Kate DiCamillo Quotes

Grief is a bad moon, a sleeper wave. It's like having an inner combatant, a saboteur who, at the slightest change in the sunlight, or at the first notes of a jingle for a dog food commercial, will flick the memory switch, bringing tears to your eyes.

I hate being the heartbreaker. Hate it. If I date somebody and it doesn't work out, it's another nightmare for me.

Breakups are still uncomfortable, period, and especially when you really are in love with somebody. They are not the easiest things to deal with, and once you break up, you're trying to get used to not being with that person.

Honest honey, I feel like crying every time I sit down to write you a letter... I am so unlucky.

Falling out of love is like losing weight. It's a lot easier putting it on than taking it off.

I think many people can relate to that excruciating pain of love gone wrong. I'd rather have a broken arm than a broken heart.

Mother's Day is a torment if your mother is dead. Valentine's Day is a torment if you don't got one. And at some point in our lives, we will be tormented by Valentine's Day even if we're relatively lucky in love.

Love and despair go hand in hand.

I'll probably continue to write about heartbreak forever. That stuff doesn't go away as you get older.

I cry sometimes. I get very upset.

I remember learning as a kid that love meant loneliness and confusion.

And my desire,' he said, 'is a desire that is as long as a year; but it is love given to an echo, the spending of grief on a wave, a lonely fight with a shadow, that is what my love and my desire have been to me.

The problem with heartbreak is that nobody can help you when you're heartbroken. Nobody and nothing. Not the films you watch alone desperately searching for a character who feels the way you do, not the glasses or bottles of whisky you keep by your bed and certainly not Instagram.

When I'm lonely, frustrated or hurt it usually comes from a male person and from unrequited love. I often carry that pain around with me and my ribs actually start to ache. That's when I sit down and write.

I’ve never known a man who loved me.

My heart is broken. It really is. All the signs are there. I can't sleep- not even burgers. Every time the phone rings, my pulse leaps... But it's never for me, it's never him.

Morgan sighed. "I," she announced, "am so pathetic." "You are not," I said. "I am." She went over and straightened the cling wrap, corner to corner. "Do you know how many times I've brought in devilled eggs? This is, like, the only time I haven't been sobbing and that's only 'cause I cried all night. And Norman," she said, her voice rising to a wail, "sweet Norman, always just acts so surprised to see the eggs, and pleased, and he never, once, has ever acted like he knew what they meant."

Suddenly it was too hard to be in his presence, too painful to know that he would belong to someone else.

Everyone’s competing for a love they won't receive.

November Rain is a song about not wanting to be in a state of having to deal with unrequited love.

The truth is that she told me she couldn't love me. When she said goodbye, she was saying goodbye forever. And yet. I made myself forget. I don't know why. I keep asking myself. But I did.

You will never know the exquisite pain of the guy who goes home alone. Cause without the bitter, baby, the sweet ain't as sweet.

The sun's gone dim, and the moon's gone black. For I loved him, and he didn't love back.

And so this young one, this young one whom I had so loved, I had to forsake, no matter how broken my heart, no matter how lonely my soul, no matter how bruised my intellect and spirit.