Audrey Niffenegger Quotes
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You can still be cool when you’re dead. In fact, it’s much easier, because you aren’t getting old and fat and losing your hair.
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Time passes and the pain begins to roll in and out as though it’s a woman standing at an ironing board, passing the iron back and forth, back and forth across a white tablecloth.
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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.
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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?
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one of the best and the most painful things about time traveling has been the opportunity to see my mother alive.
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Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.
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I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I'm tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that's been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by abscence?
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I guess no matter what your family is like, you're not surprised.
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I love. I have loved. I will love.
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My reflection in the mirror shows me pink and puffy. I thought pregnant women were to supposed to glow. I am not glowing.
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What are you doing?" Nothing. Breaking and entering. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.
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I've noticed that Henry needs an incredible amount of physical activity all the time in order to be happy. It's like hanging out with a greyhound.
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He is coming, and I am here.
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Mom had just gotten back from Sydney, and she had brought me an immense, surpassingly blue butterfly, Papilio ulysses, mounted in a frame filled with cotton. I would hold it close to my face, so close I couldn't see anything but that blue. It would fill me with a feeling, a feeling I later tried to duplicate with alcohol and finally found again with Clare, a feeling of unity, oblivion, mindlessness in the best sense of the word.
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Clare, I want to tell you, again, I love you. Our love has been the thread through the labyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this strange life of mine that I could ever trust. Tonight I feel that my love for you has more density in this world than I do, myself: as though it could linger on after me and surround you, keep you, hold you.
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But as usual there's no answer to this. As usual, that's just how it is.
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That’s the thing about living vicariously; it’s so much faster than actual living. In a few minutes we’ll be worrying about names for the children.
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When somebody is that patient, you have to feel grateful, and then you want to hurt them. Does that make any sense?
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I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.
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There is only one page left to write on. I will fill it with words of only one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will love.
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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.
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It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.
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It was silly, wasn't it? But the singing made it not silly.
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…she smiles in an exhausted but warm sort of way, as though she is a brilliant sun in some other galaxy
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absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird
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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.
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Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe you're dreaming me; maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up we forget all about each other.
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Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait for Henry. He vanishes unwillingly, without warning. I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?
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In the dim light of the computer screen he seemed otherworldly; Julia thought him beautiful, though she knew it was the beauty of damage.
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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.
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