Rarely did events play out as imagined, in any case. The order of future events was transient. In the same way that the past was reconfigured by selective memory, future events, too, were moving targets. One could only act on instinct, grab hold of a...
As I circled the room like a lion about to pounce, another animal, bordering on domestic fucking cat stepped behind Tyler and grabbed her by the waist for a dance. I thought she was going to tell him no thanks, like the others, but instead she looked...
I know, I know: it can be frustrating as hell. But people have an unfortunate habit of assuming they understand the reality just because they understood the analogy. You dumb down brain surgery enough for a preschooler to think he understands it, the...
Worry is a weighty monster with poisoned tentacles. It clutches at us, grabs at our minds, steals our breath, our will. It lurks. It pounces. It colors how we perceive the world.
Desire as a motivator for achievement and even for survival isn't a bad thing. It's when desire drives us to grab more than our share or harm others that issues arise.
'It's okay. I understand that you're tempted and know you shouldn't grab the apple, and when you did you wanted to drop it. But I'm not good at resisting temptation. I'd rather eat the fucking thing, and enjoy it, even if I end up in hell.'
Your help comes from the Lord God who made heaven, earth and you! Grab your mission; that's your father's assignment for you! No one can stop you from attaining success with the assignment your father gave you to do!
The fantastic breaks the crust of appearance … something grabs us by the shoulders to throw us outside ourselves. I have always known that the big surprises await us where we have learned to be surprised by nothing, that is, where we are not shocke...
When reading a book, one hopes it doesn’t turn into a painful process. Predictable is bad enough. Laborious is acceptable if the labor produces fruit. But with painfully bad writing, all one can do is grab a hatchet, slice off its head, and bury it...
A brick could be used to ascertain the truth. And then logically, a non-brick could be used to detect the lie. What kind of things are non-bricks? Well, anything from blankets to lies. So therefore, a lie could be used to detect a lie, and all this l...
You are so going down for that." He grabbed the keys and headed back to the road. "When you least expect it," he added over his shoulder. "I'm shaking in my shoes," she called out. "You're not wearing any." "Exactly." Damn, he liked this girl.
Slipstream – sorry, - takes a cut-throat razor to the hackneyed clichés of both strange and mundane genres. It cannibalises them, retrofits them, treats them the way Godzilla treats Tokyo, the Burroughs treats Interzone. Smash and grab. Cut up and...
Oh- and grab the plastic bag over by my suitcase." I slug down the last of the coffee and get up. The bag contains panty hose. I put them on her desk. "They're for you." "You want me to look homeless, desperate, but also kind of fabulous?
Do you think people can change?" I ask Rick "Yes." he answers plainly. "There are those who can." That grabs my attention. "So you believe it's possible?" "Miss Stella."He gives me his teacher-to-pupil stare. "Its boils down to choice.
You're the one saying how vital offing these kids and grabbing their brat is to the war effort, right? Well, I'm telling you I need way more cash to do it right, so-- Lying. How have you not murdered that creature by now? Oh, I've tried.
Faith seems to grab people and not let go, but hope is a double-crosser. It can beat it on you anytime; it's your job to dig in your heels and hang on. Must be nice to have hope in your pocket, like loose change you could jingle through your fingers.
I can see her, chin to chest, straining to push Junior out, and Junior snagging on her insides, grabbing hold of what he caught on to try to stay inside her, but instead he pulled it out with him when he was born.
Time snapped and Hagerty found himself speeding toward the woman in the straitjacket. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her off the corpse and held her at arm's length. He caught a glimpse of Kalish's face and the shredded mess where his throa...
Fenchurch had red mullet and said it was delicious. Arthur had a swordfish steak and said it made him angry. He grabbed a passing waitress by the arm and berated her. “Why’s this fish so bloody good?” he demanded, angrily.
And then it changed. I wasn't letting him anymore. He was taking, pawing, grabbing. I pushed, I cried out, I squirmed, but like I said it's a shitty game and he didn't feel like playing by the rules anymore.
I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don't know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.
