He had to fight. That's all he had. Not memories, not experiences, not skills. He had a will. And his will was… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
You have been with me from the very first life. You are my first memory every time, the single thread in all… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
Relief is a short-lived emotion, passive and thin. The agony of doubt disappears, leaving little memory of how it really felt. Life… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
“Thoughts were nothing. Memories were nothing. They were nothing you could touch. They took no time. You could fit them all on… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
A lot of friendship is about practice, that’s something I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older. It’s not simply some spiritual soul-bond of… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
Her body was a prison, her mind was a prison. Her memories were a prison. The people she loved. She couldn't get… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
It was a blessing and also a curse of handwritten letters that unlike email you couldn’t obsessively reread what you’d written after… — 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
