Sarah Dessen
Sarah Dessen
Sarah Dessenis an American writer who lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina...
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth6 June 1970
CityEvanston, IL
life real stories
So maybe it wasn't the fairy tale. But those stories weren't real anyway. Mine were.
relationship light complicated
You couldn't just pick and choose at will when someone depended on you, or loved you. It wasn't like a light switch, easy to turn on or off. If you were in, you were in. Out, you were out.
said
And the rest is history,' I said. Nah.' He shook his head. 'The rest is now.
night hands giving
You get what you give, but also what you're willing to take. The night before, I'd offered up my hand. Now, if I held on, there was no telling what it was possible to recieve in return.
giving connections sitting
Sitting there with them, it was almost hard to remember when I first came to Perkins, so determined to remember to be a one-woman operation to the end. But that was the thing about taking help and giving it, or so I was learning; there was no such thing as really getting even. Instead, this connection, once opened, remained ongoing over time.
underrated
Conciseness is underrated
names together answers
She smiled, pulling the photo a little closer, and I wondered if I should ask her, too, the question for my project, get her definition. But as she ran a finger slowly across the faces, identifying each one, it occurred to me that maybe this was her answer. All those names, strung together like beads on a chain. Coming together, splitting apart, but still and always, a family. (page 289) ~Ruby
people rooms chance
I've given lots of people chances," she said suddenly, as if Marion was still in the room to hear us. "But there's only so much faith you can have in people.
doors secret half
I knew I had to keep him to myself, as I'd slowly begun to keep everything. We had secrets now, truths and half-truths, that kept her always at arm's length, behind a closed door, miles away.
daughter phones phone-calls
Just like that, with one phone call, she was a daughter again.
memories heart hands
And that was it; it was so easy for her. My own memories did not even belong to me. But I knew she was wrong. I had seen that comet. I knew it as well as I knew my own face, my own hands. My own heart.
heart dry source
You can't just turn your heart off like a faucet; you have to go to the source and dry it out, drop by drop.
matter different planning
A lot can change between planning something and actually doing it. But maybe all that really matters is that anything is different at all.
cutting wanted eighteen
Once I turned eighteen, I could cut myself off from everyone and finally get what I wanted, which was to be on my own, once and for all. ~Ruby, pg 38