Kirsten Hubbard Quotes

What you love the most is what you have to fight the hardest to keep.

You can't control the past, but you can control where you go next.

You can't truly hate someone until you've cared about them. Until you've loved them.

Envy is when you want what someone else has. Jealousy’s when you also don’t want them to have it.

Wanderlust is like itchy feet. It’s when you can’t settle down. But Wanderlove is much deeper than that . . . it’s a compulsion. It’s the difference between lust and love.

Even when life turns out different than what you've planned, it's always better to try and fail than to wonder what could have been.

You got to find your own places. The places you get, girl, the ones that stick in your heart. And if you’re lucky, you find people to share them with.

Hearing about vacations is like hearing about dreams -- no one cares except the person who's experienced them.

Wanderlove is about forgetting the bad things and focusing on the good. Out with the old and in with the new... The only way to escape the past is to keep moving forward.

I've come to realize that sometimes, what you love most is what you have to fight the hardest to keep.

I know what it's like. To sabotage yourself. Nothing makes you hate yourself more than that.

When you're three, you don't draw what you see--you draw upon your imagination. Nobody tells you to stop putting wings on people, unless you have a most unfortunate preschool teacher. You are intoxicated by your own magic.

You can appreciate the good things all around you, but the best part is imminent, just out of reach. Like... perpetual anticipation.

I used to wonder what it would look like if all my footsteps were painted red: all the steps I'd ever taken in all the places I'd ever been.

Because - admit it - there's something perversely appealing about sitting all alone, feeling sorry for yourself, especially when the scenery's stunning and there's a party going on behind you.

You're not big on people, are you?" "I wouldn't say that. Just ... when faced with the choice between small talk with strangers and peace and quiet, I'll choose the latter every time. You know?

Prices are relative. So is poverty. So is happiness.

I liked the idea—that we left pieces of ourselves everywhere we went, coloring all our important places.

My dad didn't find me - I found myself. So that's when I figured out that the only person who could take care of me was me.

Travel is a matter of perspective.

I want to draw you. All of you.' Then I pause. 'That came out wrong-you can keep your clothes on.

Impulsive isn’t something you choose. It’s something you are.

The only way to escape the past is to keep moving forward.

I guess I work in small ways. It's kind of like this story someone told me, about a guy on the beach in Mexico throwing starfish in the sea. Thousands had washed ashore. Someone asked him why - 'Why are you wasting your time, when there are so many? You can't possibly make a difference.'" "I know that story! The man threw another one back, and said -" "'Made a difference to that one!'" Rowan finishes.

We could liberate a million trophies. We could fill every river to the brim. But it would never fully substitute for liberating ourselves.

I think I kind of get it," I say. "Your Wanderlove thing." "Oh Yeah?" "It's about always looking toward the future. You can appreciate the good things all around you, but the best part is imminent, just out of reach. Like... perpetual anticipation.

Isn't that what your memory was about, Bria? Losing control?" I pause. "I never knew memories were about anything. Besides the obvious. You make them sound like dreams -- subject to interpretation." "I think the two are more related than we realize. It's all in how our minds frame them. How we decide what -- and how -- we remember.

I love moving in extra dimensions. Not just backwards and forwards, but up and down and around.

I know that this time, the worst thing I can do is let go. And I won't be losing anything. Because it's the most selfish thing I could ever do—to allow myself to fall for someone worthwhile.

What's the good of being alive if you don't do anything?

She turned up the volume. I listened for a second to the high-pitched garble of Italian. "Taffeta," I said, "how is this your favorite part? You don't even know what the words mean." "I do too," she insisted. "No you don't--they're in another language." "Yes I do, Grace." She swiveled the volume knob. "Listen.

A person's actions could be interpreted in a number of ways, depending on who was watching. Their viewpoints were simply skewed by their beliefs, their prejudices, and their private desires. Their personal kaleidoscopes. I couldn't judge them, of course. I was the same way.

The world could screech to a halt on its axis and the dock could be swept out to sea in an apocalyptic current, and we wouldn't notice. Our universes have condensed into each other.

But all that's hugely unlikely -- with the exception of mosquito bites and sunburn. And yet even experienced travelers are still afraid. "What everyone forgets -- even me -- is the people who actually live here. In places like Central America, I mean. Southeast Asia. India. Africa. Millions, even billions, of people, who live out their whole lives in these places -- the places so many people like us fear. Think about it: they ride chicken buses to work every day. Their clothes are always damp. Their whole lives, they never escape the dust and the heat. But they deal with all these discomforts. They have to. "So why can't travelers? If we've got the means to get here, we owe it to the country we're visiting not to treat it like an amusement park, sanitized for our comfort. It's insulting to the people who live here. People just trying to have the best lives they can, with the hands they've been dealt.

It's funny how you can run from the future and the past simultaneously.

The appeal of leaving and never looking back. No endpoint to your journey. How gloriously terrifying.

We’re always itching to go, to move on, to escape. We convince ourselves we could truly be happy if only we were somewhere else. Or somebody else. While it’s smart to plan for the future, we won’t find real happiness if our eyes never leave the horizon. When we’re all rushing off in different directions, we miss the worthwhile places, and worthwhile people, already around us. But we can’t wait for them to chase us down—we’ve got to seek them out. Because for two people to meet in the middle, both have to take that first step.

Well... I love moving in extra dimensions. Not just backwards and forwards, but up and down and around. And fins. I love swimming with fins— human feet are practically useless underwater. I love all the unique things you see on each dive. Millions of little aquatic soap operas playing out between all the creatures. And the silence. Well, it’s not really silent down there, but the roar of bubbles blocks any other sound...

I found it mildly depressing that the height of color in Washokey came from the seasonal produce shipped from other states.

I recall the rasp of charcoal on newsprint, the chewing-gum stretch of a kneaded eraser, the precarious bite of a razor blade in a new pencil. The vibrancy of fresh watercolors squeezed from a tube. A new sketchbook, cracked open to flawless white. The way the smell of turpentine made me feel simultaneously sick and excited.

It’s not that I want to join in. It’s just . . . I want to want to, if that makes any sense. My time with Toby taught me to look both ways before attempting anything new. Until now, when even the suggestion of joining in makes me resist.

We’re both made of stars, Jory Birch. Everybody is.

Wanderlove is about forgetting the bad things and focusing on the good. Out with the old and in with new.

But I do know this: you got to find your own places. The places you get, girl, the ones that stick in your heart. And if you're lucky, you find people to share them with.

They’re like the opposites poles of my personality. Mild-mannered, responsible Reese is who I used to be, while in-your-face Olivia’s who I want to be—with a few sharp edges dulled.

Toby liked to say he chose not to be impulsive. As if being impulsive were something you consciously decide. When I look at Starling, with her turquoise turban and wet knot of hair, and at Rowan, with his stack of cheap string anklets, I think: Impulsive isn't something you choose. It's something you are. Like gay, or freckled or bipolar. Something I pretend to be but am not. Not really. Not deep down.

We’re always itching to go, to move on, to escape. We convince ourselves we could truly be happy if only we were somewhere else. Or somebody else.

But what I do know is this: you got to find your own places. The places you get, girl, the ones that stick in your heart. And if you’re lucky, you find people to share them with.

I once heard you can't truly hate a person until you've cared about them. Until you've loved them" -Mandarin

What a fucking gorgeous night!

Or they'd listen, but they wouldn't care. No one would. Hearing about vacations is like hearing about dreams-no one cares except the person who's experienced them. Without tastes and scents and context, they're meaningless.

I just had to find the courage to take that first step.

But I realized something. When you spend so much of your life worried about the future...you forget to live" -Alice

Back then I thought Mother Nature split the good guys from the bad guys with a fat black line. But the thing is, in real life, they're often the same guy.