Vanessa Diffenbaugh Quotes

Still a daughter. But soon, in hours apparently, I'll be nobody's daughter.
Surface lovliness was the outward visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.
Still a daughter. But soon, in hours apparently, I'll be nobody's daughter.
Parenting-a child must grow away from the parent
you must abandon ship in order to ... what? To exist, to be a "self" Becoming a person is the point. Being a child-that's an interim position. I neglected to break away. I remained the daughter.

I could see Grant thinking about this, trying to grasp the chasm between the finality in my voice and his vision of our future, and bridging the divide with a combination of hope and lies.

It wasn't as if the flowers themselves held within them the ability to bring an abstract definition into physical reality. Instead, it seemed that ... expecting change, and the very belief in the possibility instigated a transformation.

You have to really prove yourself to young people, and if your answer is clear and consistent and loving - even if it's angry and disappointed - what's important is that you're being real and honest and not going anywhere.

I love Toni Morrison and Jeanette Winterson. 'The Passion' is my favourite book.

I think that the hardest thing about working with young people in foster care who've been through this kind of neglect and abuse is really to convince them that they are worthy of being loved. And I think because often they don't feel worthy of it, that's why they push people away.

Over time, we would learn each other and I would learn to love her like a mother loves a daughter, imperfectly and without roots.

I did a minor in creative writing in college, but I didn't start writing until I stayed at home with my own children.

At Camellia Network, we believe if we can create a way of identifying every young person aging out of foster care, defining what they need, and giving a community of supporters a simple and clear way to fulfill those needs, we can produce radically improved outcomes for youth.

I had been loyal to nothing except the language of flowers. If I started lying about it, there would be nothing in my life that was beautiful or true.

My last book, 'The Language of Flowers,' I wrote completely on naptime, when my little kids were asleep.

Perhaps the unattached, the unwanted, the unloved, could grow to give love as lushly as anyone else.

The birds had been given everything they needed. A home in the thin, pure air: a moment of weightlessness, a reprieve from the gravity of life

I'm very interested in getting inside the heads of people society discards, people on the fringe, especially immigrant kids. We dismiss them without getting into details of who they are.

You made a mistake. One fucking enormous, stupid mistake. That's all. Now get over it. Buck up and fix it, and if you can't fix it, keep going anyway. It's the only way to live.

I wanted to write with emotional honesty and tell a story people could connect with. And I wanted people to know how the foster system in America fails children; and how, at 18, they fall through the cracks. Then we can all work together and give support.

What do you love, and what do you know? And then, what are you curious about? Everyone has a unique story, unique interests-and these are what should drive your inquiries. So if you're having trouble figuring out your area of interest, spend some time thinking about what you know, and what you love, and what makes you different. The more different you are, the better.

Coming up with the right questions was even more important than coming up with the right answers.

I never really considered writing something that was nonfiction.

I've always loved the language of flowers. I discovered Kate Greenaway's 'Language of Flowers' in a used bookstore when I was 16 and couldn't believe it was such a well-kept secret. How could something so beautiful and romantic be virtually unknown?

I'm more of a thistle-peony-basil kind of girl.

Common thistle is everywhere," she said. "Which is perhaps why human beings are so relentlessly unkind to one another.

We all make mistakes, and we all need second chances. For youth in foster care, these mistakes are often purposeful - if not consciously so; a way to test the strength of a bond and establish trust in a new parent.

We replanted. The loss was substantial, but it was overshadowed completely by losing you.

So, what's your secret?" Renata asked.

I squinted my eyes in question, tightened my shoulders.

"To staying thin?" she asked. "When you eat like that?"

It's simple, I thought. Be broke, friendless, and homeless. Spend weeks eating other people's leftovers, or nothing at all.

The problem is foster youth don't really have this network that other kids have.

The only problem," he added, "is that it takes over an hour to cook."

"Over an hour!" The thought of waiting made my head hurt. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and my stomach was empty to the point of nausea.

I traveled a full two years with 'Language of Flowers.'

My husband and I vowed that after we married and settled down, we would become foster parents - a vow we kept and one that has enriched our lives greatly.

Do you really think you're the only human being alive who is unforgivably flawed? Who's been hurt almost to the point of breaking?

It is stories - both real and fictional - that can captivate hearts, change minds and, in the most powerful examples, spur action.

Nothing you could do would make me send you away. Nothing.

My husband was working as principal of an urban transformation high school - the kind of public charter school determined to do whatever it takes to give its mostly minority, low-income student body the education they need and deserve to be successful in life.

Moss grows without roots.

Every second I have spare, I'm with my kids.

This is it, you know," she said. "Your life starts here. No one to blame but yourself from here on out.

I don't think there is anything magical about the language of flowers in real life or in my book.

The open forgiveness in her eyes, the uncensored love, terrified me.

I've worked with homeless kids, kids in foster care, and I've never met a kid who couldn't be reached.

Everyone needs something they're good at. You want your kids to be passionate and figure out something they're good at.

Our standards for motherhood are so high that many of us harbor intense, secret guilt for every harsh word we speak to our children, every negative thought that enters our minds.

I'm missing work. We didn't have enough money for preschool. I had a panic attack. I couldn't do it. I became one of those horrible foster parents who give the kids back.

kissed his forehead.

Meredith Combs, the social worker responsible for selecting the stream of adoptive families that gave me back, wanted to talk to me about blame.

There's still something so pure and heartfelt and emotional and genuine about a bouquet of flowers that, even with all the advances of technology and the millions of ways we have to communicate with each other, flowers are still relevant in my opinion.

We can become anyone we want to become. It takes focusing on the aspect of ourselves we want to change and reflecting on the beliefs that cause us to act in ways that are counter to the change we seek.

You should see the way she smiles when I rattle off the names of the orchids in the greenhouse: oncidium, dendrobium, bulbophyllum, and epidendrum, tickling her face with each blossom. I wouldn't be surprised if 'Orchidaceae' was her first word.

Anyone can grow into something beautiful.

Mistletoe. I surmount all obstacles.

Writing has always been an interest of mine, and 'The Language of Flowers' combined my experience with foster care with something I've always wanted to do.

The names of common flowers change from decade to decade, so I spent a lot of time with old outdated dictionaries, with awful flower names like 'mouse-eared chickweed.'

I am not only the person who wrote and sold a novel while raising a houseful of biological and foster children; I am also the person who wrote a horrific young adult novel that never sold and gave up on a foster child I couldn't handle - an experience that still haunts me.

I was unaccustomed to men in general, having spent my adolescence in all-female group homes with only an occasional male therapist or teacher, and I couldn't remember having ever been in such proximity to a man who was both young and handsome. Grant was so different from everything I was used to - from the size of his hands, heavy on the table, to the low, quiet voice that echoed into the silence between us.

First drafts are never any good - at least, mine aren't.

Though politics is by nature divisive, surely we all can agree that foster children need stability, safety, education, opportunity - and love.

Moss has no roots.