When the sky is blue, I think of her. When the sky is gray, I think of her. When the sky is black, I think of her. But when the sky is orange, I think of juice, and how I am thirsty—for her love.
. . .and every native has a story of winter – stories that usually begin, You call this a storm? And grow in the telling like battle tales shared by graying war veterans. It’s a peculiar character flaw to those of us from cold climates that we fe...
Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration t...
To influence a person is to give him one's own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of someone e...
Actual life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the imagination. It was the imagination that set remorse to dog the feet of sin. It was the imagination that made each crime bear its misshapen brood. In the common world of fact the ...
So much had been surrendered! And to such little purpose! There had been mad wilful rejections, monstrous forms of self-torture and self-denial, whose origin was fear and whose result was a degradation infinitely more terrible than that fancied degra...
It was more like a movie. Everyone was wearing black, gray, or white except for her. She was in a red dress, and like a herd of bulls, the crowd was angry and made charges against her. Thankfully I was there to come to her defense, like a matador. Yo...
Stop complainin.” Jess climbed up to the cab and leaned down to pull me up beside him. “I’m not complaining.” His fingers clung to my wrists as the soles on my gray, canvas shoes slipped up the worn steps. “It’s hot. I’m sweatin’. I d...
a happy birthday this evening, I sat by an open window and read till the light was gone and the book was no more than a part of the darkness. I could easily have switched on a lamp, but I wanted to ride the day down into night, to sit alone, and smoo...
Ilsa: I wasn't sure you were the same. Let's see, the last time we met... Rick: Was La Belle Aurore. Ilsa: How nice, you remembered. But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris. Rick: Not an easy day to forget. Ilsa: No. Rick: I re...
Dye your hair, certainly. But what can you do for your face?
The dark-haired clothes horse, who generally meant well, was a dufus, but he was family
...strands of your hair and tendrils of the wind spin into nothingness the memories of that day...
Black hair and blue eyes are my favorite combination.
I have very long, wild hair, a suntan and wear knee high boots and ignore all the rules about what you should or shouldn't wear at whatever age.
Inflation is when you pay fifteen dollars for the ten-dollar haircut you used to get for five dollars when you had hair.
I love Jill Scott! I love everything she puts on, how she does her hair; everything about Jill Scott is amazing!
Her albino hair illuminated my dreams, shining brighter than moonlight.
Can't say it often enough - change your hair, change your life.
They love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting.
When I saw your strand of hair I knew that grief is love turned into an eternal missing.
