NICHOLAS SPARKS, ‘EVERY BREATH”
As evening fell, he showed me a remarkable item — a labor of love — that ended me visualize the events with details and clarity, as if I’d been a witness to all that had happened. I also began to see how the words would appear on the page, as if the story were writing itself and my role wa simply to transcribe it.
The story has larger value and meaning: the power to remind us that there are times when destiny and love collide
He sometimes wondered whether he’d chosen to live in the bush or the bush had chosen him.
“One of the great things about a leaf,” he said to her, “is that it reminds you to live as well as you can for as long as you can, until it’s finally time to let go and allow yourself to drift away with grace.”
Art is never finished but only abandoned.
Too many people spent their lives performing a role they thought they were supposed to play, as opposed to simply being who they were.
Sometimes it’s easier to be honest with strangers.
I’ve had a good life, and unlike a lot of people, I’ve been given the chance to say goodbye.
People talk about truth like it’s the solution to all of life’s problems. I’ve been around long enough to know that isn’t the case, and that sometimes truth can do more harm than good.
He’d always believed that everything was possible when it came to love, that any obstacle could be overcome. Wasn’t that a truth that nearly everyone took for granted?
That being loved deeply by someone gives you strength, and loving someone deeply gives you courage.
The world moves more slowly in the bush. And some items never reach their destination.
Fair or not, they lived in a society that placed an emphasis on youth and beauty when it came to women.
Grief is always the price we pay for love.