April Lloyd

“I’d realized something after being with her. A valuable lesson that I think all the best and most enduring romances have figured out. The love stories sold us the wrong thing. The best kind of love doesn’t happen on moonlit walks and romantic vacations. It happens in between the folds of everyday life. It’s not grand gestures that show how you feel, it’s all the little secret things you do to make her life better that you never tell her about. Taking the end piece of the bread at breakfast so she can have the last middle piece for her sandwich when you pack her lunch. Making sure her car always has gas so she never has to stop at the pump. Telling her you’re not cold and to take your jacket when you are in fact, very, very cold. It’s watching TV on a rainy Sunday while you’re doing laundry and turning her light off when she’s fallen asleep reading. Sharing pizza crusts and laughing about something the kids did and taking care of each other when you’re sick. It isn’t glamorous, it isn’t all butterflies and stars in your eyes. It’s real. This is the kind of love that forever is made of. Because if it’s this good when life is draining and mundane and hard, think of how wonderful it will be when the love songs are playing and the moon is out.”
― Abby Jimenez, Just for the Summer

“You know how big the human heart is?” Graff balled his hand into a fist. “About that size. I continue to be amazed at how much hate such a small thing can hold, even in people who think of themselves as decent and Christian.”
― William Kent Krueger, The River We Remember

“loose hugs and tight smiles.”
― Amy Tintera, Listen for the Lie

“People who make other people unhappy are generally pretty unhappy themselves,” she said. He gave a small nod of agreement, then turned to her. “What about people who make other people happy? That’s you, Angie.” “Well, I’m glad you think so.” “Why?” he asked. “Why am I glad?” “No, why are you so happy?” “Maybe it’s because I know how blessed I am.” “That must be something,” he said.”
― William Kent Krueger, The River We Remember