I wonder why we always deny love. I remember in middle school, if you were accused of the crime of loving, you screamed denials constantly and stopped ever even looking at the boy you were accused of liking. The boys could destroy each other by yodeling, "An-drew lo-oves Jen-nie," and both Andrew and Jennie would flinch and blush. Love is this great thing that most songs and books and poems and lives are all about. So the minute we actually think there might be love around, we start laughing and pretending and hiding from it.
Caroline B. CooneyMots clés love
What would she have? Coke, said Annie. And when she tasted the familiar drink, how much less scary the world was, and how much less frightening her task.
Caroline B. CooneyMots clés coke
Guys with nice person names try to be sympathetic.
Caroline B. CooneyWhen in doubt, shut up.
Caroline B. CooneyPeople think they own time. They have watches and clocks and digital pulses. But they are wrong. Time owns them.
Caroline B. CooneyMots clés time
Breakfast was only worth having when somebody else made it for you.
Caroline B. CooneyLying on the front passenger seat, as if it didn't matter, was Rose's Diary.
It Mattered.
She stared at the dark shimmer of glass that faced the street. The Clares never pulled curtains. They were comftorable with the dark. But there was another kind of dark. The darkness of minds full of hate.
Caroline B. CooneyMots clés hate-dark
She had gradually changed her name. "Jane" was too dull. Last year, she'd added a "y", becoming Jayne, which had more personality.
Caroline B. CooneyBut I found my family.
I found the right thing to do.
I found the way home.
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