V. C. Andrews - Flowers in the Attic (1979)

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And still I stayed to plan all my revenge, my vengeance against those who had turned me from good to evil, and made of me what I was going to be from this day forward.

V. C. Andrews
I am a pretty, useless ornament who always believed she'd have a man to take care of her.

V. C. Andrews
There is no hate such as that born out of love betrayed- and my brain screamed out for revenge.

V. C. Andrews
I wish the night would end, I wish the day'd begin, I wish it would rain or snow, or the wind would blow, or the grass would grow, I wish I had yesterday, I wish there were games to play...

V. C. Andrews
My thoughts took frantic flight, wanting to escape this prison, and seek out the wind so it could fan my hair and sting my skin, and make me feel alive again.

V. C. Andrews
At the end of the rainbow waited the pot of gold. But rainbows were made of faint and fragile gossamer-and gold weighed a ton-and since the world began, gold was the reason to do most anything.

V. C. Andrews
It was the eyes. The secret of love was in the eyes. The way one person looked at another, the way eyes communicated and spoke when the lips never moved.

V. C. Andrews
Love doesn't always come when you want it to. Sometimes it just happens, despite your will.

V. C. Andrews
Love … I put so much faith in it. Truth … I kept believing it falls always from the lips of the one you love and trust the most. Faith … it's all bound up to love and trust. Where does one end and the other start, and how do you tell when love is the blindest of all?

V. C. Andrews
Patience. I colored patience gray, hung over with black clouds. I colored hope yellow, just like the sun we could see for a few short morning hours. Too soon the sun rose high in the sky & disappeared from view, leaving us bereft and staring at blue.

V. C. Andrews
Perhaps lovers aren't supposed to look down at the ground. That kind of story is told in symbols-and earth represents reality, and reality represents frustrations, chance illnesses, death, murder, and all kinds of other tragedies. Lovers are meant to look up at the sky, for up there no beautiful illusions can be trampled upon.

V. C. Andrews