Terrace Story Quotes

“Of course, I know the details. I just reject your premise," the woman said.
"What premise?"
"The premise that there is no love when a person is alone.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“The truth was overrated, she realized. Knowing that certain parts were fiction, this was what filled her body with an unexpected warmth. it was love, to recognize the inventions and inconsistencies that make a person whole.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“The king thought he should probably burn the royal astronomer at the stake, but stake-burnings were a real bummer. The king had a feeling that someday, with a little perspective, people would not find stake-burnings all that great.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“His home was cozy and smelled good, and had the feeling of stuff without the feeling of clutter. Every vase was a gift from someone special and every book was dog-eared. He had put a shelf on the radiator and on the shelf were old photographs of his kids, his friends, people he loved. Just being in the apartment made Lydia feel like something with a really charming backstory.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“Possessions always made Lydia so sad, and she had never been sure why. Now she knew, yes, it's because they stay here forever. Possessions are the loneliest things in the world, lonelier even than people, because we leave them all behind.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“She had filled the missing moment with something of her own invention. A donation made to life's inadequate plot.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“No one would ever throw a party for the host, but this is what she preferred. If you sit on the edges of your own universe, you still might have been the center of someone else's.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“Stephanie and Will reviewed the events of the evening, cataloging who was drunkest, who was loudest, who was worthiest, and all the rest. The sudden retrospect of parties, a quirk of college, panning for nostalgia in the onslaught of the present.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“When Stephanie returned for a Sunday brunch, the terrace returned too. It was resplendent in the afternoon sun, the wooden slats dappled with light and strewn with acorns, gold and orange leaves underfoot. Annie didn’t expect that you could yearn for a place so terribly after visiting it only once. There were other places she missed, treasured territories lifted off the earth, shuttered, gone. But the terrace arrived upon her with the relief of a long-awaited reunion. Annie felt a chill, because it was a reunion with herself. She had been accommodating some unknown injury for years, and it had silently joined the daily landscape of known feeling. Now, standing on the terrace, she woke to find her forgotten wound healed.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story

“They were cramped, Edward said, but in a way that felt familiar and warm, no? Yes, Annie agreed. Secretly, she felt that their lack of space probably signaled her lack of promise, a final judgment on her poor priorities and half-hewn choices. But it was a judgment that, in her deepest heart, had grown commonplace and comfortable, only jabbing its elbow of discontent at moments that found her particularly low. They were lucky in so many ways. They were healthy and happy and fine. They had spent every penny saved on moving in and moving out, even the coins from under the sink. Now there was a new sink, and an empty jar for fresh, shiny coins.”
― Hilary Leichter, Terrace Story