76 Quotes by Vanessa Diffenbaugh

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.

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

I pinched tendrils of periwinkle at the roots until they hung in long, limp strands, and grabbed a dozen bright white spider mums. I wrapped the periwinkle tightly around the base of the mums like a ribbon and used florist's wire to create loose curlicues of the leafy groundcover around a multilayered explosion of mums. The effect was like fireworks, dizzying and grand.

Lui la abbracciò stretta, e quando lei cominciò a tremare, per il freddo o il pianto o entrambi, la avvolse nella coperta e la strinse a sè ancora di più. Per la prima volta, rimpianse profondamente la sua decisione, si pentì di averla lasciata ad affrontare il liceo da sola, mentre avrebbe potuto essere al suo fianco. Non l'aveva mai considerata debole perché non lo era, ma era vulnerabile e lui l'aveva abbandonata.

The first page held a picture of a hazel blossom that Catherine had drawn. It had been pulled from its file, laminated with clear plastic, and secured to the album with gold photo corners. Below the drawing was my daughter's name, Hazel Jones-Hastings, in Elizabeth's elegant script, and her birthday, March 1, which wasn't her birthday at all.

Bowing my head, I dipped my nose into the bouquet I'd assembled. There was flax, and forget-me-not, and hazel. There were white roses and pink ones, helenium and periwinkle, primrose, and lots and lots of bellflower. Between the tightly wrapped stems I'd packed velvety moss, barely visible, and I had sprinkled the bouquet with the purple and white petals of Grant's Mexican sage. The bouquet was enormous, and not nearly enough.

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

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?

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.