Sarah Dessen Quotes

My life was very tenuous last year. My daughter's death, in March in 2007, was unexpected. It was a shock. I didn't know if I'd survive it.

You know a guy a longtime, and I mean really know him, you don't get used to the idea that he's dead just overnight.

My beautiful wife is dead. She meant everything to me. Her laughter, her tears and her joy will remain with me the rest of my life.

Three days after my brother died, my father was in the hospital. He just did not want to live anymore. Before, he was fighting and loving life.

Do not weep for me.

When dad told me Mr Steptoe had passed away, I broke down.

Of course the death of Geoffrey has caused a lot of trauma to me generally.

In truth, 2007 was the hardest year of my life. I lost my best friend. I lost my father.

Father's Day was great, but all the family gatherings brought up my mother's death. Maybe it's me, because I am a wimp. We would get together, but there was someone missing!

I was very close to my mother, and her death, which left a gaping hole in my life, has been very difficult for me and my father in a lot of ways.

I can't bear it that Douglas isn't still here.

Nothing had prepared me for the depth of pain George's death precipitated.

It's just hard," Harry said finally, in a low voice, "to realize he won't write me again

My best girl is dead.

There should be a statute of limitation on grief. A rulebook that says it is all right to wake up crying, but only for a month. That after 42 days you will no longer turn with your heart racing, certain you have heard her call out your name. That there will be no fine imposed if you feel the need to clean out her desk; take down her artwork from the refrigerator; turn over a school portrait as you pass - if only because it cuts you fresh again to see it. That it's okay to measure the time she has been gone, the way we once measured her birthdays.

It's a time of sorrow and sadness when we lose a loss of life.

What the dead don't know piles up, though we don't notice it at first. They don't know how we're getting along without them, of course, dealing with the hours and days that now accrue so quickly, and, unless they divined this somehow in advance, they don't know that we don't want this inexorable onslaught of breakfasts and phone calls and going to the bank, all this stepping along, because we don't want anything extraneous to get in the way of what we feel about them or the ways we want to hold them in mind.

I understood that the man I was calling for could never ever come back. Because I understood that the man that I was calling for was dead.

I watched her die many times. In my way, not in hers. In sunlight, in shadow, by moonlight, by candlelight. In the long afternoons when the house was empty. Only the sun was there to keep us company. We shut him out. And why not? Very soon she was as eager for what's called loving as I was - more lost and drowned afterwards.

Issac:"I dislike living in a world without Augustus Waters." Computer: "I don't understand-" Issac: "Me neither. Pause

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!

I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more.

You think the dead we loved truly ever leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly in times of great trouble?

When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there's a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she's gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.

It's easier to miss her at a cemetery, where she's never been anything but dead, than to miss her at all the places where she was alive.