The preacher released a pent-up breath as he sagged in relief. “Thank God he's gone.” His eyes narrowed at Alexander as he bit out, “Did you know that man had the nerve to lasso me while I was out in the woods?
I feel like you're my destiny, you're my everything and I think I have to thank her for that. Don't ever leave me, okay? 'Cause if you do, I think you might just take a bit of my soul with you.
Its a bit mad. Too bad, I mean, that getting to know each just for a fleeting second Must be replaced by unperfect knowledge of the featureless whole Like some pocket history of the world, so general As to constitute a sob or wail
Maybe the truth is, there's a little bit of loser in all of us. Being happy isn't having everything in your life be perfect. Maybe it's about stringing together all the little things.
'Now that your speech impediment has been rectified, perhaps you might say something. It would be best if it were humorous. I enjoy a good jest.' 'You are dreadfully rude,' I said to him. He sighed. 'That wasn't the slightest bit funny.'
If I didn't work as hard as I could, then I think it would be a bit like saying, 'God, thanks for giving me this ability, but I don't really care about it. I'm going to do something else, and I'm not going to work quite as hard.
Kleos is sometimes translated as "acoustic renown" the spreading renown you get from people talking about your exploits. It's a bit like having a large Twitter following.
tu figlio di puttana, disse lei, sto cercando di costruire una relazione che abbia senso. non puoi costruirla con un martello, disse lui
As a prayer popper, I stay in touch with God. I send lots of spiritual postcards. Little bits and bytes of adoration, supplication, and information attached prayer darts speed in God's direction all day long.
I once made love to a taco shell stuffed with rancid meat and watery tomato bits. It was the best sex I’ve ever served to an unsuspecting customer.
Ever since the day I came out of the womb, I’ve had impeccable timing. For example, I somehow managed to be born on the exact day of my birthday. And I wasn’t even trying, though my mother did push me along a bit.
I’m always 15 minutes early for everything. In fact, I was born 15 minutes early. That’s why my love is always a bit premature. But don’t worry; just give our relationship a minute—plus fourteen more.
Okay, you gotta be nice to him, " I say, coaxing the white fur-ball into my hands. "I will," Nate says, and I smile over my shoulder. "I was actually talking to Mr. Pippi. He's a bit of a butthole.
The Librarian was not familiar with love, which had always struck him as a bit ethereal and soppy, but kindness, on the other hand, was practical. You knew where you were with kindness, especially if you were holding a pie it had just given you.
For it is through the darkness of the evening that we are able to see the stars. Without this darkness, we would never get to experience the beauty of the cosmos, or understand the little bits of light in life that shine through the void.
I'm not broken,' he repeated. 'Although at the moment . . . ' This was what came of violating the sentimentality quota. Everything he kept bottled inside him came out. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'At the moment,' he muttered ...
There were certain things, learned so young and remembered so deep that they felt like little stones in the center of her mind. These would be the parts of her that rotted last, the bits left over once the rest skittered off on the wind or was drunk ...
You told me to tell the truth, and this is exactly why I didn’t want to. You want me to think I’m selfish.” “I want you to own your thoughts and actions, and not be afraid of them. Accepting your limitations is every bit as important as embra...
I touched the small sacred images. I shook my head and bit my lip, as if to say, How awful that he should have stolen these! But I also found it very funny. And further proof that God had no power over me.
All incoming bits of information have, simultaneously, a tentacular, optic, and sexual dimension. Its world is not doubtful, but surprising; vampyroteuthic thinking is an unbroken stream of Aristotelian shock.
He slammed the door shut in Ian's face, the lock clicking into place. Ian hit it again with his fist before roaring, “If I were a pervert, I'd be looking for something a damn bit more attractive than you, jackass. And definitely someone that smelle...
