More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2) QUOTES

3 " [...] He says the Internet makes too many people loud, and too many people silent, but the loud ones are all we hear.. We have to ask questions to hear the silent people. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

4 " As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another. Proverbs 27: 17 "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

5 " The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

6 " Sometimes I think people are so used to negativity that a positive atmosphere is uncomfortable, or even frightening. It goes along with what we were talking about. When you can't trust anyone, the unknown is a very frightening place indeed. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

7 " You’re neither son, Rev. If you’re anyone, you’re the man who watched his kids act like total dicks, only to stand there with open arms and forgive them. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

8 " I wince. I have no idea what to say. "Do you want to hit me back? You can."
"No, I don't want to hit you back, you idiot. I've sent you like thiry texts. Are you okay?"
My eyebrows go up. "You are asking me if I'm okay?"
"Yes."
It's like the moment I realised Dad wasn't going to let me chase him out of my room. I want to crumple on the floor. "No," I say. "I'm not."
"Then come on."
I don't move. My head is spinning. "Where are we going?"
"Downstairs. Get your gloves. If you need to throw punches, let's find something better than my face. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

9 " Thank you.” “For what?” “For seeing me. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

10 " Are you okay?” he says.

My breath shakes. “Do you know the story of the Prodigal Son?”

“Oh my god. Rev—”

“Do you?”

He sighs. “I don’t remember the whole thing.”

So I tell him the story.

He listens. When I’m done, he says, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Which one am I?” I finally ask.

“Rev—”

“I didn’t stay with my father. So I’m obviously not the devoted son.”

“Dude.”

“But is that saying that if I went back to him, he’d welcome me with open arms? Am I supposed to be that son?”

“Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“No.” I study him. My voice is a breath away from breaking. “Help me, Dec. Which one am I?”

His eyes are dark and serious. “Neither. Is that what you need me to say? You’re neither son.

“But—”

“You’re not selfish. You wouldn’t be the son who asks for his money and leaves. And you’re not spiteful. You don’t resent anyone, even the one person you should.”

I flinch again. “Don’t you understand? I have to be one or the other.”

“No, you don’t! You moron, there are three people in the story.”

“What?”

“You’re neither son, Rev. If you’re anyone, you’re the man who watched his kids act like total dicks, only to stand there with open arms and forgive them.”

I’m speechless. I might be gaping at him. As many times as I’ve read that parable, I’ve never considered a third perspective. But of course it’s right there. It’s so clear.

Declan pulls his pillow away from the wall, fluffs it up, and lies back down. He yawns. “Now. Tell me about the girl. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

11 " I read once about how fighting in a game releases the same brain chemicals as fighting in real life--but fighting online removes any humanity from it. It's all in your head. Even with a headset and a voice, no one feels real. It's easy to drop your guard and make friends. And it's just as easy to tear someone down. I don't just mean from my side. If I win a mission, I'm happy--but to someone on the other side, do they feel even worse because they were defeated by someone who their brain doesn't think exists? And when they pair that anonymous defeat with a woman's real voice/likeness, is that somehow emasculating? Like, where does the rage come from? "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

12 " Eventually, he looks up at me. I’m not sure how I can tell—the hood only moves a few inches. “Do you believe in God?”

My night could seriously not be more surreal. I wet my lips and answer honestly. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t challenge me, which I was worried about. “There’s this verse I like,” he says. “ ‘The one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.’ ”

My eyes narrow. “Are you quoting the Bible?”

“Yes.” He says this like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You know what I like about it? I like how it makes doubt seem inevitable. It’s okay to be unsure. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

13 " He catches me. He holds on. Because he’s not my father. He’s my dad. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

14 " The rain is colder than I expect—which is ridiculous, since it’s March. My cheeks are freezing by the time we go two blocks, my hair has a sodden weight on my shoulder. My glasses are so wet I need to shove them in a pocket. I threw Mom’s pullover windbreaker over my sweatshirt before leaving the house, thinking it would be waterproof, but I am so wrong.

By the time I make the final turn for the church, I wonder if I’m stupid for being out here. It’s pouring so hard that a haze has formed around the streetlight, and I can barely see anything through the darkness.

My sneakers squish in the grass. I get to the spot where we sat for the last two nights.

And of course he’s not there.

I sigh. Only a complete moron would go meet in the rain.

Then Texy woofs and bounces on her front paws.

I turn, and it’s like I’m in a chick flick. His shadowed figure lopes across the grass.

Okay, maybe the dark and rain make it more like a horror movie than a romantic comedy, BUT STILL.

He draws to a stop in front of me. He had the sense to wear a heavy, waterproof coat over his hoodie, but the hood is soaked and rain drips down his cheeks.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a little loud over the rain.

I’m blushing. I tell my cheeks to knock it off. “Hey.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up, but I didn’t have a way to text you …”

“I had the same thought process. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

15 " He says the Internet makes too many people loud, and too many people silent, but the loud people are all we hear. We have to ask questions to hear the silent people. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

16 " Can I ask you a favor?" Matthew says.
"Anything."
That throws him, but only for a moment. "If I do something that might screw this up, would you tell me?"
I set my spoon down. The cereal has gone soggy and I'm beginning to make a mess anyway. "You won't screw this up, Matthew. Mom and Dad aren't like that."
"But–just in case."
"Okay." I carry my bowl to the sink. "Anything else?"
"No." He hestitates. "Maybe."
"What's up?"
"Do you think you could just call me Matt? "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

17 " The night wraps around us like a cloak, pooling all this emotion in the space between us. I know I build walls around myself, but I’ve never met someone whose own walls seemed equally impenetrable. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

18 " If fate does exist, maybe this is her way of telling me to take control of my own destiny. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

19 " We're both just a little broken. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)

20 " You could look at all of life as a test. No one lives in a vacuum. Our actions have an impact on everyone around us. Sometimes without us even realising it. "

― Brigid Kemmerer , More Than We Can Tell (Letters to the Lost, #2)