Don't you think it's better to be extremely happy for a short while, even if you lose it, than to be just okay for your whole life?— Audrey Niffenegger
The most fascinating Audrey Niffenegger quotes that are easy to memorize and remember
It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.
Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.
I won't ever leave you, even though you're always leaving me.
Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element.
There are several ways to react to being lost.
One is to panic: this was usually Valentina's first impulse. Another is to abandon yourself to lostness, to allow the fact that you've misplaced yourself to change the way you experience the world.
It’s dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.
we both smile and we are conspirators.
I wanted someone to love who would stay: stay and be there, always.
I'm at a loss because I am in love with a man who is standing before me with no memories of me at all. (Time Traveler's Wife)
We laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment.
I'm bored with knitting. I've taken up arson.
Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.
Sometimes a thing is—too much—and it has to be isolated and put away.
" Martin shrugged. "So what's in the boxes is—emotion. In the form of objects."-Her Fearful Symmetry
I have a sort of Christmas-morning sense of the library as a big box full of beautiful books.
The compelling thing about making art - or making anything, I suppose - is the moment when the vaporous, insubstantial idea becomes a solid there, a thing, a substance in a world of substances.
I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.
I'm living under water. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense.
There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.
Oh. A bigger studio. It dawns on me, stupid me, that Henry could win the lottery at any time at all; that he has never bothered to do so because it's not normal; that he has decided to set aside his fanatical dedication to living like a normal person so I can have a studio big enough to roller-skate across; that I am being an ingrate. "Clare? Earth to Clare..." "Thank you," I say, too abruptly.
I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room
Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I'm home.
I feel that I an everything to her.
Outside it's a perfect spring night. We stand on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building, and Henry takes my hand, and I look at him, and I raise our joined hands and Henry twirls me around and soon we're dancing down Belle Plaine Avenue, no music but the sound of cars whoosing by and our own laughter, and the smell of cherry blossoms that fall like snow on the sidewalk as we dance underneath the tress.
He had never realized, while Elspeth was alive, the extent to which a thing had not completely happened until he told her about it.
There's always world enough and time.
It was silly, wasn't it? But the singing made it not silly.
When we met I was wrecked, blasted, and damned, and I am slowly pulling myself together because I can see that you are a human being and I would like to be one, too.
I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble
CLARE: The library is cool and smells like carpet cleaner, although all I can see is marble.
The engagement ring is an emerald, and the dim light from the window is refracted green and white in it. The rings are silver, and they need cleaning. They need wearing, and I know just the girl to wear them.
...she could express her soul with that voice, whenver I listened to her I felt my life meant more than mere biology...she could really hear, she understood structure and she could analyze exactly what it was about a piece of music that had to be rendered just so...she was a very emotional person, Annette. She brought that out in other people. After she died I don't think I ever really felt anything again.
He would say her name over and over until it devolved into meaningless sounds - mah REI kuh, mah REI kuh - it became an entry in a dictionary of loneliness.
I don't want to boss anyone and I don't want to be bossed.
Each spine was an encapsulated memory, each book represented hours, days of pleasure, of immersion into words.
My reflection in the mirror shows me pink and puffy.
I thought pregnant women were to supposed to glow. I am not glowing.
one of the best and the most painful things about time traveling has been the opportunity to see my mother alive.
I breathe slowly and deeply. I make my eyes still under eyelids, I make my mind still, and soon, Sleep, seeing a perfect reproduction of himself, comes to be united with his facsimile.
Running is many things to me: survival, calmness, euphoria, solitude.
It is proof of my corporeal existence, my ability to control my movement through space if not time, and the obedience, however temporary, of my body to my will. As I run I displace air, and things come and go around me, and the path moves like a filmstrip beneath my feet.
I never wanted to have anything in my life that I couldn't stand losing.
But it's too late for that.
In the dim light of the computer screen he seemed otherworldly;
Julia thought him beautiful, though she knew it was the beauty of damage.
...all of our laments could not add a single second to her life, not one additional beat of the heart, nor a breath.
Chaos is more freedom; in fact, total freedom. But no meaning. I want to be free to act, and I also want my actions to mean something.
I still feel like a castaway, th elast of a once numerous species.
It was as though Robinson Crusoe discovered the telltale footprint on the beach and then realized that it was his own. Myself, small as a leaf, thin as water, begins to cry.
Now I wonder if it means that the future is a place, or like a place, that I could go to; that is go to in some way other than just getting older.
The pain has left but I know that it has not gone far, that it is sulking somewhere in a corner or under the bed and it will jump out when I least expect it.
What are you doing?" Nothing. Breaking and entering. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.
But as usual there's no answer to this. As usual, that's just how it is.
Everything seems simple until you think about it.
But you make me happy. It's living up to being happy that's the difficult part.