Where The Forest Meets The Stars Quotes

sometimes bad things happen to make good things happen.

People think they have to say something, and it never makes me feel better.” “I know. I’ve decided language isn’t as advanced as we think it is. We’re still apes trying to express our thoughts with grunts while most of what we want to communicate stays locked in our brains.

Art is supposed to represent how you see the world, not exactly copy it.

Nothing like stars to show us our little arguments are meaningless.

The horrific crush of humanity on my soul. Haven’t you ever felt it?” “I think I have—in Walmart.” “Yes! That place is the worst!

Why do men often call smart women devious?

I’m sick. I can’t just ‘recover and move on.’” “If you believe that, you won’t.” “Like most people who’ve never experienced it, your view of depression is optimistically misguided.

survivors can live and love more fully than people who haven’t stared death in the face.

Gabe started to live as Ursa did, in an infinite present disconnected from the past or future.

If she’d learned one thing in the last two years, it was that life could be hard enough without adding petty resentments.

As always, words fail when you most want to say the right thing.

Remember that feeling you described—the ‘horrific crush of humanity’ on your soul—maybe that’s another way of saying you’re afraid people will hurt you if you let them get close.

the flower whisperer who made everyone and everything around her bloom. Her light is still with us, growing love across the universe.

We’re at the creek catching fish with a holey net. Understandably, this may take some time. Come join us if you enjoy frustration.

She’s kind of like a baby. She didn’t know she was supposed to grow up, and that makes her more fun than other grown-up people.

PLEASE DON’T LITTER. SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR CRITTER!

When I knew my mother would be dead in a few months, I had two choices . . .” She looked at him. “I could distance myself from the pain or get closer to it. Maybe because I’d lost my dad without getting a chance to tell him what he meant to me, I decided to get closer. I got so close, her pain and fear became my own. We shared everything and loved each other like we never had when death was some distant thing. In the end, part of me died with her. I’m not recovered from it even now, but I made the conscious choice to enter the darkness with her. Everyone I know who’s lost someone they love has voiced regrets—they wish they’d done this or that or loved them more. I have no regrets. None.

Lots of crazy people are smart.

Dealing with the pain was a day-by-day ordeal.

there was a big amazing world beyond the borders of my sad little country—

Why won’t you believe I’m from the stars?

Like most people who’ve never experienced it, your view of depression is optimistically misguided.

I’ve decided language isn’t as advanced as we think it is. We’re still apes trying to express our thoughts with grunts while most of what we want to communicate stays locked in our brains.

Jo had absorbed many of her parents’ philosophies, and one of them was the belief that children deserved to be told the truth as much as possible.

Art was a form of self-soothing for Ursa. When she wanted something or missed someone, she would often draw whatever it was to satisfy her need.

You don’t have to say anything.” He sat back in his chair. “I won’t. As always, words fail when you most want to say the right thing.” “People think they have to say something, and it never makes me feel better.” “I know. I’ve decided language isn’t as advanced as we think it is. We’re still apes trying to express our thoughts with grunts while most of what we want to communicate stays locked in our brains.” “This from the son of a literature professor?

The horrific crush of humanity on my soul. Haven’t you ever felt it?

I’m from another planet. My people can make good things happen.

You don’t have to say anything.” He sat back in his chair. “I won’t. As always, words fail when you most want to say the right thing.” “People think they have to say something, and it never makes me feel better.

He brought leftover cauliflower in cheese sauce for dinner. “Not yuckyflower!” Ursa said. “Jo made me eat it last night!” “This has gooey cheese on it,” he said, “and gooey cheese makes anything, even dirt, taste delicious.” “Can I eat dirt instead?

but I made the conscious choice to enter the darkness with her.

Ursa couldn’t take her eyes off the tiny birds. “This is a miracle! This is it, the first miracle!

Anyway, your face has a lot of your mother in it. Your eyes are like hers.” “I know. I tried to grow the beard over them, but it wouldn’t take.

When Ursa walked away she’d said, I’m going where you want me to go.

What we have doesn't happen every day. I am afraid it will never happen again in my life.

Kids are smarter than we think. They know how to survive the shit that’s dealt them better than some welfare worker who never spent a day in one of those kids’ shoes.

What was Ursa doing?” “She was watching TV in the living room. There was a movie on—that one where the twins meet at camp.” “Parent Trap.” “Ursa liked that movie.

I've decided language isn't as advanced as we think it is. We're still apes trying to express our thoughts with grunts while most of what we want to communicate stays locked in our brain

Of course, later, they decided my problem was mental illness.” “You say that like you don’t believe it anymore.” “I feel so much better with you. Is that temporary, do you think?” “I can’t say.

Their jeans and T-shirts blended in, but Jo’s AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGICAL SOCIETY shirt certainly outed her.

The forest around Kinney Cottage was glorious, every leaf and bough sparkling with raindrop jewels of golden sun.

I wonder if I’d get arrested for indecent exposure if a forest ranger happened by,” Jo said. “Is it indecent when you don’t have anything to expose?

She looked at her phone. 2:17 a.m. Just a few hours into her mother’s birthday. She would have been fifty-one.

We look like starlight. It’s not exactly a body.

Such was life with a double dose of analytical genes.

The horrific crush of humanity on my soul.

Literary Agency. I thank her for her commitment to getting it published, and also for her early pruning of my convoluted backstories.

grim

But it’s not just that they can forgo society, it’s more like they need to. For people like that, the natural world is vital, a spiritual experience

but sometimes bad things happen to make good things happen.

Jo loved it. They were already like old friends, playing off each other’s humor.

His eyes, the only feature that stood out in his heavily bearded face, were as sharp as shattered blue glass.

Why not? We can't see gravity, and it has a strong effect on us.

The horrific crush of humanity on my soul. Haven’t you ever felt it?” “I think I have—in Walmart.

When Ursa put away the butter, she surveyed the beer cooling in the refrigerator. “Are the ornithologists alcoholics?

I’m a Shakespeare reader who sells eggs on the road—which amounts to about the same.

The stuttering beat in her chest returned. Was it hormonal, something to do with the surgeries? Why did a man coming on to her—a kindhearted, good-looking one, at that—make her body react like she was confronting a pissed-off grizzly?

I’m not recovered from it even now, but I made the conscious choice to enter the darkness with her. Everyone I know who’s lost someone they love has voiced regrets—they wish they’d done this or that or loved them more. I have no regrets. None.

Are you going to finish you lunch?” the nurse asked Ulsa. “I don’t like it.” “You asked for macaroni and cheese.” “You have to make it from the blue box,” Ursa said, “and the shapes make it taste better.” “Try Star Wars shapes next time,” Jo told the nurse.

Maybe it has something to do with how they can turn their backs on the comforts of society for long periods of time. But it’s not just that they can forgo society, it’s more like they need to. For people like that, the natural world is vital, a spiritual experience.

Why do you hate him so much now that you know the whole story? George and your mother obviously stayed with people they didn't love to make their partners happy. Maybe they realized they shouldn't have done that, but by then, they had children who would be hurt by a divorce.

But take me out of my realm and kaplooey.” “Is that why you hate the grocery store?” He nodded. “If the line is long, sometimes I have to leave.” “Why?” “The horrific crush of humanity on my soul. Haven’t you ever felt it?” “I think I have—in Walmart.” “Yes! That place is the worst!

I’d known, I’d have been here in a heartbeat.” He folded his long body into the chair in front of hers. “Is your brother here?” “I talked to him last night. He wanted to come, but I told him I was perfectly fine and I’d be pissed if he came.” “Perfectly fine?” Shaw said, looking at her propped

As always, words fail when you most want to say the right thing.” “People think they have to say something, and it never makes me feel better.” “I know. I’ve decided language isn’t as advanced as we think it is. We’re still apes trying to express our thoughts with grunts while most of what we want to communicate stays locked in our brains.

When You're Not Here and When You Are" Waking early, alone, I crave the ripening hay in your field, the smell of weeds tangled in brine, and along the inland road, honeysuckle, sharp as juice sucked from raw crabs by the cove. Oh, the fine wet inside of your flowers in your field after rain. The acrostic of sifting earth with moist fingers, separating essence from essence, a pebble rolling in soil. I could lie around all day wanting the brush of your lips. Between your lips, the dark field meets a night sky. I am inside each ragged breath and the pause between. Your legs— a bridge to the twilight where, overhead, stars pulse. On such cold nights you take me as if I were spice in your coffee, stir me, your beautiful strong arms, your unbearable aching. I rely on the warmth of your voice to illuminate the dark. Like a forest that parts and cinches a road. A clasp undone. The cat purrs. A rustling as the leaves stir. In the yielding light, a pale sky warms. There. The grassy rise is splashed with rain.

It is the story of God.” God’s real name is Charlie, he told us. He was born in York, Pennsylvania, in 1776, in the summer of the signing, when temperatures were high as rockets and humid as seas. Charlie was the son of a poor miller, a mean man with a gammy leg and a spray of powder burns over his right temple from the war. When Charlie was just becoming something more than a boy, he went out into the creaking, old-growth forest to collect firewood. He came upon a stream that fell away, suddenly, into the earth. Charlie wanted to see where the water went. He leaned down and peered in. A spark. An alien pulse of light. He stared, transfixed, as every star, every galaxy in the universe flicked across his vision. The rings of Jupiter. The broken, sunburned back of Mars. Sights no human had ever captured with their eyes. And, just as suddenly, the feeling of every cell of every living organism hovering just beneath his fingertips, like piano keys. He could touch each one, if he wanted. He could control them. There are some who insist Charlie was simply lucky. That anyone who happened to walk by that stream on that morning, curious enough to lean over the odd water gushing into the ground, would be made God. They are wrong. Charlie was God before he was even born. It was only a matter of him finding out. Charlie lives in every generation. When he dies, he is reborn nine months later, a baby God. At any moment, you might meet him. He has been a Confederate soldier. He has been a bank teller. He has sat behind an oak desk in wire-rimmed glasses and a day’s growth of beard graying his cheeks. He has cooked dinner for his mother. He has driven to the ocean. He has fallen in love.

When I knew my mother would be dead in a few months, I had two choices . . .” She looked at him. “I could distance myself from the pain or get closer to it. Maybe because I’d lost my dad without getting a chance to tell him what he meant to me, I decided to get closer. I got so close, her pain and fear became my own. We shared everything and loved each other like we never had when death was some distant thing. In the end, part of me died with her. I’m not recovered from it even now, but I made the conscious choice to enter the darkness with her. Everyone I know who’s lost someone they love has voiced regrets—they wish they’d done this or that or loved them more. I have no regrets. None.

You don’t have to say anything.” He sat back in his chair. “I won’t. As always, words fail when you most want to say the right thing.” “People think they have to say something, and it never makes me feel better.

She said survivors can live and love more fully than people who haven’t stared

I knew a woman who made love in a graveyard had to be an incredible romantic.

Tabby hugged her. “I’ll stick to weather and politics. But, wait . . . is he liberal or conservative?” “You know, I’m not sure.” “What? That’s the first thing I have to know!” “It hasn’t come up,” Jo said.

You see, that’s the problem with people now. They glimpse a little color in their gray fast-food world and they panic. Places like this are too real for them. But this is the kind of place where the really interesting stories of humanity play out.

Pick up your water,” Tabby said. “Why?” “We’re doing a toast.” Jo lifted her battered blue water bottle, predictably situated next to her. “Ready?” Tabby said. “Ready,” Jo said. “Happy birthday to Eleanor Teale, the flower whisperer who made everyone and everything around her bloom. Her light is still with us, growing love across the universe.

before

You’d rather live in the woods?” he said. “Of course. Or the mountains or on a lake. I want nature out my front door.

You know . . . sick. No hair and all that.” When she didn’t respond, he twisted his neck from side to side to crack it, his standard nervous gesture. “Was I wrong . . . ?” “You were right. I didn’t want to see anyone.” If she’d learned one thing in the last two years, it was that life could be hard enough without adding petty resentments.

No moon, clear atmosphere, your blacked-out utility light inviting burglars to your gun-less home . . .

Most adults don’t realize kids are listening or how much they understand.

You know what she told me? She said survivors can live and love more fully than people who haven’t stared death in the face.

She said I had to remember there was a big amazing world beyond the borders of my sad little country—she used those exact words.

If the line is long, sometimes I have to leave.” “Why?” “The horrific crush of humanity on my soul. Haven’t you ever felt it?

For people like that, the natural world is vital, a spiritual experience.

Like a child who obsessively colors within the lines, she had to regulate her every move or she might end up in the terrifying universe that lay beyond the shape she’d drawn to contain herself.

More like he was dumped out of a car by someone who didn’t want him.” “Will you go back for him?” “No.” “You’re mean.” “Yep.

She made me do lots of weird things when my mother was dying. She said I had to remember there was a big amazing world beyond the borders of my sad little country—she used those exact words.

In the end, part of me died with her. I’m not recovered from it even now, but I made the conscious choice to enter the darkness with her. Everyone I know who’s lost someone they love has voiced regrets—they wish they’d done this or that or loved them more. I have no regrets. None.

Many people couldn’t name one beyond cardinal, and even those were often called redbirds.

Today she contemplated the living,

ornithologists

even now, but I made the conscious choice to enter the darkness with her. Everyone I know who’s lost someone they love has voiced regrets—they wish they’d done this or that or loved them more. I have no regrets. None.

People think they have to say something, and it never makes me feel better.” “I know. I’ve decided language isn’t as advanced as we think it is.

Detective Kellen grinned. “Our wills and fates do so contrary run,” he said. “Hamlet, great line,” Gabe said.

Lots of people don’t understand mental illness.

always, words fail when you most want to say the right thing.” “People think they have to say something, and it never makes me feel better.” “I know. I’ve decided language isn’t as advanced as we think it is. We’re still apes trying to express our thoughts with grunts while most of what we want to communicate stays locked in our brains.

When I knew my mother would be dead in a few months, I had two choices . . .” She looked at him. “I could distance myself from the pain or get closer to it. Maybe because I’d lost my dad without getting a chance to tell him what he meant to me, I decided to get closer. I got so close, her pain and fear became my own.

But Jo couldn’t find her, that self-possessed woman she used to be, and the discovery of her absence made her shudder like a fever had come over her. She had to hug her arms around her body to try to make it stop.

We’re still apes trying to express our thoughts with grunts while most of what we want to communicate stays locked in our brains.

Savoring his first relationship, Gabe started to live as Ursa did, in an infinite present disconnected from the past or future.

If the line is long, sometimes I have to leave.” “Why?” “The horrific crush of humanity on my soul. Haven’t you ever felt it?” “I think I have—in Walmart.

waif looked down at her lavender star-spangled pants.