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I love Conrad and I probably always would. I would spend my whole life loving him one way or another. Maybe I would get married, maybe I would have a family, but it wouldnât matter, because a piece of my heart, the piece where summer lived, would always be Conradâs
Jenny Han, The Summer I Turned Pretty (Summer, #1)
Sometimes itâs like people are a million times more beautiful to you in your mind. Itâs like you see them through a special lens â but maybe if itâs how you see them,thatâs how they really are. Itâs like the whole tree falling in the forest thing.
Jenny Han, The Summer I Turned Pretty (Summer, #1)
You see, Jude, in life, sometimes nice things happen to good people. You donât need to worryâthey donât happen as often as they should. But when they do, itâs up to the good people to just say âthank you,â and move on, and maybe consider that the person whoâs doing the nice thing gets a bang out of it as well, and really isnât in the mood to hear all the reasons that the person for whom heâs done the nice thing doesnât think he deserves it or isnât worthy of it.
Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life
You see, some things I can teach you. Some you learn from books. But there are things that, well, you have to see and feel.
Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns
âBut who can say what's best? That's why you need to grab whatever chance you have of happiness where you find it, and not worry about other people too much. My experience tells me that we get no more than two or three such chances in a life time, and if we let them go, we regret it for the rest of our lives.â â Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
âNo matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories.â â haruki murakami
Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
And once the storm is over, you wonât remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You wonât even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you wonât be the same person who walked in. Thatâs what this stormâs all about.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
âMy dad once told me that Winstone Churchill said that Russia was riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. According to my dad, Churchill had been talking about my mother. This was before the divorce, and he said it half-bitterly, half-respectfully. Because even when he hated her, he admired her.
I think he would have stayed with her forever, trying to figure out the mystery. He was a puzzle solver, the kind of person who likes theorems, theories. X always had to equal something. It couldn't just be X.
To me, my mother wasn't that mysterious. She was my mother. Always reasonable, always sure of herself. To me, she was about as mysterious as a glass fo water. She knew what she wanted; she knew what she didn't want. And that was to be married to my father. I wasn't sure if it was that she fell our of love or if it was that she just never was. in love, I mean.â
âI'd never heard of them, but at that moment, it was the best song I'd ever heard. I went out and bought Ten and listened to it on repeat. When I listened to track five, "Black," it was like I was there, in that moment all over again.
After the summer was over, when I got back home, I went to the music store and bought the sheet music and learned to play it on the piano. I thought one day I could accompany Conrad and we could be, like, a band.â â The Summer I Turned Pretty
âAnd in the end, he would become a memory, pressed in my heart like a leaf in my book.â â The Summer I Turned Pretty
âWe sat around the kitchen table picking off of foil-covered plates. Conrad kept sneaking looks at me, and every time I looked back, he looked away. I'm right here, I wanted to tell him. I'm still here.â â The Summer I Turned Pretty
âThe thing was, Jeremiah was right. I did love him. I knew the exact moment it became real too. Conrad got up early to make a special belated Father's Day breakfast, only Mr. Fisher hadn't been able to come down the night before. He wasn't there the next morning the way he was supposed to be. Conrad cooked anyway, and he was thirteen and a terrible cook, but we all ate it. Watching him serving rubbery eggs and pretending not to be sad, I thought to myself, I will love this boy forever.â â The Summer I Turned Pretty
âHe pulled my foot, drawing me closer. Being this close to him was making me feel dizzy and nervous. I said it again, one last time, even though i didn't mean it. "Conrad let go of me." He did. And then he dunked me. It didn't matter. I was already holding my breath.â â The Summer I Turned Pretty
âIt was a summer I would never, ever forget. It was the summer everything began. It was the summer I turned pretty. Because for the first time, I felt it. Pretty, I mean. Every summer up to this one, I believed itâd be different. Life would be different. And that summer, it finally was.â â The Summer I Turned Pretty
âI love Conrad and I probably always would. I would spend my whole life loving him one way or another. Maybe I would get married, maybe I would have a family, but it wouldnât matter, because a piece of my heart, the piece where summer lived, would always be Conradâsâ â The Summer I Turned Pretty