“If you work to obtain your goal, and realize from the very beginning that nothing valuable comes easily, and still forge ahead, without a doubt you’ll reach your goal, whatever it is.”
― V.C. Andrews, quote from Heaven
“I want my name to mean something after I’m dead.”
― V.C. Andrews, quote from Heaven
“Why doesn’t the Good Book say honor thy children, Grandpa, why doesn’t it?”
― V.C. Andrews, quote from Heaven
“What are you offering now?” I asked suspiciously. “Just me, my friendship. Just me, and the now-and-then right to kiss you, hold your hand, touch your hair, and take you to the movies, and listen to your dreams because you listen to mine, and be silly once in a while, build a past we’ll enjoy rememberings—that’s all.”
― V.C. Andrews, quote from Heaven
“there are three kinds of people. One, those who serve others. Two, those who give to the world by producing those who serve others. Three, the last kind, those who can’t be satisfied unless they achieve on their own, not by serving others but by their own merits and talents, producing, and not through their children, either.”
― V.C. Andrews, quote from Heaven
“We gotta appreciate Grandpa while he’s still with us, an not save our caring for his funeral day.”
― V.C. Andrews, quote from Heaven
V.C. Andrews
Born place: in Portsmouth, Virginia, The United States
Born date June 6, 1923
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“There is one in this tribe too often miserable - a child bereaved of both parents. None cares for this child: she is fed sometimes, but oftener forgotten: a hut rarely receives her: the hollow tree and chill cavern are her home. Forsaken, lost, and wandering, she lives more with the wild beast and bird than with her own kind. Hunger and cold are her comrades: sadness hovers over, and solitude besets her round. Unheeded and unvalued, she should die: but she both lives and grows: the green wilderness nurses her, and becomes to her a mother: feeds her on juicy berry, on saccharine root and nut.
There is something in the air of this clime which fosters life kindly: there must be something, too, in its dews, which heals with sovereign balm. Its gentle seasons exaggerate no passion, no sense; its temperature tends to harmony; its breezes, you would say, bring down from heaven the germ of pure thought, and purer feeling. Not grotesquely fantastic are the forms of cliff and foliage; not violently vivid the colouring of flower and bird: in all the grandeur of these forests there is repose; in all their freshness there is tenderness.
The gentle charm vouchsafed to flower and tree, - bestowed on deer and dove, - has not been denied to the human nursling. All solitary, she has sprung up straight and graceful. Nature cast her features in a fine mould; they have matured in their pure, accurate first lines, unaltered by the shocks of disease. No fierce dry blast has dealt rudely with the surface of her frame; no burning sun has crisped or withered her tresses: her form gleams ivory-white through the trees; her hair flows plenteous, long, and glossy; her eyes, not dazzled by vertical fires, beam in the shade large and open, and full and dewy: above those eyes, when the breeze bares her forehead, shines an expanse fair and ample, - a clear, candid page, whereon knowledge, should knowledge ever come, might write a golden record. You see in the desolate young savage nothing vicious or vacant; she haunts the wood harmless and thoughtful: though of what one so untaught can think, it is not easy to divine.
On the evening of one summer day, before the Flood, being utterly alone - for she had lost all trace of her tribe, who had wandered leagues away, she knew not where, - she went up from the vale, to watch Day take leave and Night arrive. A crag, overspread by a tree, was her station: the oak-roots, turfed and mossed, gave a seat: the oak-boughs, thick-leaved, wove a canopy.
Slow and grand the Day withdrew, passing in purple fire, and parting to the farewell of a wild, low chorus from the woodlands. Then Night entered, quiet as death: the wind fell, the birds ceased singing. Now every nest held happy mates, and hart and hind slumbered blissfully safe in their lair.
The girl sat, her body still, her soul astir; occupied, however, rather in feeling than in thinking, - in wishing, than hoping, - in imagining, than projecting. She felt the world, the sky, the night, boundlessly mighty. Of all things, herself seemed to herself the centre, - a small, forgotten atom of life, a spark of soul, emitted inadvertent from the great creative source, and now burning unmarked to waste in the heart of a black hollow. She asked, was she thus to burn out and perish, her living light doing no good, never seen, never needed, - a star in an else starless firmament, - which nor shepherd, nor wanderer, nor sage, nor priest, tracked as a guide, or read as a prophecy? Could this be, she demanded, when the flame of her intelligence burned so vivid; when her life beat so true, and real, and potent; when something within her stirred disquieted, and restlessly asserted a God-given strength, for which it insisted she should find exercise?”
― Charlotte Brontë, quote from Shirley
“What matters is you're the blue butterfly."
"I'm… what?"
"Come on, Professor, Dr. Maguire. You know all about metaphors and analogies and symbolism. You flew into my life, just landed in it unexpectedly. Maybe miraculously. And the picture formed. It just took me a while to see it.”
― Nora Roberts, quote from Vision in White
“Beck, we gotta go.”
“Ok.” She made smooch lips to the mirror and then smiled at me. “It's shameful to look this fabulous isn't it?” she said, making me laugh.
“Absolutely, just shameful.”
― Shelly Crane, quote from Accordance
“ "Maya..."
"Where are you?" I called.
"Over here. I'm..." A sharp intake of breath. "Hurt."
"Okay, stay where you are. I'm coming."
I broke into a jog. Only no matter how fast I ran, his scent and his voice didn't get any stronger. I kept going until I tripped over a root and hit the ground hard.
"Maya..."
"Just—"
"Maya? Is that you?"
I pushed to my feet, wincing as I flexed my stinging hands. "I'm—"
"Maya! I need you."
His voice seemed to come from all around me. I spun, trying to pinpoint it, but he kept yelling, more panicking with every shout, my own panic rising until I flung myself forward—
Hands grabbed me and yanked me back. For a moment, all I saw was the darkness of night. Then it fell away, dawn light filtering through the trees, and I was standing in front of Daniel, his fingers wrapped around my wrist. Kenji was beside me, whimpering.
"Maya—"
"I have to go," I said, wrenching from his grasp. "It's Rafe. He's out here. He's hurt and..."
...
My eyes filled with tears.
"I—" I swallowed. "I—"
Daniel took both my wrists and turned me to face him. "You were sleepwalking, Maya."
"It just...I could hear Rafe and he was hurt and I was trying to get to him and—" My breath hitched. "It seemed real."
Daniel pulled me into a hug and I let myself collapse against his shoulder.”
― Kelley Armstrong, quote from The Calling
“There are those,” he said gently, “who must first learn loss, despair, and grief. Of all paths to wisdom, this is the cruelest and longest. Are you one who must follow such a way? This even I cannot know. If you are, take heart nonetheless. Those who reach the end do more than gain wisdom. As rough wool becomes cloth, and crude clay a vessel, so do they change and fashion wisdom for others, and what they give back is greater than what they won.”
― Lloyd Alexander, quote from The Chronicles of Prydain Boxed Set
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