Quotes from Elizabeth Berg

He tells her that, when Nola first died, he thought he'd die himself, of the sorrow.

Nona leans forward, I had-a love. I nod. You know how it was? It was like-a trees. Oak and elm. Her voice has been soft, like it was lost in memory, but now she stares at me, her eyes narrowed, and she makes a fist and pounds the side of her chair. The roots, they bound-a together, but the trees, they are free. You know what it's-a mean?

But what we need are readers. Right? Where would writers be without readers? Who are they going to write for? And actors, what are they without an audience? Actors, painters, dancers, comedians, even just ordinary people doing ordinary things, what are they without an audience of some sort? "See, that's what I do. I am the audience. I am the witness. I am the great appreciator

one summer and they had a ride called the Whirligig. You sat in some wooden contraption that jerked you here, there, and everywhere. One minute you'd be going forward, the next backward or sideways or tilted over so far you thought you might fall out. It was never still and you had no idea what might come next. That's life. You're born, and you get a ride on the Whirligig.

How is it that we dare to honk at others in traffic, when we know nothing about where they have just come from or what they are on their way to?

What mattered was that at the end, someone who loved her sat by her, saying, I see you. I

She believes that her last chance for love just died, and her last chance was her first love, and there is something about that that is awfully hard to bear. Think about it. To know you're at the end of hoping for love and to realize that something else will have to do, if you're going to have any reason to go on.

Whenever Sadie sees engagement rings, she feels a strange mix of emotions: a kind of excitement mixed with a vague sadness. A longing for a speci??c kind of inclusion she both aspires to and fears. And, oddly, she feels a sense of failure, of shame. She knows it's nonsensical, but there it is, big inside her, this sense of having screwed everything up, of having lost something she never had.

Healing hurts, but hurting heals.

Isn't it really true that life is so beautiful because it's so fleeting and fragile?

That summer rain I mean that is so quiet and matter of fact and falls straight down like a curtain. Now

Nobody knows what goes on in other families, because families lie about themselves to other people. Not only to other people but to one another. And to themselves.

Books don't take time away from us," she said. "They give it back. In this age of abstraction, of multitasking, of speed for speed's sake, they reintroduce us to the elegance—and the relief!—of real, tick-tock time.

We're all trapped in a body with limitations, even the most able-bodied among us! And we're all guided by minds with limitations of their own. You want to know my philosophy? It's this: Our job, regardless of our bodily circumstances is to rise above what holds us down, and to help others do the same.

When my submission has been claimed, no longer in the name of love and friendship but by reason of some right or power, I have drawn upon the strength that is buried in my nature, I have straightened my shoulders and thrown off the yoke. I alone know the latent force hidden within me. I alone know how much I grieve and suffer and love. —George Sand

Yes, life is a minefield at any age. Sometimes we feel pretty certain that we know what's coming. But really, we never do. We just walk on. We have to. If we are smart we count our blessings between the darker surprises.

It feels strange to see him; it's been a while. I feel as though I need to meet him all over again.

Some things come true. They might come true in ways different than we might have predicted, but some things do come true

I hate banana bread. It's too suspicious-looking. I always thought the cooked banana looked like insect legs.

If you say something over and over again, it begins to lose it's meaning... Say anything enough times and it becomes gibberish.

Life is like gathering berries into an apron with a hole. Why do we keep on? Because the berries are beautiful, and we must eat to survive. We catch what we can. We walk past what we lose for the promise of more, just ahead.

I used to make a basket of my hands to hold a feeling of joy that came upon me, then flatten my hands against my chest as if to make it part of me. Not understanding that it already was.

Everyone seemed to be in a blind hurry, and there was no relief in sight. Technology rushed us ever forward, and simple civility - a certain kindness and care - got sacrificed.

What mattered was that at the end, someone who loved her sat by her, saying, I see you.