Quotes from Jodi Lynn Anderson

I think God might be the dust and the jackrabbits and the rain, that God might be Teddy and the bullet that killed him, the beautiful and exquisite moon and the terrible zeppelins, all spread out and everywhere. I've begun to think that maybe we are god's fingers rubbing against each other to see how it feels. Do you think that it is a sacrilegious thought - that God might be everything and its opposite?

It seemed, when all was said and done, that all souls were a little wild, in some way or another.

It is just that she was fifteen once for the first time, and Peter walked across her heart, and left his footprints there.

That is what all creatures great and small are made of. Leftover stardust. An atom exploded, and all the dust became the planets, the stars...and us. That's all anything amounts to.

She tucked her letter and her picture in alongside it, and she ran her hands over those too. It made her feel closer to many things that were far away, that made her smile.

She actually liked the idea that she might be made out of stars.

It tasted somehow like orange and green and dizzyingly sweet, but like Birdie had said, not too sweet. The taste was so rich it made her lips pulse. It was different on different parts of her tongue---the tartness hit the tip, the sweetness tingled at the sides and at the back.

I'm not myself," she offered . . . He smiled. "You can never say that. You're just a piece of yourself right now that you don't like.

Still, the flowers were growing right along with them, miniature roses and hydrangea, lavender and peonies, magenta and red and pink and purple flowers. And not just in the garden, but all around, the orchard was bursting with green, and smells, and birds singing until long after dark.

I've been reading about moths," she said, to fill the silence. "What have you read?" Maggie shrugged. "They navigate by the light of the moon. They fling themselves into flames and electric lights because they think they're headed toward the moon's light." "I guess they die in ecstasy then," Liam said.

I just love crazy people like this,' Murphy said. 'Jack Kerouac people. Mad to live, mad to die, that kind of thing.

Sometimes I think that maybe we are just stories. Like we may as well just be words on a page, because we're only what we've done and what we are going to do.

And to Tiger Lily he suddenly, inexplicably, seemed older than her, and wiser, and the thought hit her hard that it wasn't fair, because she'd suffered, and there he was, looking like he knew so much more than she ever would.

Of all the things Tiger Lily had thought she might have to be for Peter—strong, brave; to be big and to keep up—she had never thought that the one thing he wanted most from her was simply to show that she believed in him, always and without fail. For Peter, who feared losing so much, this was a great comfort indeed.

You love me," she said. "That's enough. We love each other." "Yes. Yes, that's true." He smiled. "We are a love story.

And when she surfaces from her dream, she calls me by my old name, though no one uses it anymore. And she turns to me, her eyelashes fluttering in the glare that surrounds me, and whispers to me in one short syllable. Tink.

But you are the only person I can show myself to. You always made my rough edges feel real.

I'm nothing to you, am I?' Peter said once in a particularly intense arguement about where to find wild turnips. To these kinds of accusations, Tiger Lily would reply that he was trying to make her into his little chicken, and that she would never be anyone's 'little obedient chicken

Others wonder, if the Bogey isn't wearing his pants, who is?

It never occurred to me before, but there could have easily been a world with no buses, no horns honking, no red lights, no shopping carts, no gum stick to the bottom of benches downtown. For that matter I guess there also could have been no sun, no trees, and no ocean. None of those things had to exist, I guess. It makes me feel lucky that they do.

A breeze wafted through the trees and settled like a fog. It did't smell like peaches at all. It smelled, strangely, like cinnamon and cayenne pepper. It smelled like far away.

I'm not a stranger to your love of lost causes, dear one. But you have to be careful who you meet," he said, stoking a pipe thoughtfully. "You can't unmeet them.

I like to think that nothing's final, and that everyone gets to be together even when it looks like they don't, that it all works out even when all the evidence seems to say something else, that you and I are always young in the woods, and that I'll see you sometime again, even if it's not with any kind of eyes I know of or understand.

May wished more than anything that she could show them both how much she loved them. She felt very sorry. Her whole heart was sorry for everything she had ever done to worry them. She closed her eyes and tried to send her love all the way to Earth. She didn't know if it could travel that far.