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Goldy Moldavsky Quotes

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Famous Goldy Moldavsky Quotes

“What you don’t even realize now—what you will only come to understand in time, but lucky for you, I’m here to tell you—is you’re not going to give two shits about this band in a few years. In fact, I guarantee that this group that you admire so much and that you are putting all of your love and dedication and devotion into will be nothing more than an obsession you will be immensely embarrassed of having had. One day you’ll be in college, maybe you’ll be at a party, and someone will say, ‘Hey, do you remember The Ruperts? How shitty was their music?’ and you will have a moment of crisis: Do you admit your former love for them, or do you concede, because you know in your heart that this person is right? And guess what you’ll say? You’ll say, ‘Yeah, their music was utter. Putrid.Garbage.”

“Roses?" "It's corny, I know," Hart said. "But I thought maybe you'd like to see the Rose Garden." There was a neat symmetry to this garden, with beds of roses squared off in every corner of the lawn, grouped according to color. Pastel pinks and yellows to one side and the more vibrant, deeper reds and fuchsias to another. Between each segment, taller roses draped over rounded pergolas, creating leafy tunnels. Everywhere she looked, shrubs spilled over messily, brazenly, with more roses than she'd ever seen before. Rose caressed the blooms, which seemed to reach for her touch as much as she reached for theirs. Some of the roses were delicate, with a single row of petals that came in a gradient of color, going from dusty pink at the center to neon magenta at the frilly tips. Others were so jammed with petals, the number of them seemed infinite.”

“Roses are beautiful. Classic. Refined. But then they've got this whole other side of them that sort of counteracts all that. Like, they can grow pretty wild. They're tough and thorny. You have to be careful with them because of how fragile they can be, but you'd be surprised how much they can withstand, too." Rose stepped out of the tunnel, no barrier between her and Hart anymore. She liked hearing him describe a rose. And as his eyes gleamed with a warm playfulness, it was easy to believe that he wasn't just talking about a flower anymore. "Sorry," he said. "Rambling about rambling roses." Rose bit her lip to keep from smiling. Corny--- his own word. But she liked it. She cupped a pale pink bloom in her hands, her thumbs brushing its countless velvety folds, like pushing back the fur on a sheepdog's face. She tipped her nose to its center and breathed in deep. Musky. Earthy. Like a soothing dark tea.”

“By the time he planted his first seed and watched it bloom into a bright white daisy, Hart began to feel what he suspected his mom felt every time she was out in the gardens. The joy sprouted on the stem, and in his soul. While other boys were becoming interested in video games, or sports, or breaking rules, Hart got really into flowers. There were some areas in the garden where the flowers grew so high and bountiful that you could walk through them and get lost in tiny worlds. Whole colorful planets at his fingertips. To Hart, there was nothing like it. Cupping a sorbet-colored ball of dahlia in the palm of his hand, breathing in the musky-sweet notes of jasmine, watching the pollen-dressed bees buzzing in the fluff. The flowers made something in Hart's soul stir. Or settle. Or float. He wasn't sure what, but it felt like he'd discovered a secret that no one else knew about. That all you needed to feel perfectly in balance with the world were flowers.”

“Far across the expanse of lawn, all Rose saw were trees, but there must've been more of the property beyond them. "Over there we've got the Apple Orchard, Berry Patch, Vegetable Garden, and Sunflower Grove." He then pointed in the opposite direction. "That way we've got the more French-style landscape, with the Reflecting Pool, the Moonlight Garden, Rose Garden, Stone Arbor, Fountain Field, and Lavender Garden. And way out there is Hemlock Pond, the Abundance Garden, the Meadow, and Statue Walk. So, yeah, getting lost is a possibility. But not the worst thing in the world in a place like this.”

“Hart smelled of clean sweat, sweet earth, and fresh-cut grass, and on days like this Rose was sure she could inhale him whole. There was balance to this, she thought. To her painting in the garden while he tended to it. The kind of balance you could only find in nature. Rose handed him the water bottle and watched his throat work; watched it the way a famished vampire might. She licked her lips. "Ahh," Hart said when he came up for air. She loved that he actually said "Ahh" after taking a drink. She loved that there was a single blade of grass stuck with sweat to the base of his neck, greening him up like botanical jewelry.”

“He asked himself why he wanted his mother back. And his answer was because he was lonely. Because there was now a big, gaping hole where his heart used to be. But it wasn't loneliness, not really. Now that his mom was gone, Hart realized, he was completely without love in his life. It came to him with so much clarity, what he needed to wish for. He couldn't boil it down to anything smaller. He only needed a little anyway. It would go a long way. He put the seed in the ground, closed his tear-soaked eyes, and spoke his wish out loud. "I wish for love." The next day, he walked into a gas station store and found his love there waiting for him.”

“I thought you were in L.A." "And now I'm back," Mr. Hargrove said. "Only for the night, I'm afraid." "A warning would've been nice." Mr. Hargrove folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the back of the couch, a rueful smile twisting his lips. "A warning?" he repeated, then flashed a look at Rose that said, Can you believe this kid? "Like I'm a hurricane?" Hart shrugged and held Rose's hand closer to him. "The wreckage is about the same.”

“You're acting like a child." "Technically, I am a child." It felt to Hart like he was constantly reminding his father of this fact. As in, You can't just travel the world and leave me and Heather here--- we're minors. Mr. Hargrove sighed, brushing past this statement, too. "I'm sorry you lost your girlfriend. But you can't blow off all your responsibilities because of that." "Why not? You did.”

“There's a hedge maze here?" Rose asked. Hart moved his shoulders in a way that didn't exactly answer her question. "Can I see it?" "The sun's already down,"he said. "It's not a good idea to go in there in the dark." Rose wasn't sure why, but he'd gone from an open, blooming flower to suddenly closed off, all thorns. Here was the crack in Hart's perfect facade that Rose had been hunting for.”

“The sun had begun to wink behind the trees, but pockets of other light burst all around. Lanterns hung from tree branches; there was a firepit in the center of the lawn; and in the pond, the silky water shimmered with little full moons floating on the surface. No, not moons--- orbs. Such simple sources of light, but Rose was struck by how they looked like they'd dipped down from the sky, unwilling to miss the festivities. It was a lush, clandestine beauty, mixed with the unsupervised cacophony of the people disrupting it. The word "decadence" came to mind. Rose loved that in the middle of it all Hart seemed oblivious to it, stuck in tour-guide mode. "This is my favorite tree on the property," he said. Rose also loved that he had a favorite tree. Its curlicue branches plumed outward like long hair in water, and in certain spots, its leaves drooped and swept over the ground. "It's a one-hundred-year-old weeping hemlock," Hart said. "One of the oldest hemlocks this side of the Western Hemisphere, and the estate's namesake." They walked beneath the canopy, where string lights and pearly garlands hung like so many gaudy necklaces on a dowager duchess. Rose had never paid much attention to trees, but even she couldn't deny this one's majesty.”