Best 56 quotes of Carol Rifka Brunt on MyQuotes

After a snowstorm is the best time to be in the woods, because all the empty beer and soda cans and candy wrappers disappear, and you don't have to try as hard to be in another time. Plus there's just something beautiful about walking on snow that nobody else has walked on.

Every new party, every new bunch of people, and I start thinking that maybe this is my chance.That I'm going to be normal this time. A new leaf. A fresh start. But then I find myself at the party, thinking, Oh, yeah. This again.

Going into the woods alone is the best way to pretend you're in another time. It's a thing you can only do alone. If there's somebody else with you, it's too easy to remember where you really are.

I dream about people who don't need to have sex to know they love each other.

I felt like I had proof that not all days are the same length, not all time has the same weight. Proof that there are worlds and worlds and worlds on top of worlds, if you want them to be there.

I go to the movies whenever I get the chance, because the movie theater is like the woods. It's another place that's like a time machine.

I had no idea how greedy my heart really was.

I know all about love that's too big to stay in a tiny bucket. Splashing out all over the place in the most embarrassing way possible.

I knew the way lost hopes could be dangerous, how they could turn a person into someone they never thought they'd be.

I need to figure out the secret. I need to work out how to keep things flying back to me instead of always flying away.

I only need one good friend to see me through. Most people aren't like that. Most people are always looking out for more people to know.

I stared hard, trying to find a pattern. Thinking if I kept looking hard enough, maybe the pieces of the world would fit back together into something I could understand.

I stared out the window the whole way, because it was raining, which is how I like the city best. It looks like it's been polished up. All the streets shine and lights from everywhere reflect off the black. It's like the whole place has been dipped in sugar syrup. Like the city is some kind of big candy apple.

I thought of all the different kinds of love in the world. I could think of ten without even trying. The way parents love their kids, the way you love a puppy or chocolate ice cream or home or your favorite book or your sister. Or your uncle. There's those kinds of love and then there's the other kind. The falling kind.

It seemed like life was a sort of narrowing tunnel Right when you were born, the tunnel was huge. You could be anything,. Then, like, the absolute second after you were born, the tunnel narrowed down to about half that size....I figured on the day you died, the tunnel would be so narrow, you'd have squeezed yourself in with so many choices, that you just got squashed.

I was in a place where nobody knew my heart even a little bit.

Maybe you had to be dying to finally get to do what you wanted.I fidgeted around with the puzzle pieces for a while longer, but I wasn't lucky. Nothing seemed to fit without a whole lot of work.Then I had this thought: What if it was enough to realize that you would die someday, that none of this would go on forever? Would that be enough?

My mother gave me a disappointed look. Then I gave her one back. Mine was for everything, not just the sandwich.

Sometimes it feels good to take the long way home.

That's what being shy feels like. Like my skin is too thin, the light too bright. Like the best place I could possibly be is in a tunnel far under the cool, dark earth. Someone asks me a question and I stare at them, empty-faced, my brain jammed up with how hard I'm trying to find something interesting to say. And in the end, all I can do is nod or shrug, because the light of their eyes looking at me, waiting for me, is just too much to take. And then it's over and there's one more person in the world who thinks I'm a complete and total waste of space.

There are dark black buttons tattooed on my heart. I’ll carry them for the rest of my days.

There's just something beautiful about walking on snow that nobody else has walked on. It makes you believe you're special.

Watching people is a good hobby, but you have to be careful about it. You can’t let people catch you staring at them. If people catch you, they treat you like a first-class criminal. And maybe they’re right to do that. Maybe it should be a crime to try to see things about people they don’t want you to see.

You can build a whole world around the tiniest of touches.

You could try to believe what you wanted, but it never worked. Your brain and your heart decided what you were going to believe and that was that. Whether you liked it or not.

You think I don't know about wrong love, June? You think I don't understand embarrassing love?

Ama ya yanlış türde bir sevgiye düşerseniz? Ya kazara o kişiye aşık olmak dünyanın en iğrenç şeyi olduğu için hayatta kimselere bahsedemeyeceğiniz türde bir sevgiye düşerseniz? Ölesiye derine gömmek zorunda olduğunuz için neredeyse kalbinizi bir kara deliğe dönüştüren br sevgiye? Daha derine ittiğiniz ama ne kadar çabalasanız da, boğulup gitmesi için umut etseniz de bir türlü başınızdan gitmeyen bir sevdaya? Yok olup gideceğine, daha da büyüyen, zamanla kocaman olup bütün varlığınızı kaplayan ve sonunda sizin ta kendiniz olan, size dönüşen. Gördüğünüz ya da düşündüğünüz her şeyi sizi o sevmemeniz gereken insana geri götürüyorsa?

Beauty parlor was a game was used to play when we were little, when we were still best friends.

But maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn't that she could change my words; maybe it was that she was able to strip away all the layers until only the truth was left. Ugly and skinless and raw.

Finn said art isn't about drawing or painting a perfect bowl of fruit. It's about ideas. And you, he said, have enough good ideas to last a lifetime.

Greta knows that for me there are no good parties. I’m okay with one or two people, but more than that and I turn into a naked mole rat. That’s what being shy feels like. Like my skin is too thin, the light too bright. Like the best place I could possibly be is in a tunnel far under the cool, dark earth. Someone asks me a question and I stare at them, empty-faced, my brain jammed up with how hard I’m trying to find something interesting to say. And in the end, all I can do is nod or shrug, because the light of their eyes looking at me, waiting for me, is just too much to take. And then it’s over and there’s one more person in the world who thinks I’m a complete and total waste of time.

Hayır, hayır. Yalnızca dünyanın en mutsuz insanları sonsuza dek yaşamak ister, çünkü hayatları boyunca istedikleri hiçbir şeyi yapamadıklarını düşünürler. Yeterince zamanları olmadığını, hayattan paylarına düşeni alamadıklarını hissederler.

I came to a sketch where the space between my arm and Greta’s arm, the shape of the place between us, had been darkened in. The negative space. That’s what Finn called it. He was always trying to get me to understand negative space. And I did. I could understand what he was saying, but it didn’t come naturally to me. I had to be reminded to look for it. To see the stuff that’s there but not there. In this sketch, Finn had colored in the negative space, and I saw that it made a shape that looked like a dog’s head. Or, no—of course, it was a wolf’s head, tilted up, mouth open and howling. It wasn’t obvious or anything. Negative space was kind of like constellations. The kind of thing that had to be brought to your attention. But the way Finn did it was so skillful. It was all in the way Greta’s sleeve draped and the way my shoulder angled in. So perfect. It was almost painful to look at that negative space, because it was so smart. So exactly the kind of thing Finn would think of. I touched my finger to the rough pencil lines, and I wished I could let Finn know that I saw what he’d done. That I knew he’d put that secret animal right between Greta and me.

I dream about people who don't need to have sex to know they love each other. I dream about people who would only ever kiss you on the cheek.

...I felt the wall between the world of secrets and the real world start to collapse. I felt the girls from the portrait becoming us and us becoming them...

If you close your eyes when you sing in Latin, and if you stand right at the back so you can keep one hand against the cold stone wall of the church, you can pretend you're in the Middle Ages. That's why I did it. That's what I was in it for.

I meant it seriously. I really wondered why people were always doing what they didn’t like doing. It seemed like life was sort of narrowing tunnel. Right when you were born, the tunnel was huge. You could be anything. Then, like, the absolute second after you were born, the tunnel narrowed down to about half that size. You were a boy, and already it was certain you wouldn’t be a mother and it was likely you wouldn’t become a manicurist or a kindergarten teacher. Then you started to grow up and everything you did closed the tunnel in some more. You broke your arm climbing a tree and you ruled out being a baseball pitcher. You failed every math test you ever took and you canceled any hope of being a scientist. Like that. On and on through the years until you will stuck. You’d become a baker or a librarian or a bartender. Or an accountant. And there you were. I figured that on the day you died, the tunnel would be so narrow, you’d have squeezed yourself in with so many choices, that you just got squashed.

I really wondered why people were always doing what they didn't like doing. It seemed like life was a sort of narrowing tunnel. Right when you were born, the tunnel was huge. You could be anything. Then, like, the absolute second you were born, the tunnel narrowed down to about half the size. . . . I figured that, on the day you died, the tunnel would be so narrow, you'd have squeezed yourself in with so many choices, that you just got squashed.

I suppose I'm in that very small group of people who are not waiting for their own story to unfold. If my life was a film, I'd have walked out by now.

I told my mother he looked like a deflated balloon. Greta said he looked like a small gray moth wrapped in a spider's web. That's because everything about Greta is more beautiful, even the way she says things.

It's hard to do that, to decide to believe one thing over another.

It's the most unhappy people who want to stay alive, because they think they haven't done everything they want to do. They think they haven't had enough time. They feel they've been shortchanged.

I used to think maybe I wanted to become a falconer, and now I'm sure of it, because I need to figure out the secret. I need to work out how to keep things flying back to me instead of always flying away.

I was afraid he wouldn't remember the joke. I always remember jokes, but some people forget right away and then I end up looking like a weirdo for still remembering something so small.

Nothing had changed. I was the stupid one again. I was the girl who never understood who she was to people.

— O Finn nem parecia se importar de estar morrendo – comentei. E era verdade. Finn estava calmo como sempre até a última vez em que o vi. — Você não sabe? Esse é o segredo. Se você sempre garantir que é exatamente a pessoa que esperava ser, se sempre garantir que conhece apenas as melhores pessoas, então não vai se importar de morrer amanhã. — Isso não faz nenhum sentindo. Se você fosse tão feliz, então iria querer ficar vivo, não iria? Iria querer ficar vivo para sempre, para continuar sendo feliz. — Não, não. São as pessoas mais infelizes que querem ficar vivas, por que acham que não fizeram tudo o que querem fazer. Acham que não tiveram tempo suficiente. Acham que ganharam menos do que mereciam.

Please promise to take the very best care of my only girl. With so much love my heart might split in two...

Se minha vida fosse um filme, eu já teria saído do cinema.

That's the difference between you and Greta. She has better things to do. She gets involved in clubs, activities. She has friends. But you? You slump around in that room of yours--

Then, who is Matilda?' I asked. Toby tilted his cup and poked at the slush with his straw. 'I suppose Matilda's the girl who felt like home.