I had refused Emerson's well-meant offers of assistance, knowing his efforts would be confined to moving the furniture to the wrong places and demanding how much longer the process would take.
The men had scattered in all directions, which men are inclined to do when women leave them to their own devices for any length of time. I believe they are easily bored.
Emerson has what I believe is called a selective memory. He can recall minute details of particular excavations but is likely to forget where he left his hat.
Then she lay on her back and gazed at the cloudless sky. Mr. Beebe, whose opinion of her rose daily, whispered to his niece that that was the proper way to behave if any little thing went wrong.
There can be such a sky, and such A play of rays, that our heart feels An insult to a doll is more Piteous than an insult to oneself. ("It Happened at Vallen-Koski")
And I bet it's harder than people think, isn't it? Everything looks so simple from a distance. Then, the more you look, the more you see. And that's when you have to rise to the challenge.
I think humans are only capable of small moments of honesty. Then they get tired and back away. It's something to foster, this ability to keep it for longer. How to keep being honest and aware.
Take me now, God!" I shout to the inky sky. "I´m ready." "You´re not ready. You´re not even divorced yet," Bunny says. "You cannot die married to that man.
Black met black on the distant horizon, the stars alone distinguishing sky from lake. On the sand below, Silver Beach glittered at the water's edge while on the north side of the river the lighthouse's beacon signaled safe harbor.
Look up, greet sparks of fire with salted eyes, For he’s a burning atmospheric sigh: One blaze of liquid flame on midnight sky, Soft orbital decay, and last goodbye.
I stared up at the sky and raised my middle finger, just in case God was watching. I don't like being spied on.
Leaving what is safe so you can be more, Derek said. The cage is what the bird knows; the sky is all the things he still wants to do even if it's a risk.
Writers perform an extremely important role: they make others dream, those who are unable to dream for themselves. And everyone needs to dream. Could there be any more important job in life than that?
…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
Ellen had said that her mother was afraid of the ocean, that it was too cold and too big. The sky was, too, thought Annemarie. The whole world was: too cold, too big. And too cruel.
The party was dry, she was wet, and the sky was in the middle (cloudy, but no rain). Love was in the air, and that’s why I brought an umbrella.
We're practical and sensible but we're also dreamers. Don't forget that part of you. There's nothing wrong with being sensible, but dreams are what make you fly. And you're destined to touch the sky.
The limitless, lowering sky, the long stretches of motionless empty prairie, the silence, complete right down to the absence of birdsong -- who knows what decides a man to leave most of his words unspoken?
The sky over Patusan was blood-red, immense, streaming like an open vein. An enormous sun nestled crimson amongst the treetops, and the forest below had a black and forbidding face.
No sky Leila had seen before could compare to the beauty she was seeing above her. It didn't feel like some accident of nature but rather something that was purposefully unleashed on the world.
When you're single, your weekend days are wide-open vistas that extend in every direction; in a relationship, they're like the sky over Manhattan: punctured, hemmed in, compressed.
