She used to cry roughly three times a year. Now she seemed to cry three times before breakfast. Could that be considered… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
I'm writing this down, because it is going to be hard for me to say it. Because this is probably our last… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
She felt like parts of her soul were missing, had left her body long ago. It had happened not in Greece three… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
He didn't seem to realize that three excuses was as good as no excuse. — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
During intermission she peeked out at the theater, watching it refill. When it was almost full and the lights blinked on and… — Ann Brashares Copy Share Image
As the three of them walked home from the trees, nobody needed to say it, but Ama knew. They had questioned their… — 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
