For the last four years of her life, Mother was in a nursing home called Chateins in St. Louis ... [S]ix months before she died I sent a Mother's Day card. There was a horrible, mushy poem in it. I remember feeling "vaguely guilty.
No,” Joan vowed. She grabbed Bash’s shirt. “I don’t want this. Didn’t want this to happen.” Screams resonated. Bash continued quietly, “None of us do. That’s not up to us. We have to decide what we’re going to do with what we’re g...
Since I was a very young thing, others have told me that what I think, and the things I like, and the ideas I have, are bad. This has always been very puzzling to me. I understand in theory what the problem is, but in practice? I’m not compelled to...
They couldn't hurt Gansey. Nothing could hurt him; people who said money couldn't buy everything hadn't seen anyone as rich as the Aglionby boys. They were untouchable, immune to life's troubles. Only death couldn't be swiped away by a credit card.
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...
There are two things in life you cannot choose. The first is your enemies; the second your family. Sometimes the difference between them is hard to see, but in the end time will show you that the cards you have been dealt could always have been worse...
I wrote home to say how lovely everything was, and I used flourishing words and phrases, as if I were living life in a greeting card - the kind that has a satin ribbon on it, and quilted hearts and roses, and is expected to be so precious to the pers...
In this modern day, when only what we see is allowed to have certainity, and when scientific data seems to hold the trump card for truth, when only what can be measured exists, love defies all these strictures and dances joyfully before the eyes of h...
Magistrate: May I die a thousand deaths ere I obey one who wears a veil! Lysistrata: If that's all that troubles you, here take my veil, wrap it round your head, and hold your tounge. Then take this basket; put on a girdle, card wool, munch beans. Th...
A joker is a little fool who is different from everyone else. He's not a club, diamond, heart, or spade. He's not an eight or a nine, a king or a jack. He is an outsider. He is placed in the same pack as the other cards, but he doesn't belong there. ...
No wonder Thanksgiving was my favorite—you can't buy it, wrap it, or put it under a tree, and even the greeting card companies can't seem to make a buck off of it. It's just a meal, with people who you love and who love you back, no matter what.
I mean, five gods in one stomach—dang. That's enough for doubles tennis, including a ref. They'd been down there so long, they were probably hoping Kronos would swallow down a deck of cards or a Monopoly game.
Gertrude’s remedy for her mood swings was to print up hundreds of black-bordered calling cards embossed with the single word “Woe,” which she handed out gaily declaring, “Woe is me.
If love were a collection of collections, would your relationship be banged-up baseball cards, or famous art? My love for you is famous art. You just have to wait for my death so my work can be honored posthumously, bringing in money precisely when I...
Five sicks people in the hospital (56). I made each one a “Get well soon” card saying I was sorry for coughing in their general direction on the 4th of November, and I hope that wasn’t a contributing factor for their illnesses.
If only there was enough space on this tiny card to evoke my unfettered joie de vivre for what you have done. The gaiety, the mirth, the heavenly bubbling of every effusive cell that sings inside me for your kind and pithy offering.
Well, you played me, Rabbit. You played me, and it worked, and I’m not the kind of person to make the same mistake twice. Your whole life is a game, but you know what? I already have a life. Poker’s nothing to me but a goddamn deck of cards.
The library card is a passport to wonders and miracles, glimpses into other lives, religions, experiences, the hopes and dreams and strivings of ALL human beings, and it is this passport that opens our eyes and hearts to the world beyond our front do...
I read a lot of books. Here are the books I'm using for my 9/11 project. [Wright gestures to three six-foot-long shelves of books.] As I read them I highlight certain passages. Then I have an assistant write down each quote on an index card and note ...
I never give my real self. I have a hundred sides, and I turn first one way and then the other. I am playing a deep game. I have a number of strong cards up my sleeve. I have never been myself, excepting to two friends.
Well, that's just what I'm talking about. All Maslow would need to do is rub against your legs and start purring, and you'd immediately forget all this Hitler/Card nonsense. No one does PR like a cat. Why do you think I'm so desperate to hire him?
