My sister having so much to do, was going to church vicariously, that is to say, Joe and I were going.
Ich schwieg und dachte daran, was für ein Aschenputteldasein sieh geführt hatte, bis Mr. Wopsles Großtante endlich die schlechte Gewohnheit aufgab zu leben, die manche Menschen besser ablegen sollten.
Mrs. Joe was a very clean housekeeper, but had an exquisite art of making her cleanliness more uncomfortable and unacceptable than dirt itself.
There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.
In a word, I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong.
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.
The night was as dark by this time as it would be until morning; and what light we had, seemed to come from the river than the sky, as the oars in their dipping struck at a few reflected stars.
It is a great gift when God gives me a stirring, a feeling, a something-at-all in prayer. But work is being done whether I feel it or not.
There were many things they simply didn't talk about: between them, silence was not so much a form of evasion as a way for solitary people to exist in a family.
A false-statement requires deceit and distortion for someone to buy it, but a truthful-statement sells itself.
She struggled with her sadness, but tried to conceal it, to divide it into smaller and smaller parts and scatter these in places she thought no one would find them.
Appreciation is a great virtue, and if husbands and wives expressed it more frequently in our homes, wives would be happier, and husbands would probably be more kind" (Gospel Ideals, p. 475).
There is more beauty than our eyes can bear, precious things have been put into our hands and to do nothing to honor them is to do great harm.
Alien Affairs. Bad name I always thought, makes it sound like they're shagging them rather than investigating them.
All order, I've come to understand, is theoretical, unreal — a harmless, sensible, smiling mask men slide between the two great, dark realities, the self and the world — two snake pits.
The military do so love shiny new technology, there's always so many ways to abuse it.
His mother stood before him like a monument. He saw her great outline through the blur of his weakness and his passion. She made no movement at all.
Pity is the most agreeable feeling among those who have little pride and no prospects of great conquests.
At the end of time I want my art to stand up and my soul to bow down.
Not only am I thinking about getting a nose job, but I’m also trying to get employment for the rest of my face.
You think the dead we loved truly ever leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly in times of great trouble?
