Soul mates, I've always believed in, so I accepted the truth there. But curses? That was extreme. There had to be a place where the line was drawn between fiction and reality, and a curse sounded way more on the fiction side of the spectrum.
Men and women are hard ore, we do not go to slag in a mere few seasons of forge.
Flo hated how public an event affection inevitably became. Marrying in a church while scrutinized by dozens of people struck her as a barbaric custom.
I wanted to live. For the father and brother who I never knew and for my mother who was cheated of a life of happiness. I wanted to live for them. And I wanted to live for me.
Whatever it is I'm born to do, my fear of failing at it has almost become greater than my desire to figure out what it is.
Drifting on the black, rippling surface were fingers. Thumbs. Dozens of them. Hundreds, floating like dead fish in a dynamited pond. I saw part of an ear. The lights went out.
I now understand that writing fiction was a seed planted in my soul, though I would not be ready to grow that seed for a long time.
But Vivien wasn't being given the chance to sow her wild oats. Speaking from a point of authority, it's best to get that shit out of the way when you are young.
Science is not separate from politics. As much as I would like it to be a pure thing, existing only in some intellectual realm unsullied by human struggle, it will always be entangled with the world we live in.
I wonder if that's the perennial story of writers: you find the true light, you lose the true light, you find it again. And maybe again.
But life isn’t about learning to forgive those who have hurt you or forgetting your past. It’s about learning to forgive yourself for being human and making mistakes.
Para um homem, a mulher é como uma pintura ou uma estátua clássica. Ele escolhe uma e leva para casa, esperando que combine com a mobília existente lá.
Skypilot could not help but hope that the song of the moon--the song of God's miraculous firmament--might reach her tonight and enable her to feel the reality of Christ's love and sacrifice.
Gorgeous,” he murmured. She chuckled. “Think you’l say that in five months or so? When I waddle like a duck and you have to tie my shoes for me?” “I’l say it then and forever.
Where you are is who you are. The further inside you the place moves, the more your identity is intertwined with it. Never casual, the choice of place is the choice of something you crave.
It seemed to me that boys had a lot more fun. It was a relief. I didn't look at myself from the outside. I just lived inside my skin, looking out.
If we just had some time to ourselves, we could talk to each other the way we used to. Maybe about nothing in particular at first, but even that would be a start.
You fainted and I caught you. It was the first time I'd supported a human. You had such heavy bones. I put myself between you and gravity. Impossible.
I will raise up prophets to make conflicting pronouncements that inevitably will be garbled in transcription, resulting in mutually exclusive definitions of orthodoxy from which the open-minded will flee in dismay.
The one thing I do remember is that as I retraced my steps through all the familiar streets of my life, Inow felt completely lost.
Wait until you meet my family. At Thanksgiving, we kill everything we can find, put it into a pot, and call it 'holiday gumbo'.
