1,643 Quotes About Ya

And Esme remembered in a rush--the wolfsong, the haunting, lyrical spirals of it in the dawn quiet and the feeling of euphoria that had attended it. Even in recollection the howling uplifted her like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made her heartbeat quicken.

When they had hurried to the train station with their violin cases, they had drawn almost as many stares as they would on any normal day when their hair was to their knees and sheeting behind them like red silk. A poetic fruit-seller had told them once that they looked like dryads, and they did still, only now they looked like dryads who had tired of snagging their hair on brambles and sliced it all off on the edge of a knife.

My breath catches when I reach the last page, the drawing of me. The girl I'm staring at is not me, but she is me. Her large eyes are focused away from the viewer, but there's something in them I don't immediately recognize: hope. Her posture looks straighter than mine, like she's stronger, more resilient.

I need it [the sketch of me] to remind myself that I can be this girl, that this girl is inside of me. This hopeful, strong person.

I wonder if we feel those transformations, if we can sense our kinetic energy fizzling away into nothingness. I wonder if we hear it, if it sounds like the symphony or if it sounds like screaming.

There’s only so many times you can fight before the only person you fight for is yourself.

But when I close my eyes, I'm more like THIS under the surface: I'm laughing and scheming and dreaming.

It's funny how figuring out the gravitational pull of a random object can make you feel more grounded.

I wonder what my energy will do after I die. I wonder if your energy will really outlast us.