I called Vee. "How are you doing?" I asked. "Good. How are you?" "Good." Silence. "Okay," Vee said in a rush, "I am still totally freaked out. You?" "Totally.
Dad was a philosopher and had what he called his Theory of Purpose, which held that everything in life had a purpose, and unless it achieved that purpose, it was just taking up space on the planet and wasting everybody's time.
For me the thing that signals a great story is what we might call its autonomy, the fact that it detaches itself from its author like a soap bubble blown from a clay pipe.
There is a force that drives everything in this universe; you may call it anything you like, names that fit in tongue; when you're close to it, you have the power to do anything.
They had engaged in what could not be called treatment or even discussion, but open combat, the two of them a microcosm of the great war raging in the far distance: one side that desired autonomy, and the other that took independence as a sign of mad...
It was clearly a lot more difficult in the field than in the office, where you could keep your distance and maintain a calculated composure. Being faced with real people was a far tougher call on one’s judgement.
These guys may not talk too much about relationships, but they sure do blush at telling moments, don’t they? Maybe that’s the key to understanding the opposite sex; I could invent a science, call it blushology.
Aristocracy's only an admission that certain traits which we call fine - courage and honor and beauty and all that sort of thing - can best be developed in a favorable environment, where you don't have the warpings of ignorance and necessity.
Ah college years, those were the days. Pure freedom ... leaving home for the first time…the parties…” "What about the tutorials, the lectures, the large building with all the books called the ‘library’?” “Is that what those were?” Ger...
I love you," he murmurs. "Can you feel that? You. Not some destiny I think I'm called to. You. I'm with you. My strength. My soul. My heart. Feel it.
Some women bristle, in certain contexts, at being called female: it seems to focus exclusively on the reproductive system, and makes you feel like a chicken, all thighs and breasts.
I told myself that some families we get without asking, while others we choose. And I chose those two. I think that’s what you’d call a silver lining.
The "Fatal Female Flaw." It's when ordinarily sensible women fall madly in love with an unattainable man who can't or won't love them back. I also call it the Triple Fucked Factor. Rosslyn
And when she [her daughter] one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
The past is called the past for a reason. If you are constantly looking behind you, your eyes aren't on the road ahead. You don't drive the car that way, so why should you live your life that way?
..then he pushed the call button again and asked, "Are you sleeping with anyone?" "Why is that any business of yours?" "Because I want to fuck you, Eva. I need to know what's standing in my way, if anything.
Your kids never really leave do they? They might live elsewhere, sometimes not even on the same continent, but Mum is always first port of call when there's trouble. Parenting is a lifetime commitment.
But the name Magnus Bane made him think of a towering sort of figure, with huge shoulders and formal purple warlock’s robes, calling down fire and lightning. Not Magnus himself, who was more of a cross between a panther and a demented elf.
We have started something called the Corporate Services Corps. Now, it was modeled after the Peace Corps from long ago, the 1960s. And the idea was in this modern day and age, how do you get IBM'ers around the world to be global citizens? You know, g...
I like to work as much as I can, but I only really have the hiatus to work on other projects. I've kept myself busy recently. I voiced a character in 'Ice Age 4,' which was a lot of fun. I also did another small movie called 'The Scribbler.'
I was born in Darien, Connecticut, but in 1959, when I was four, my parents moved to the suburbs of Toronto. Then, in the late 1960s, they bought a cottage in a resort/trailer park in the Kawarthas region of Ontario, and we moved up there. I wrote a ...
