Best 8 quotes of Natalia Jaster on MyQuotes

Broken hearts made faults and fools of us all.

Father used to say that change took time, but he was wrong. It did not take any time at all to change me. The glimpse of a family. A beautiful tale. A child’s tears. A confession. A wound. An honest opinion. A friend’s betrayal. One parent’s death and another’s embrace. A touch—an instant slapping you with its light and jolting you back, shaken and blinking. Those quick moments were what changed people.

He holds out a trembling hand and traces the shape of her arm, descending to her elbow. “You’re like mist,” he says. “You really don’t feel this?” Love shakes her head. “No.” But that’s not entirely true, because this illusion of a touch has turned her into a current, this human has reached down to her bones. Then his fingers curl right through her hip, and he lowers his voice. “How ’bout that?

He sang a carol about love, about many loves, about four loves. He sang about a foolish story, a dangerous story, a dishonest story, and a wishful story. He sang about a trick, and a dare, and a lie, and a dream.

If she could explore and heal his injuries with her fingers, it would be another type of magic, her skin making contact with his. Putting her mind to it, Love would become familiar with his body. She would know him from top to bottom, from beginning to end. Touching this boy would be the death, and life, of her.

Oh, my Seasons. "You disarm me." Oh, my Seasons. Who knew the color blue could smolder? His eyes held mine, feasted on them. No. Not feasted. He wanted that with her, not with me. At any rate, my breathing stalled. I could lose my mind to that face, his expression strumming a hundred truths from me, whether I liked it or not. "What do you wish for?" he asked. For my mother to get better. For her to look at me without grabbing that mallet. For people to see me as a real girl. For them to believe it. For me to believe it. For you to believe it.

Putting her mind to it, Love would become familiar with his body. She would know him from top to bottom, from beginning to end. Touching this boy would be the death, and life, of her.

She watches him for hours. She wants to be the sheets that cover his toes. She wants to be the ceiling separating him from the sky: above him, the first thing he sees before and after dreams. She wants to be the open window letting in the light for him.