Jandy Nelson
Jandy Nelson
Jandy Nelsonis an American author of young adult fiction. Prior to her career as an author, Nelson worked for 13 years as a literary agent. She holds a BA from Cornell University as well as MFAs in poetry and children's writing from Brown University and Vermont College of Fine Arts. Nelson lives in San Francisco, California...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth24 June 1965
CountryUnited States of America
heart what-if break
But what if music is what escapes when a heart breaks?
thinking expression secret
All her knowledge is gone now. Everything she ever learned, or heard, or saw. Her particular way of looking at Hamlet or daisies or thinking about love, all her private intricate thoughts, her inconsequential secret musings – they’re gone too. I heard this expression once: Each time someone dies, a library burns. I’m watching it burn right to the ground.
school wind perfect
... every available inch of his face busts into a smile - whoa. Has he blown into our school on a gust of wind from another world? The guy looks unabashedly jack-o'-lantern happy, which couldn't be more foreign to the sullen demeanor most of us strove to perfect.
sexy heart kissing
He smiles and takes his index finger and presses it to my lips, leaves it there until my heart lands on Jupiter: three seconds, then removes it, and heads back into the living room. Whoa - well, that was either the dorkiest or sexiest moment of my life, and I'm voting for sexy on account of my standing here dumbstruck and giddy, wondering if he did kiss me after all.
light sky rope
Remember how it was when we kissed? Armfuls and armfuls of light thrown right at us. A rope dropping down from the sky. How can the word love and the word life even fit in the mouth?
worst best-things knows
... if you're someone who knows the worst thing can happen at any time, aren't you also someone who knows the best thing can happen at any time too?
grief forever going-away
Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes part of you, step for step, breath for breath.
sound
Music: what life, what living itself sounds like.
crazy want i-am-crazy
That's exactly it—I am crazy sad, and somewhere deep inside, all I want is to fly.
lonely grief wind
When I'm with him, there is someone with me in my house of grief, someone who knows its architecture as I do, who can walk with me, from room to sorrowful room, making the whole rambling structure of wind and emptiness not quite as scary, as lonely as it was before.
fall dark alphabet
According to all the experts, it's time for me to talk about what I'm going through... I can't. I'd need a new alphabet, one made of falling, of tectonic plates shifting, of the deep devouring dark.
grief clothes people
I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.
wall book writing
I have an impulse to write all over the orange walls- I need an alphabet of endings ripped out of books, of hands pulled off of clocks, of cold stones, of shoes filled with nothing but wind.
sister stars lying
There were once two sisters who were not afriad of the dark because the dark was full of the other's voice across the room, because even when the night was thick and starless they walked home together from the river seeing who could last the longest without turning on her flashlight, not afraid because sometimes in the pitch of night they'd lie on their backs in the middle of the path and look up until the stars came back and when they did, they'd reach their arms up to touch them and did.