“Maybe the truth is there's a little bit of loser in all of us you know, being happy isn't having everything in… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“She was becoming the person she'd be for her whole life. Each thing she chose contributed to that person. She didn't want… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
She knew that when she got old it would be more fun to look back on a life of romance and adventure… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“Together or apart, no matter how far apart, we live in one another. We go on together.” — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
She was alive, and they were dead. She had to try to make her life big. As big as she could. She… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
She couldn’t hide from everyone for the rest of her life… Well she could. That was the direction things were going. But… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
She hadn't chosen the brave life. She'd chosen the small, fearful one. — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
I love that blurry place where life’s transitions are made without you even knowing it. — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
Grief was like a newborn, and the first three months were hard as hell, but by six months you'd recognized defeat, shifted… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“Because the truth wouldn't be comforting and wouldn't bring them closer again.” — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“¿Iban a sumirla en la tristeza antes de hacerla feliz? No, por favor.” — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“When she made her way to the big picture window that framed the dining room table she froze. She stopped breathing. The anger was… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“Lena remembered herself in all the old familiar things they said. She existed in her friends; there she was. All the parts of herself… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“but it was hard to give the real world much notice when he was this close.” — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“You don't have time, Len. That is the most bitter and the most beautiful piece of advice I can offer. If you don't have… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
Gestating characters feels something like the mental equivalent of gestating a baby. In both cases, to create them you lose yourself. Or at least… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
The weather turned. Her skin seemed to grow a million extra pores, and all of them opened to take in the warmth and tenderness… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
