Jandy Nelson, I'll Give You The Sun Quotes
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Are you an artist?""I'm a mess is what I am, " he says, holding on to the building for support. "A bloody mess. You 're the artist, mate." Then he's gone.
Because how could he have done this?How could he have chosen to leave me here all alone?
Good. That is it. You will see with your hands, I promise you.
For the sun, stars, oceans, and all the trees, I’ll consider it.
I'm thinking the reason I've been so quiet all those years is only because Brian wasn't around yet for me to tell everything to.
it's okay to be addicted to beauty, " Mom says, all dreamy. "Emerson said 'beauty is God's handwriting.
When people fall in love, they burst into flames.
I don't know how this can be but it can: A painting is both exactly rhe same and entirely different every single time you look at it.
What if I'm in charge of my own damn light switch?
It's like having explosives on board 24/7, the way I feel. I can't believe when I touch things they don't blow to bits. I can't believe I was so way off.I thought, I don't know, I thought wrong.
I have to go, " I say, helpless.What makes you say the opposite of what every cell in your body wants you to say?
You have to see the miracles for there to be miracles.
What is bad for the heart is good for art.
People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.
Isn't that what I always think when I get The Poor Motherless Girl Look? Like I've been shoved out of the airplane without a parachute because mothers are the parachutes.
The smell of jasmine makes people tell their secrets
I tell you not to be timid. I tell you to make the choices, make the mistakes, big, terrible, reckless mistakes, really screw it all up. I tell you it is the only way.
She's a people-mechanic and always knows when I'm malfunctioning.
And I see that his brown eye has a splash of green in it and the green one a splash of brown. Like Cezanne painted them. Impressionist eyes.
Nor that he's regarding my face with the same intensity I am his. We're two paintings staring at each other across a room.
Reality is crushing. The world is a wrong-sized shoe. How can anyone stand it?
Was the sky always this shade of magenta?
And even as I'm kissing him and kissing him and kissing him, I wish I were kissing him, wanting more, more, more, more, like I can't get enough, never will be able to get enough.
You are remaking the world, Noah. Drawing by drawing
The sky's gone blue: azure, the ocean bluer: cerulean, the trees are swirls of every hella freaking green on earth and bright thick eggy yellow is spilling over everything.
They do make love stories for girls with black hearts after all. They go like this.
The feet of ghosts never touch the ground.
The eye-roll is a 10.5 on the Ritcher. The Big One. California has slipped into the ocean.
Mom has a massive sunflower for a soul so big there's hardly any room in her for organs.
The worst thing that could ever happen to Noah has happened. He's become normal.
The sky's always falling. Always. You'll see. People have no idea.
Maybe a person is just made up of a lot of people, " I say. "Maybe we're accumulating these new selves all the time.
SELF PORTRAIT: Throwing Armfuls of Air into the Air