Endless Possibility Quotes

“I broke open, broke apart, and let all the rage and pain and bitterness go. It was too hard to hold on to, and I couldn’t do it any more. I thought I was holding on to my old life, but there wasn’t anything left of it. Only ugly residue, and that, I finally realized, wasn’t worth holding on to.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“Because the idea of failure, of living without her in my life, was a nightmare worse than blindness.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“Everything I thought I knew about what it meant to be a man was stripped away. What remained was what it meant to be a man who loved a woman as much as I did. To be a human being experiencing this life in all its ugliness, its beauty, its pain and hate; good and evil; love and death.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“Pain seems inevitable. Or expected. We accept it, I think, as something unavoidable, and happiness is a gift hanging just out of reach; a privilege only a few of us are lucky enough to have. But it’s not. It’s right there, all around us, if we just have the courage to reach our hands into the dark, and take it. Take it. Hold on. And never let go.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“My grief wasn’t deep or poetic. It was sinister in its simplicity. I wanted to see again and I never would.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“What was the Sistine Chapel to me? Or the Pieta? Or even the Coliseum? Another loss to contend with; another battle to fight against bitterness: I was visiting the world’s oldest cities, and all that made them magnificent was locked away from me but for vestiges of memory.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“To be a human being experiencing this life in all its ugliness, its beauty, its pain and hate; good and evil; love and death.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“I told her I loved her and that I missed her, and that I was working to make myself whole so that we could be together, because it was clear to me that I’d have to shatter first, and be put back together.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“What matters is that you know you’re worth it.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“Noah’s best meant his heart and soul, blood and guts, sweat and tears”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“We still have three months to go and you’re going to run out of bloated sea animals to compare yourself to.”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility

“joke around—nothing serious—as I work to get my leg back to where it was. Two weeks later, I’m in an ankle-to-hip leg brace and hobbling around on crutches. The brace can’t come off for another six weeks, so my parents lend me their townhouse in New York City and Lucien hires me an assistant to help me out around the house. Some guy named Trevor. He’s okay, but I don’t give him much to do. I want to regain my independence as fast as I can and get back out there for Planet X. Yuri, my editor, is griping that he needs me back and I’m more than happy to oblige. But I still need to recuperate, and I’m bored as hell cooped up in the townhouse. Some buddies of mine from PX stop by and we head out to a brunch place on Amsterdam Street my assistant sometimes orders from. Deacon, Logan, Polly, Jonesy and I take a table in Annabelle’s Bistro, and settle in for a good two hours, running our waitress ragged. She’s a cute little brunette doing her best to stay cheerful for us while we give her a hard time with endless coffee refills, loud laughter, swearing, and general obnoxiousness. Her nametag says Charlotte, and Deacon calls her “Sweet Charlotte” and ogles and teases her, sometimes inappropriately. She has pretty eyes, I muse, but otherwise pay her no mind. I have my leg up on a chair in the corner, leaning back, as if I haven’t a care in the world. And I don’t. I’m going to make a full recovery and pick up my life right where I left off. Finally, a manager with a severe hairdo and too much makeup, politely, yet pointedly, inquires if there’s anything else we need, and we take the hint. We gather our shit and Deacon picks up the tab. We file out, through the maze of tables, and I’m last, hobbling slowly on crutches. I’m halfway out when I realize I left my Yankees baseball cap on the table. I return to get it and find the waitress staring at the check with tears in her eyes. She snaps the black leather book shut when she sees me and hurriedly turns away. “Forget something?” she asks with false cheer and a shaky smile. “My hat,” I say. She’s short and I’m tall. I tower over her. “Did Deacon leave a shitty tip? He does that.” “Oh no, no, I mean…it’s fine,” she says, turning away to wipe her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I just…um, kind of a rough month. You know how it is.” She glances me up and down in my expensive jeans and designer shirt. “Or maybe you don’t.” The waitress realizes what she said, and another round of apologies bursts out of her as she begins stacking our dirty dishes. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Really. I have this bad habit…blurting. I don’t know why I said that. Anyway, um…” I laugh, and fish into my back pocket for my wallet. “Don’t worry about it. And take this. For your trouble.” I offer her forty dollars and her eyes widen. Up close, her eyes are even prettier—large and luminous, but sad too. A blush turns her skin scarlet “Oh, no, I couldn’t. No, please. It’s fine, really.” She bustles even faster now, not looking at me. I shrug and drop the twenties on the table. “I hope your month improves.” She stops and stares at the money, at war with herself. “Okay. Thank you,” she says finally, her voice cracking. She takes the money and stuffs it into her apron. I feel sorta bad, poor girl. “Have a nice day, Charlotte,” I say, and start to hobble away. She calls after me, “I hope your leg gets better soon.” That was big of her, considering what ginormous bastards we’d been to her all morning. Or maybe she’s just doing her job. I wave a hand to her without looking back, and leave Annabelle’s. Time heals me. I go back to work. To Planet X. To the world and all its thrills and beauty. I don’t go back to my parents’ townhouse; hell I’m hardly in NYC anymore. I don’t go back to Annabelle’s and I never see—or think about—that cute waitress with the sad eyes ever again. “Fucking hell,” I whisper as the machine reads the last line of”
― Emma Scott, Endless Possibility