Quotes from Jerry Spinelli

Did he realized nothing would last, that sooner or later every last speck and smidgeon of matter would disapper?

That was fifteen years ago. Fifteen Valentine's Days.

So distracting, so complete is she that she is gone before many realize that she had no escort, she was along, a parade of one.

You - he pointed at me - are the black pearl.

His nostrils flared, he was breathing like a picadored bull.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure why these East Enders called themselves black. He kept looking and looking, and the colors he found were gingersnap and light fudge and dark fudge and acorn and butter rum and cinnamon and burnt orange. But never licorice, which, to him, was real black.

When the sun is a bike ride away, I will hear it. It will sound like wind in treetops. I will awaken.

When a stargirl cries, she sheds no tears but light.

Ma-niac, Ma-niac He's so cool Ma-niac, Ma-niac Don't go to school Runs all night Runs all right Ma-niac, Ma-niac Kissed a bull!

I'm always afraid. Is that what love is—fear?

Let's just be fabulous where we are. You be you and I'll be me, today and today and today, and let's trust the future to tomorrow. Let the stars keep track of us. Let us ride our own orbits and trust that they will meet. May our reunion be not a finding, but a sweet collision of destinies.

It's a shame publishers send rejection slips. Writers should get something more substantial than a slip that amounts to a pile of confetti. Publishers should send something heavier. Editors should send out rejection bricks, so at the end of a lot of years, you would have something to show besides a wheelbarrow of rejection slips. Instead you could have enough bricks to build a house.

Strange territory for me: the after-snap. I still feel myself vibrating. Humming.

But feelings, they don't care about telling. They just go right on, piling on top of one another like a big sandwich.

At this time in his life Zinkoff sees no difference between the stars in the sky and the stars in his mother's plastic Baggie. He believes that stars fall from the sky sometimes, and that his mother goes around collecting them like acorns. He believes she has to use heavy gloves and dark sunglasses because the fallen stars are so hot and shiny. She puts them in the freezer for forty-five minutes, and when they come out they are flat and silver and sticky on the back and ready for his shirts.

MRI good... X-ray good... blood work good... If everything's so good, what the hell's she doing here?

The trouble with miracles is, they don't last long. And the trouble with bad times is, you can't sleep through them.

If Heaven and angels exist in a timeless medium we call Forever (Hey, nobody here but us angels!) ... Then ... ues what? ... There will be no end of me!

The protons are dead, nothing will ever be the same

So distracting, so complete is she that she is gone before many realize that she had no escort, she was alone, a parade of one.

In the eyes and ears of my heart, you and the magic are one and the same.

Now, my mother sniffled, WERE you abducted? Kidnapped? You mean did somebody snatch me? Yes. Well? Why would anybody wanna snatch ME? Megin. Just DID they? Did who? Who's THEY? ANYBODY! Snatch you? I laughed. Jeez no! And she grabbed me again and we cried some more.

And I see. I hear. But not with eyes and ears. I'm not outside my world anymore, and I'm not really inside it either. The thing is, there's no difference anymore between me and the universe. The boundary is gone. I am it and it is me. I am a stone, a cactus thorn. I am rain.

I am rain. I like that most of all, being rain.