Quotes from Kristin Hannah

Leni got to her feet, stared at him. I didn't mean to do that. The same words she'd heard spoken by her dad.

Rose, who spoke for the first time about her own lost children, had showed Elsa that grief could be borne one day, one chore, at a time.

Time and again, she had returned to God, pleading for help, promising her faith. She wanted to believe that she was neither alone nor in charge, but rather that her life was unfolding according to His plan, even if she couldn't see it.....Now, though, such hope felt as slight and bendable as tin.....She was alone and there was no one else in charge, no one but the Nazis.

Loreda wanted to be angry. What had Jack said to her the first day they met? You have fire in you, kid. Don't let the bastards snuff it out. Something like that. Loreda didn't want to be the kind of woman who suffered in silence. Refused to be.

Best friends forever. They'd believed it would last, that vow, that someday they'd be old women, sitting in their rocking chairs on a creaking desk, talking about the times of their lives, and laughing...

A generation of men were going off to war. Again. Don't think about it, Vianne told herself. Don't remember what it was like last time when the men limped home, faces burned, missing arms and legs...

A kiss?" She repeated it to stall for time. This was the sort of thing that she'd taken for granted before the war. Men desired her; they always had. She wanted that back, wanted to flirt with Henri and be flirted with, and yet the very idea of it felt sad and a little lost, as if perhaps kisses didn't mean much anymore and flirtation even less.

But she knew that sometimes you grabbed hold of whatever you could to stay afloat. And maybe all that black was a shield, a way to say to people: 'don't talk to me, don't approach me, don't ask your ordinary, everyday questions when my world has exploded.

We are all fragile, Isabelle. It's the thing we learn in war.

Ask for help when you need it, and give help when you can. I think that is how we serve God—and each other and ourselves—in

Love was the sun and the moon and the stars in a world that was otherwise cold and dark.

Jack believed in things and fought to make the world a better place. He was the kind of man a girl could count on.

felt to her as if her family stood poised on the edge of a great precipice that could collapse at any second, crumble away like the houses that crashed down Seattle's unstable, waterlogged hillsides.

Don't think about who they [the Nazis] are. Think about who you are and what sacrifices you can live with and what will break you [Mother Superior to Vianne].

We don't receive wisdom; we must discover it for ourselves after a journey that no one can take for us or spare us. —MARCEL PROUST

You don't reason with men like Hitler.

When I care about someone, I hang on with a desperation that borders on mental illness.

Hey, Daddy," she whispered. It was a split second before she realized that she'd expected an answer. But, of course, there wasn't one. His heart—the one that had loved her so well—had finally given up.

As mothers and daughters, we are connected with one another. My mother is in the bones of my spine, keeping me straight and true. She is in my blood, making sure it runs rich and strong. She is in the beating of my heart. I

A warrior believes in an end she can't see and fights for it.

There were no parades for us when it was over, no medals or mentions in history books. We did what we had to during the war, and when it was over, we picked up the pieces and started our lives over.

them up. Flowers blooming. A garden Ã¢â'¬Â¦ As she neared the house, the front door opened. A woman came out, wearing a pretty floral-print dress beneath a frilly red apron, and holding a broom. Her bobbed hair was carefully curled and a pair of wireless glasses magnified her eyes.

I hope you never know how fragile you are, Isabelle.' 'I'm not fragile,' she said. The smile he gave her was barely one at all. 'We are all fragile, Isabelle. It's the thing we learn in war.

Sooner or later, Meg, it's always about family. The past has an irritating way of becoming the present.