It is difficult to find anything more healthy to drink than good cold water, such as flows down to us from springs and snows of our mountains. This is the beverage we should drink. It should be our drink at all times.
...we, as human beings, do not "enable" God to do anything. We are subject to His divine will---it is not the other way around. He is our Creator, and we are subject to Him.
How could you believe or disbelieve anything anymore? Four maybe five million men killed and none of them wanting to die while hundreds maybe thousands were left crazy or blind or crippled and couldn’t die no matter how hard they tried.
You never knew when God would send you just what you needed, sometimes even when you didn't realize you were missing anything in the first place. You just had to keep your eyes-and mind-open to the possibilities.
One has only to set a loved human being against the fact that we are all in peril all the time to get back a sense of proportion. What does anything matter compared to the reality of love and its span, so brief at best, maintained against such odds?
The only language she could speak was grief. How could he not know that? Instead, she said, "I love you." She did. She loved him. But even that didn't feel like anything anymore.
The dead think they can get away with anything because you'll feel sorry for them. If you play cards with the dead, make sure you deal and don't let them buy you drinks. They'll slip you a formaldehyde roofie and pry the gold fillings out of your tee...
Life is too short to be anything but happy. So kiss slowly. Love deeply. Forgive quickly. Take chances and never have regrets. Forget the past but remember what it taught you.
Sometimes when you lose someone, it’s at that moment that you realize how much they mean to you. And when that happens, and when you think about how you let them slip away, you know you’d do anything just to have them there with you again.
Take the word for it of a man who has made his way inch by inch, and does not believe that we'll wake up to find our work done because we've lain all night a-dreaming of it; anything worth doing is devilish hard to do!
Are we going to Portland?" I asked. "Or Multnomah Falls?" He smiled at me. "Go to sleep." I waited three seconds. "Are we there yet?" His smile widened, and the last of the usual tension melted from his face. For a smile like that, I'd...do anything.
He tried to learn seductive phrases in all languages, but the only Swedish he had ever really needed was, "Do you serve anything aside from pickled fish?" and "If you wrap me in furs, I can pretend to be your little fuzzy bear.
At which Charion Pratt blushed girlishly, to her own furious embarrassment, yet the eye she cast upon the little coxcomb was not unlike that which a certain toad had once cast upon her: for there is never anything but apparent paradox in the choices ...
As we sail in the voyage of life, the love and joy we shared count more than anything else. Let them feel the rhythm of our heart, share them the music of our soul, for a meaningful, fulfilling moments of today, for a hopeful, promising and joyful to...
He wants to get back together," she finished. "And you said...?" he tried to keep his tone disinterested. "I haven't said anything," she said. "You interrupted me before I could answer him." He congratulated himself on his excellent timing.
Let me tell you a little bit about demons. They love pain and other people’s misery. They lie when it suits them and don’t see anything wrong with it. They corrupt and kill and destroy, all without conscience. You just don’t have the capacity f...
He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t the man who stepped forward and saved the innocent. He was lost himself. Shadows had invaded a long time ago and stolen his life. But he would give anything he had left to be the man who found a way to save Judith
Songs and smells will bring you back to a moment in time more than anything else. It's amazing how much can be conjured with a few notes of a song or a solitary whiff of a room. A song you didn't even pay attention to at the time, a place that you di...
Living on pills, phone calls unmade, people unseen, pages unwritten, money unmade, pressure piling up all around to make some kind of breakthrough and get moving again. Get the gum off the rails, finish something, croak this awful habit of not ever g...
It's only a story.' As if such words made it less real. But I did not believe him even then, for stories were written down, and the words on the page were proof enough. Fixed and permanent in time, the words, if anything, made the people and places m...
History, in the end, is only another kind of story, and stories are different from the truth. The truth is messy and chaotic and all over the place. Often it just doesn’t make sense. Stories make things make sense, but the way they do that is to le...
