Sara Gruen Quotes - Page 3

Although there are times I'd give anything to have her back, I'm glad she went first. Losing her was like being cleft down the middle. It was the moment it all ended for me, and I wouldn't have wanted her to go through that.

Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.

Hey! Shouts Camel. There ain't no woman in the world worth two bottles of whiskey!

Jacob: I've never seen so much manure. Wade: Baggage stock horses. They pack'em in 27 a car. Jacob: how do you stand the smell? Wade: what smell?

We traveled for two weeks with a pickled hippo.

My platitudes don't hold their interest and I can hardly blame them for that. My real stories are all out of date. So what if I can speak firsthand about the Spanish flu, the advent of the automobile, world wars, cold wars, guerrilla wars, and Sputnik — that's all ancient history now. But what else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That's the reality of getting old, and I guess that's really the crux of the matter. I'm not ready to be old yet.

Do you have any idea how much an elephant drinks?

All right. Let's give you something to tell your grandkids about. Or great-grandkids. Or great-great-grandkids." I snort with glee, delirious with excitement. Charlie winks and pours me another finger's worth of whiskey. Then, on second thought, he tips the bottle again. I reach out and grab its neck. "Better not," I say. "Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.

Being the survivor stinks.

I tend not to think about the reading public at all, or the business, when I'm writing.

You work hard on a book and throw it out there and then it's beyond your control.

I just think I'm better equipped to make a study of human personality than trying to get into the mind of animals.

I think there is just a vein of humanity that really loves animals and really loves to read about them.

Don't want to get tipsy and break a hip.

Why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?

Gorillas are in danger of being wiped out by the Ebola virus. I feel like we have limited time to get to know them and understand them and they're going to disappear - that's terrifically sad. Wouldn't it be great if we could stop that?

I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.

But it all zipped by. One minute Marlena and I were up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college. And now, here I am. In my nineties and alone.

The thought has cheered me, and I'd like to hang onto that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.

When did I stop being me?

I'm truly grateful for my microwave, which allows me to easily clarify butter, steam vegetables, and - when I am really lazy - feed my three kids in less than five minutes.

I am ninety. Or ninety-three. One or the other.

Juliet is one of those rare novels that has it all: lush prose, tightly intertwined parallel narratives, intrigue, and historical detail all set against a backdrop of looming danger. Anne Fortier casts a new light on one of history's greatest stories of passion. I was swept away.

So what if I'm ninety-three? So what if I'm ancient and cranky and my body's a wreck? If they're willing to accept me and my guilty conscience, why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus?

... a gaggle of old ladies is glued to the window at the end of the hall like children or jailbirds. They're spidery and frail, their hair as fine as mist. Most of them are a good decade younger than me, and this astounds me. Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it.--There are five of them now, white headed old things huddled together and pointing crooked fingers at the glass.