99+ Gayle Forman Quotes on Quotes about life, Firsts and Momentum - Quotes.pub

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Forward momentum. That’s my new motto. No regrets. And no going back.

Momentum Quotes

Her hands were freezing, just like they always were, so I warmed them, just like I always did.

In destroying ourselves, we also learn to create ourselves.

You know, the portrait gallery is full of paintings of men who’ve killed those who have wronged them,” Elsinora said. “But they’re not called villains. They’re called heroes.

Because the hard part of falling down is not the falling down, or the getting back up. It’s seeing what happens to the people you fall on. You get bruised; they get flattened.

Why had she asked a mirror – or anyone for that matter – to tell her who she was?

Twenty-six letters and some punctuation marks and you have infinite words in infinite worlds. How is that not a miracle?

Unfortunately, sometimes the things we love can also kill us.

Life and death are one thread, the same line viewed from different sides.” You have taken your first step, not toward death but toward a different way of living your life. That itself is the definition of fearless.

When you watch, you are a spectator, but when you read, you’re a participant.

I continue reading, remembering why I used to love books. Because they show us, in so many words, and so many worlds, that we are not alone.

There are like twenty people in that waiting room right now. Some of them are related to you. Some of them are not. But we’re all your family.

You must not waste your one day here. When the sun shines, you let it shine on you. Snow is always waiting.

And her voice, it’s exactly the same. I don’t know why I’d expect it to be different except that everything’s different now.

He talks about despair, how it drives in silence.

Maybe if I’d had some practice, maybe if I’d had more devastation in my life, I would be more prepared to go on.

Alice goes into the kitchen and returns with a cup of coffee for me, which she announces is free-range and fair-trade and shade-farmed in Malawi, and I nod along as if my coffee needs go beyond hot and caffeinated.

We drank Pepsi out of these old-fashioned bottles that Dad had found at some ancient country store, and I swear they tasted better than the regular kind.

And secrets crave fissures, until the fissures become trenches, and the trenches become channels, and the channels become crevasses, and suddenly you are alone, on a block of ice, separated from everyone you care about.

There are pictures of Kim and Mia from high school and one of the two of them posing on top of the Empire State Building – a jolting reminder that their relationship wasn’t truncated, they have a history of which I know nothing.

I’m waging a tug of war, but no one else is holding the other end of the rope.

11:47, positively crack-of-dawn for me.

Adam strummed an unfamiliar melody. I asked him what he was playing. “I’m calling it ‘My-Girlfriend’s-Going-to-Julliard-Leaving-My-Punk-Heart-in-Shreds Blues.

Mom and I made three pies with wild blackberries that Teddy and I had picked.

More and more lately it seems as though the majority of my conversations are with myself.

I never really bought in Kim’s notion that they were somehow bound together through me- until just now when I saw her half carrying him down the hospital corridor.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I read the opening lines of the book, and it’s like my own pages are coming unstuck. For so long, all I’ve felt is fear, and all this time, it was grief. I continue reading, remembering why I used to love books. Because they show us, in so many words, and so many worlds, that we are not alone. A miracle, in twenty-six letters.

He sort of breathes music.

Sophie wondered when was she going to learn that lots of things seem like a good idea but a small amount of analysis might uncover that such seemingly good ideas are, in fact, intrinsically faulty.

I’ve never seen anyone cry like this. Quiet but gushing, a faucet behind his eyes mysteriously turned on.

The talks were like blood transfusions, moments of realness and hope that were pinpricks of light in the dark fabric of small-town life.

Allyson sees Willem’s face, his panic, and she knows he is misreading her. But she is helpless to explain right now. Words have left her. She is emotion only.

Karma’s not like a bank. Make a deposit, take a withdrawal. But more and more, I am starting to suspect that all this is payback for something – only not the good kind.

Annoyance has made me bilingual.

Not sure there is such a thing as a minor miracle.

But if that’s what happens to normal, what hope is there for the rest of us?” I ask him.

I lost them, too. Except even back then, it had been different, like there’d been a barrier. That’s the thing you never expect about grieving, what a competition it is.

But by the way he’s looking at everything in the room but me, I think he knows that he didn’t really explain why. And by the way I’m looking at everything in the room but him, I know that I don’t really need him to.

A wicked sense of humor, this one.

Knowing that something bad is going to happen, whether you want it to or not, to the point that you just want it to happen so you can stop dreading it.

Willem has just glanced at the birthmark on Allyson’s wrist, giving him an urgent desire to taste it again. Between her feet and her wrist, he is having a hard time getting out the door.

Because it doesn’t seem like living to me, it seems like persevering, like it’s the most I can hope for.

So this was how it was. People entered your life. Some would stay. Some would not. Some would drift but would return to you.

It was so new that day: the liberation of being honest, of being brave, maybe a little stupid.

You type what you’re feeling and press send before you have a chance to talk yourself out of it. And then you wait, and wait, and wait, and nothing comes back, so all those things you thought were so important to say, really, they weren’t. They weren’t worth saying at all.

She mock shudders the way you do when you talk about someone’s misfortunes that have nothing to do with you, that don’t touch you, and never will. I’ve never hit a woman in my life, but for one minute I want to punch her in the face, give her a taste of the pain she’s so casually describing.

My anger feels hot and bilious but I keep it bottled until it doubles back and I’m mad at myself.

A truth and its opposite are flip sides of the same coin.

It’s the hoping that makes it hurt.

To dream is the ultimate dare, is it not?

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