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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave She was also a memory, the worst kind of memory--the kind that pulled you to your knees at just the sound of her name. - Quote by Laura Miller

She was also a memory, the worst kind of memory–the kind that pulled you to your knees at just the sound of her name.

Laura Miller
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Brooke was always my summer. She’ll always be my summer. And I had already made my choice a long time ago. Loving Brooke was what I was made to do.
Laura Miller
How does the story really go?Does she ever cross your mind?Does she ever steal your nights?Is she still a part of you?Do you ever wish she were still by your side?And what would you do?If she walked up here tomorrow And told you that she loved you?Would you drop it all and run to her?Would you tell her you love her too?Or would you simply send her home?And tell her you’ve moved on?Tell me, Buddy, what would you do?
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Now, you and I both know that I’ll wait a lifetime for you – remember, Butterfly Weeds never give up – so take your time down there. And tonight, as you watch that big, orange sun disappear into the earth and your world gradually grow dark, I’ll help God turn on the stars, and I’ll wait for my dawn – when you return to me, Julia Stephens.I love you, My Butterfly. You’ll always be my endless song.Love always and forever,Your one and only Butterfly Weed, Will
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More than every once in awhile,More than most dreams,More than just my heart,More than anything,More than you know,And more than I can say,I’ve loved you moreEvery passing day
Laura Miller
Tell me you’ve seen the world.Now, you’ve come back homeTell me you’ve carried me with you,That you’ve held me close.Tell me you’ve missed meOr that I’m not crazy for waiting causeOf all the butterflies that chose to stay,I’m in love with the one that got away
Laura Miller
Just remember, the single most important thing in this world is love. You find it, you fight for it.
Laura Miller
I can see how James or Greene might agree with this point of view: the former finds that the ugly old lamp no longer produces a genie when rubbed and the latter realizes he has nothing left to wish for.
Laura Miller
There is an uncharacteristic radicalism to Lewis’s further suggestion that if we can find “even one reader to whom the cheap little book with its double columns and the lurid daub on its cover had been a lifelong delight, who had read and reread it, who would notice, and object, if a single word were changed, then, however little we could see in it ourselves and however it was despised by our friends and colleagues, we should not dare to put it beyond the pale.
Laura Miller
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