I’d have given any- thing to know how Mom and Dad were, but you can’t ask your parents such questions. You have to wait for them to tell you what it is that will happen next...

Beth Kephart

Mots clés parents-and-children



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Beauty is the worst kind of lie.

Beth Kephart

Mots clés beauty



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How do you know when an apology is true—when it means something, or can change something, or will last outside the moment?

Beth Kephart

Mots clés apologies



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I’d thought he was stars and then I’d thought he was a fox. I had thought I’d been alone, but I hadn’t.

Beth Kephart

Mots clés being-alone



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When I was a boy, that was all I wanted—to grow a pair of wings and get up into the sky. I had a basement full of failed wing projects. Boards and capes and motors, even a pile of found feathers I once tried to glue together with a bottle of Elmer’s; you should have seen your grandmother’s face. But I never got any higher than the backyard fence I’d launch from. I never got inside a cloud. Your raven did.

Beth Kephart

Mots clés flying failure



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His client needs him, he says. Needs him? But isn’t he needed at home?

Beth Kephart

Mots clés home fathers



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Nature is not the number-one mystery, I’ve learned. It’s the heart that takes top honors.

Beth Kephart

Mots clés heart mysteries



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Imagine music gushing down the hollow places in your bones, and making you liquid, and giving you speed. Imagine music turning your body into a song.

Beth Kephart

Mots clés music



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The night before, I'd gone overboard with my Lila poems, and maybe it's true that I was hoping that in them he'd see the genius of me, the beauty of my words in his hands.

Beth Kephart

Mots clés talent words beauty unrequited-love



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You aren't happy," Estela says.
"I can't be happy," I say.
"Look at me, Kenzie."
"I'm looking at you, Estela."
"Do you know your own heart?"
"I don't know anything."
"Go," she says, "and think. And don't come back until you know.

Beth Kephart

Mots clés truth heart spain real genuineness discovering



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