Sharon Creech Quotes

Something I am wondering:
if you cannot hear
do you have no sounds
in your head?
Do you see
a
silent
movie

Sometimes you know in your heart you love someone, but you have to go away before your head can figure it out.

Zola smills, smuggles, what is that word? What is it, that word for the happy teeth??

What's important is the ambition that results from our weakness.

I had not said anything about what had happened the day before - about being scared down to my very bones when I thought they had left me. I don't know what came over me. Ever since my mother left us that April day, I suspected that everyone was going to leave, one by one.

I don't want to because boys don't write poetry. Girls do.

Young children are naturally so philosophical. They ask: 'What is real? What is truth?' They have to learn it; they don't automatically know it. To them, it's a game. You can study this for years in college, and yet you probably asked it when you were four or five years old.

You never know the worth of water until the well is dry.

Do the other angels know what they are doing? Am I the only confused one? Maybe I am unfinished, an unfinished angel.

If you had a script for your life, Leo thinks, you could look ahead to what would come next. You could see what is going to happen to you. You could read all the thousands and millions of words you will say. You will never again have to wonder What should I say or do? because it will all be written there for you. You could know what dumb things you will do. You could find out if you ever will do anything that isn't dumb. But then, what if your script was dull, if you never got to do anything exciting? Or what if something awful was going to happen to you? What if your script was very, very short?

She told how the fear had slipped away through the year, 'slipped away silently and secretly', and how we mustn't be afraid to try new things.

A library is the door to many lives.

I especially love all the instruments of art: inks, pens, paintbrushes, watercolors and oils, fine papers and canvases, and although I love to mess around with these tools and objects, I have minimal artistic skills.

Am I supposed to do something
important?
It doesn't seem enough
to merely take up space
on this planet
in this country
in this state
in this town
in this family.

I prayed to trees. This was easier than praying directly to God. There was nearly always a tree nearby.

What I have since realized is that if people expect you to be brave, sometimes you pretend that you are, even when you are frightened down to your very bones.

Lizzie said that if you imagined you were standing on the moon, looking down on the earth, you wouldn't be able to see the itty-bitty people racing around worrying you wouldn't see the barn falling in or the cow stuck in the pond; you wouldn't see the mean Granger kids squirting mustard on your white dress. You would see the most beautiful blue oceans and green lands, and the whole earth would look like a giant blue-and-green marble floating in the sky. Your worries would seem so small, maybe invisible.

I wondered If things that might seem frightening could lose their hold over you. I wondered If we find the people we need when we need them. I wondered If we attract our future by some sort of invisible force, or If we are drawn to it by a similar force. I felt I was turning a corner and that change was afoot.

When i reached the bottom, i finally understood what Guthrie meant when he shouted, "LIBERO!" It was a celebration of being alive

In a course of a lifetime, what does it matter?

It wasn't that I was stupid ... It was just that there didn't seem to be a lot to say that someone wasn't already saying.

I didn't have to go. I could fade into the crowd, be pushed along through the tunnel, into the city. I could roll along in my bubble ball.
I was used to moving, used to packing up and following along like a robot, but I was tired of it. I wanted to stop moving and I wanted to be somewhere and stay somewhere and I wanted my family.

A driver had been sent to meet us. He was gray-haired, short, and nimble and introduced himself. I am Patrick and so is every fourth man in Ireland, and the ones in between are named Sean or Mick or Finn, and I'll be driving you.

It was as if I were carrying around all the places I'd ever lived, and nothing I was seeing was just what it was - it was all of the places, all smooshed together. My bubble was fairly bursting by the time I got home, what with all that stuff crammed in there.

I started thinking about life insurance and how nice it would be if you could get insurance that your life would be happy, and that everyone you knew could be happy, and they could all do what they really wanted to do, and they could all find the people they wanted to find.

Let's get out of here, my mother said.

Don't be in too much of a rush to be published. There is enormous value in listening and reading and writing - and then putting your words away for weeks or months–and then returning to your work to polish it some more.

But I thought about all the things that had to have spun into place in order for us to be alive and for us to be right there, right then. I thought about the few thing we thought we knew and the billions of things we couldn't know, all spinning, whirling our there somewhere.

Life is like a bowl of spaghetti.
Every once in a while, you get a meatball.

You know, maybe that's all anybody wants, is to be useful. And have somebody else notice it.

Maybe it was the same with people: if you studied them,you'd see new and different things. But would you like what you saw? Did it depend on who was doing the looking?

I don't care if the whole town comes, as long as you come, Bailey boy.

I wish that every baby everywhere could land in a family that wanted that baby as much as we want ours.

I cannot just write a frivolous book, a la-di-da book. Everything isn't la-di-da. There is something that's going to pull you up short. I want to reassure young readers. I want to comfort them, to not fear the unexpected.

Then I thought, boy, isn't that just typical? You wait and wait and wait for something, and then when it happens, you feel sad.

He says he is starting a school here, and not just any school, but "the best of the best." He tells Signora Divino, his neighbor, "We will bring all the children from all over the world and we will live in harmony!" Is he kidding?

That night I kept thinking about Pandora's box. I wondered why someone would put a good thing as Hope in a box with sickness and kidnapping and murder. It was fortunate that it was there, though. If not, people would have the birds of sadness nesting in their hair all the time, because of nuclear war and the greenhouse effect and bombs and stabbings and lunatics.
There must have been another box with all the good things in it, like sunshine and love and trees and all that. Who had the good fortune to open that one, and was there one bad thing down there in the bottom of the good box? Maybe it was Worry. Even when everything seems fine and good, I worry that something will go wrong and change everything.

It can't be dead. It was alive just a minute ago.

I'm New-"
"New? How blessed," he said. "There's nothing in this whole wide world that is better than a new person!

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So much depends upon a blue car splattered with mud speeding down the road.

My father once said I was as gullible as a fish. I thought he said edible. I thought he meant I was tasty. The

A person isn't a bird. You can't cage a person.

As readers can probably tell from my books, I love the outdoors.

Every character is asking: 'What's my place? Why am I here? I don't want the answer to be 'Just because.' You find your own purpose. Each finds the reason to be here and how to contribute.

Joe, my guardian and a man of few words, once said about Lizzie, "That girl could talk the ears off a cornfield.

Your name makes a statement about you. It describes not only who you are but who you might be.

Tutto va Bene, All is Well.

Sometimes there's not much difference between a heartsick soul and a suck ole donkey.

Being a mother is like trying to hold a wolf by the ears," Gram said. "If you have three or four –or more – chickabiddies, you're dancing on a hot griddle all the time. You don't have time to think about anything else. And if you've only got one or two, it's almost harder. You have room left over – empty spaces that you think you've got to fill up.

I wondered about Mrs. Winterbottom and what she meant about living a tiny life. If she didn't like all that baking and cleaning and jumping up to get bottles of nail polish remover and sewing hems, why did she do it? Why didn't she tell them to do some of the things themselves? Maybe she was afraid there would be nothing left for her to do. There would be no need for her and she would become invisible and no one would notice.

When I read good stories, I want to write good stories too.

Don't judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.

And when she goes home,' Uncle Max said, 'to the place and the people she has romanticized all these months, she'll see that it isn't all she imagined. She'll be different, but they'll all expect her to be the same.

I pretended he was my brother, only he was better than a brother because I chose him and he chose me.
- Rosie

I cannot control who was going to come, and who was going to go, and who will stay my buddy, my pal, and who'll find me enchanting, and oddly I feel relieved.

I love the way that each book - any book - is its own journey. You open it, and off you go ... .

Too soon the two weeks were over and we were back in Lugano, and there we learned about Disaster.
We weren't completely ignorant. We knew about disaster from our previous schools and previous lives. We'd had access to televisions and newspapers. But the return to Lugano marked the beginning of Global Awareness Month, and in each of our classes, we talked about disaster: disaster man-made and natural. We talked about ozone depletion and the extinction of species and depleted rain forests and war and poverty and AIDS. We talked about refugees and slaughter and famine.
We were in the middle school and were getting, according to Uncle Max, a diluted version of what the upper-schoolers were facing. An Iraqi boy from the upper school came to our history class and talked about what it felt like when the Americans bombed his country. Keisuke talked about how he felt responsible for World War II, and a German student said she felt the same.
We got into heated discussions over the neglect of infant females in some cultures, and horrific cases of child abuse worldwide. We fasted one day each week to raise our consciousness about hunger, and we sent money and canned goods and clothing to charities.
In one class, after we watched a movie about traumas in Rwanda, and a Rwandan student told us about seeing his mother killed, Mari threw up. We were all having nightmares.
At home, Aunt Sandy pleaded with Uncle Max. "This is too much!" she said. "You can't dump all the

I entered a poem in a poetry contest around 1987, and the poem won and I received $1,000 for it. That made me realize that maybe what I was writing was worth reading to people. After that, for some reason, I turned to novels and I've written mainly novels ever since.

She said that room up there is a remembering room
and when she is up there remembering
all those things fill up the room
and when the room is too full
they fly out the window.

Why do people not listen when you say no? Why do they think you are too stupid or too young to understand? Why do they think you are too shy to reply? Why do they keep badgering you until you will say yes?