Catherine Gilbert Murdock is an American author.
And have your mother put my head on a stake? Do you have any notion what that would do to my handsome good looks?
So what if Brian made me feel like fireworks were going off inside me. He could also make me feel like a big fat clod of heartsick dirt. It was like he could take any emotion I had and make it ten times stronger. Which is great when it's happiness but pretty darn awful if it's anything sad.
Why was it that jam always coated me so?
I milked, of course, and did some work around the barn, and tried not to think about Brian, which was like trying not to breathe.
Everyone I looked at, their whole lives, did exactly what they were supposed to do without even questioning it, without even wondering if they could do something different.
Oh. Listen, this is really hard for me. . . " "What is?" "You know. Being liked. " I started to cry. I couldn't help it.
How could I pretend to be someone else when I was already failing at being the person I already was?
She says you're not truly human until you've had your heart broken and you've broken someone's heart.
I’d promised myself that I’d really work on talking more, talking about uncomfortable things, because I could see from Brian how well things could work out if you did.
It was like he was in a contest to see who could do the least work, only he was the only contestant.
Everyone's scared. So scared they can't sleep sometimes. Or eat. Or keep their weight on. " "Then why bother playing?" I asked. It was a whisper, this question. "Because. You love the game. You love the people you play with. You love winning, maybe. You love that one moment when you get it right. . . I dunno. Why do you play?" "Because," I whispered, "it's who I am. " Sounds like a good reason to me.
Every fairy tale, it seems, concludes with the bland phrase "happily ever after. " Yet every couple I have ever known would agree that nothing about marriage is forever happy. There are moments of bliss, to be sure, and lengthy spans of satisfied companionship. Yet these come at no small effort, and the girl who reads such fiction dreaming her troubles will end ere she departs the altar is well advised to seek at once a rational women to set her straight.
That which is priceless has no cost.
Despite all my public misconduct, in the past year, I had learned the Elemental spells, the Doppelschläferin, and the preparation and flying of a magic broom; I had survived two months as prisoner of war, saving the life of captain Johanne in the process; I had escaped the dungeons of Fortress Drachensbett, and after an arduous journey successfully reunited with my double, so preserving her, and all Montagne, from Prince Flonian's rapacity, I would somehow master the despicable art of being a princess.
And that's where our conversation went from there, than God, both of us laughing our butts off at the thought of a hoops game between two teams on intravenous fluids. Which makes absolutely no sense at all; I know that. But that's why it cheered me up, because it was so absolutely stupid. It cheered me up more than I'd ever thought I'd be cheered up again.
But it turns out that even if I don’t talk a lot, when it’s something that matters I still have a lot to say.
I swear, every person I know gets far more satisfaction from doing good deeds than receiving them. Maybe that’s the whole point in the end, all of us putting up with good deeds, tolerating them as best we can, counting the minutes until we have the opportunity to reciprocate.
I ultimately decided to hold my tongue and settle instead for the comfort of ignorance. Not knowing the truth, I retained hope, and that hope I held like a smooth warm stone against my heart.
When you don't talk, there's a lot of stuff that ends up not getting said.
I hate it when people make fun of me and it turns out they're right.