Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either— Jennifer Donnelly
The most passioned Jennifer Donnelly quotes that are simple and will have a huge impact on you
Meet me where the sky touches the sea. Wait for me where the world begins.
Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?
I know it is a bad thing to break a promise, but I think now that it is a worse thing to let a promise break you.
For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.
History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.
I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.
He who cannot endure the bad will not live to see the good.
Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.
I play until my fingers are blue and stiff from the cold, and then I keep on playing. Until I'm lost in the music. Until I am the music--notes and chords, the melody and harmony. It hurts, but it's okay because when I'm the music, I'm not me. Not sad. Not afraid. Not desperate. Not guilty.
He's wearing boots, a kilt, and a long-sleeve tee.
No coat, even though it's December. Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.
The world goes on, as stupid and brutal as tomorrow as it was today.
And though I am shuddering with pain, and twisting with pain, and sobbing with pain, i laugh.Because I know now. I know the answer. I know the truth. Oh,dead man, you are dead wrong, I tell him.Can't you see? The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I [do not. I do not.]
I will go out again this very night with my rockets and fuses.
I will blow them straight out of their comfortable beds. Blow the rooftops off their houses. Blow the black, wretched night to bits. I will not stop. For mad I may be, but I will never be convenient.
Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.
I'm wishing he could see that music lives.
Forever. That it's stronger than death. Stronger than time. And that its strength holds you together when nothing else can.
Funny, 'ow you can 'old a jewel in your 'and, and toss it away, and not even know what you 'ad until it's gone.
A new word. Bright with possibilities. A flawless pearl to turn over and over in my hand, then put away for safekeeping.
There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.
Who needs make-believe monsters when there are so many real ones.
When you can write music that endures, bravo.
Until then, keep quiet and study the work of those who can.
She's got a big belt around her hips.
It has a shiny buckle with PRADA on it, which is Italian for insecure.
Namaste. It was a Nepalese greeting. It meant: The light within me bows to the light within you.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine.
Becuse God loves us, but the devil takes an interest.
There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now - white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.
DNA tells you all the secrets of life,’ he used to say. Except for one—how to live it.
He loves the sparkling fountains and their cascades and says the strangest things as he watches them. they look like stars breaking. Or, They look like Mama's diamonds. Or, They look like all the souls in heaven.
I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one.
Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.
Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.
I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does.
Things are NEVER what they seem, Pa, I thought.
I used to think they were, but I was wrong or stupid or blind or something. Old folks are forever complaining about their failing eyesight, but I think your vision gets better as you get older. Mine surely was.
On those nights, the words were for me alone.
They came up unbidden from my heart. They spilled over my tongue and spilled out my mouth. And because of them, I, who was nothing and nobody, was a prince of Denmark, a maid of Verona, a queen of Egypt. I was a sour misanthrope, a beetling hypocrite, a conjurer's daughter, a mad and murderous king.
Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.
Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.
Only the hopeless love God.
Because in a small dark room, a broken child lies on a filthy bed and stares up at a high window. He waits for me, too. And I—I who have failed at everything and have failed everyone—I must not, I cannot, I will not fail him.
I just love historical fiction.
The guitar's still around me. I slip it off and put it down. I want to feel him. To feel his breath on my neck. The warmth of his skin. To feel something other than sadness. Hold me, I tell him silently. Hold me here. To this place. This life. Make me want you. Want this. Want something. Please
Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
But his words fall away. He looks confused. He looks flustered and sorry. Like you do when you run up to someone you think you know and take her arm and she turns around and you were wrong.
There were times when I lifted my face to the sky, stretched my arms wide to the winter night, and laughed out loud, so happy was I. The memory of it makes me laugh now, but not from happiness. Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.
I love you, too... I won't ever leave you again. I promise. I kept that promise. For love him I did. For nearly two years I spent almost every waking hour with him. Until he was taken from me. But I never left him. And I never will.
It's another sin. Worse than all the other ones, which are immediate, violent and hot...It's the eighth deadly sin. The one God left out, Hope.
I struggled for a long time to get anything published.
There is only one thing I fear now-love.
For I have seen it and I have felt it and I know that it is love, not death, that undoes us.
Well, it seems to me that there are books that tell stories, and then there are books that tell truths... The first kind, they show you life like you want it to be. With villains getting what they deserve and the hero seeing what a fool he's been and marrying the heroine and happy endings and all that... But the second kind, they show you life more like it is... The first kind makes you cheerful and contented, but the second kind shakes you up.
...Listen to your own thoughts and feelings very carefully, be aware of your observations, and learn to value them. When you're a teenager—and even when you're older—lots of people will try to tell you what to think and feel. Try to stand still inside all of that and hear your own voice. It's yours and only yours, it's unique and worth of your attention, and if you cultivate it properly, it might just make you a writer.
It has an L on it. L for love. See? It's the key to the universe, Dad. You said you were looking for it. You told Mom you were. I found it for you so you don't have to look anymore. So you can come home at night.
It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
Turn away. From the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and look at the light.