16 Quotes by Corinne Beenfield

I could never do anything that would add to your pain.”With that, he leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead, soft and sad as moonlight. Helen’s eyelids fluttered down as she relished it, wishing it could last, praying the next moment wouldn’t come. But of course, it did.Pulling back, Stuart looked in Helen’s eyes, perhaps for the last time. “I’ll write.

Watching her with the other children, it struck Helen once again that there was something that still set the girl apart, something just out of reach. Lyric was remarkable. A breathtaking horizon and endless ocean, deep and mysterious. No matter how well Helen got to know her, she always felt as though she never truly would.

Others, however, would look over the children as if they were produce. They’d only speak to the nearest officer, never lowering their eyes to the young ones. Instead, they looked down their noses as though to distance themselves. “I’ll take these,” Helen would see them mouth, waving a finger above the small heads. It was a moment the children would have branded on their minds, Helen was sure of it, and the pain of it turned her stomach to lead.

Heaven might have streets of gold, but this entire town is covered in it. Amber sunlight is everywhere, glowing off of the yellow brick buildings, reflecting from the windows, even hanging in the dust. Sunlight, apparently, smells like slightly overripe fruit, the kind perfect for the picking, that shouldn’t be left for any other day. It’s meant to be enjoyed now.

I’ll never see the ocean without thinking of you.” It was the closest thing to I love you too she could come up with. Perhaps it meant the same thing, just said with different words.

I never thought it would be hard to leave. People say it is, but to me it seemed that it was the waiting that was most difficult, the trying to keep alive something precious inside me buried so deep. Staying was killing it off for sure, no matter how hard I tried to keep it beating.

Immediately as I ride the rush of wind chills my skin and twines it’s fingers into my chestnut hair, making the waves brush against my shoulders and fly behind me. Over the creekbed trees stretch and barely touch each other, as though passing a secret from one to the next. I strain my ears to hear their whispers through the leaves, but if they speak to me I don’t understand. But that’s okay, let them keep their secrets. I have my own.