The worst thing in the world is having to go back to the dark you shook off.
Jeb'd said it was harder for a pretty girl to find work; even white men liked flowers, whether red or pink or blue.
The night was white-blind with fog, and Kate staggered over every stone and stumbled in every puddle, but she pushed on as fast as she could.
She knew then that white was more than a color: It was a cold, pale shade of understanding that seems to take all of your hope away.
came to [a small Midwest town] to speak . . . , and after he had gone the question of the divinity of Christ for months occupied the minds of the citizens.
The machines men are so intent on making have carried them very far from the old sweet things.
Green is the soul of Spring. Summer may be dappled with yellow, Autumn with orange and Winter with white but Spring is drenched with the colour green.
I’m not waiting until my hair turns white to become patient and wise. Nope, I’m dyeing my hair tonight.
She walked with a ghost of herself, one full of potential and possibility. One who was fearless. Where had that girl gone?
The Toyota plowed headlong into the boy. But there was no impact. No screams, no blood, no bending metal. The boy simply dematerialized in a swirl of white light.
Telling Sam and Daneca feels like peeling off my own skin to expose everything underneath. It hurts.
The sky was a feather blanket of clouds, save for one blue hole in the fabric. A blue cloud in a white sky.
My mind is a lock pick always looking for another door to open. I often find those doors by exploring minds of others...
When people inexplicably dissapeared into thin air, it was usually because they had a new zip code. Something like 666
"Don't be scared of Bambi" the demon said. "She's only curious and maybe a little bit hungry." The thing was named ?
You need something," he said, and when I stared at him, he added, "Your face." "My face?" "It's in need of my kisses.
I know my breasts, small as plums, would win no blue ribbons. But in your hands they tremble and fill with song like plump, white birds.
. . . finally, I couldn't imagine how I could live without books, and I stopped dreaming about marrying that Chinese prince. . . .
I've got death inside me. It's just a question of whether or not I can outlive it.
Man’s guilt in history and in the tides of his own blood has been complicated by technology, the daily seeping falsehearted death.
See? This is why I'm not religious. I couldn't possibly keep my mouth shut long enough to get along with everyone else.
