once they know they've got a hold of your shame, they can shake it out and hold it up for the all world to see. And you become less than it. You become something disgusting.

She was thin like Kylie, but she had a manic energy like Shane, so it was probably drugs.
That's just the means though, the end result is the same. She was one of us. Her, Shane, Marty, Roger, Kylie, me.
People being eaten alive from the inside out.

In normal families, unbroken families, the mother and the father are like two hands cupped together, and held by those hands are the children. In my family, the hands have pulled apart and the children have been dropped. If one parent isn't looking after you, they just assume the other one is. You find out you don't really belong anywhere.

Ridiculous really, when you think that I come from a broken home and I probably have low self-esteem. But the way I see it, people who go around spending themselves easily don't have low self-esteem. They have really high self-esteem. If someone like me tried to live like that, there'd be nothing left. I don't know. It's complicated. The girls who roll with guys like this are gorgeous. Somehow that makes them immune to being reduced.

Jess narrowed her eyes at him. 'Are you only pretending to be drunk?'

'Haven't had a drink all night. What are you pretending to be this time?'

Jess thought about it, then smiled. 'Interested.