Grace Wethor > Quotes

“It’s pouring. Every drop baptizes me, washing away every ounce of pain I didn’t realize I was carrying.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“But as she stands in front of me smiling, her grin taunts me, filling me with anger and frustration. Her face has become a symbol for everything I’m not. And unfortunately for her, one can’t separate their face from their soul. Nor their soul from their intentions.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“All I ever wanted was peace. I wanted silence. I wanted the truth to be a warm blanket, not a stabbing echo in my ribs. And as I stare down, I begin to seek it. My toes hang off the edge of a bridge, decorated in my busted-up Converse.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“And in this moment, I miss her more than I remember her. And that is the most painful feeling I’ve ever experienced in my few short weeks of life.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“And because nothing matters, everything does.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“She chews the inside of her cheek, thinking. She’s polite with her anger, like she doesn’t want her inability to control to affect others. She paces, struggling to catch her breath. I sit still, unsure how to help. I cover my mouth so she has more air to breathe.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“When I think about how big the universe is, I feel small. I feel like nothing that happens here on earth truly matters. I’m a speck of dust on the timeline of coincidence. When I think like that, things get very dark very fast.

But what if we are the ones who give our universe meaning because we matter to each other? We are breathing, living organisms with consciousnesses, which is an absolutely horribly random thing to happen to us. And because nothing matters, everything does.

When you think of it from that perspective, the entire universe was built just for us. Tiny, tiny earth, in this huge galaxy, and we happened to land here. So, we are very big.

We are the point of the universe.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“And suddenly, I’m left alone in the middle of the sea, unprotected. I feel the wind of the dancers’ movement as they swirl around me, waltzing to the tempo. I breathe in deep, the dust of the books filling my lungs.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“It was a fact. We were scared. But something about being scared together made it feel less so. Because the fact that we were doing something together meant we were already rebuilding what had been broken.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“The dust instantly clears from my throat. Even in a room full of the supposedly brightest future lights of the world, she still shines with a glint unmatchable. They have nothing on her. I can’t wait to see all of the ways you save the world, Lucy T. Benson.”
― Grace Wethor

“Her golden hair and freckles danced under the awful fluorescent lights. But she’s the type who would look good under any light in the universe. She was weaved together from a carefully picked thread. God was bored the day he made her and had too much time on his hands.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“As we walk down the street, the sky is on fire. It’s cracked in two right in front of us, perfectly framed by the buildings on each side of the street. I wouldn’t have believed its beauty and colors, but as I turn my head to see if she sees it too, I’m reminded that things that magical really do exist.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“Any pile, object, or mess on earth can be beautiful if you look at it with love. If you look at it with no resistance, no history. But when I go to sleep at night, I’m just a human. I’m just a body. I’m not a God; I’m just a girl.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering

“My sweaty palms remind me that my body hasn’t forgotten as much as my mind has. It’s quite comforting, proof of my misery. Proof that it’s real.”
― Grace Wethor, Seven Thompson & the Art of Remembering