It Began With A Kiss. It Almost Always Begins With A Kiss.

At Evensong one night, while Holly played her sax and Mrs. Bethel Utemeyer joined in, I saw him: Holiday, racing past a fluffy white Samoyed. He had lived to a ripe old age on Earth and slept at my father’s feet after my mother left, never wanting to let him out of his sight. He had stood with Buckley while he built his fort and had been the only one permitted on the porch while Lindsey and Samuel kissed. And in the last few years of his life, every Sunday morning, Grandma Lynn had made him a skillet-sized peanut butter pancake, which she would place flat on the floor, never tiring of watching him try to pick it up with his snout. I waited for him to sniff me out, anxious to know if here, on the other side, I would still be the little girl he had slept beside. I did not have to wait long: he was so happy to see me, he knocked me down.

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

We would have babies and get fat and quit drinking and not spend every waking moment together. We would turn up to events for which we had accepted invitations without texting absurd excuses. We had grown up. It was an essential part of letting go, deciding which ribbons of the past we wanted to tie around our fingers and which were best left on the maypole. I could weep for the unfairness of it all now. For the necessity in closing the door on the travelling salesman of youth. I could weep with such fondness for us all.

- 'You'll Be Sorry When I'm Dead' by Marieke Hardy 

Grief settles comfortably into any host; it is an ever-mutating, vigorous organism with an ever-renewing customer base. It generates a never-ending hunger, a never-ending ache, an unassuageable pain to new hearts, brains, guts every minute, every day, every year.It is the razor edge of a loose tooth shrieking to be pressed again and again into the soft pink sore gum. It’s a one-way tunnel with no proof of another exit.

'Wildlife' by Fiona Wood 

People died. Innocent people died Granda. And they were someone’s mother, father, daughter, son. Nothing can ever make that ok. And the people who took those lives, they’re just gonna walk free.

The Monster of Her Age by Danielle Binks Rating: 5/5     #LoveOzYA

“I’m still hurt by you, and mad at you — but I can forgive you. Because you are more than just your worst moments, Bubbe. And we had so many good ones too.”

My greatest love, after books, is movies, so a book about movies was already a win. Add in a lovely wlw romance and a beautiful family story and you’ve got yourself a marvellous little book. The Monster of Her Age is about the wonders and horrors of love of all kinds and how films shape our world and our lives; how they connect people from all walks of life - all abilities, all cultures, all sexualities. If you loved Mara Wilson’s memoir Where Am I Now? or Everything Leads to You by Nina LaCour, definitely track down a copy of this gorgeous Australian YA.

Warnings: death, grief, references to emotional and psychological abuse.

There comes a point where you just love someone. Not because they're good, or bad, or anything really. You just love them. It doesn't mean you'll be together forever. It doesn't mean you won't hurt each other. It just means you love them. Sometimes in spite of who they are, and sometimes because of who they are. And you know that they love you, sometimes because of who you are, and sometimes in spite of it.

'Anita Blake: Incubus Dreams' by Laurell K. Hamilton 

When you are a kid you have your own language, and unlike French or Spanish or whatever you start learning in fourth grade, this one you're born with, and eventually lose. Everyone under the age of seven is fluent in 'ifspeak'; go hang around with someone under three feet tall and you'll see. What if a giant funnelweb spider crawled out of that hole over your head and bit you on the neck? What if the only antidote for venom was locked up in a vault on the top of a mountain? What if you lived through the bite, but could only move your eyelids and blink the alphabet? It doesn't really matter how far you go; the point is that it's a world of possibility. Kids think with their brains cracked wide open; becoming an adult, I've decided, is only a slow sewing shut.

'My sister's Keeper' Jodi Picoult