Lucien?” “Yes, Alice?” Her heart was pounding, but she willed herself to muster the courage to reach out to him— unpredictable, dangerous as he was. “I think it’s real.
In beauty of face no maiden ever equaled her. It was the radiance of an opium-dream - an airy and spirit-lifting vision more wildly divine than the fantasies which hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of Delos.
Sadie heard her inside cleaning up the kitchen and wondered what dreams Betty's mother had for herself, if all mothers had them, bottled up beneath their mother exteriors.
Come live with us, Diana. Don't argue. Just say yes." Diana looked at the ground to hide her emotions. Then she said, "Would I have to be hearing you two going at it night and day?
They came to her, naturally, since she was a woman, all day long with this and that; one wanting this, another that; the children were growing up; she often felt she was nothing but a sponge sopped full of human emotions.
I’m worried about Isabelle.” “I’m pretty sure Isabelle can take care of herself.” “You don’t know her, Simon. I mean, not anymore.
Author says her father was so diplomatic that when people came to him for solutions, people not only accepted them, but they believed they thought of them.
To love another another human in all of her splendor and imperfect perfection , it is a magnificent task...tremendous and foolish and human.
What could he be thinking of? He seemed to be trying to remember something, perhaps an engagement, perhaps an excuse to leave her. For eventually, they all made some excuse.
No matter how much restitution she paid with every word and deed, her blood-stained hands could never really be clean, even if no one else knew they were dirty.
But Jocelyn Morgenstern was not the kind of woman who wept, not the kind of woman who broke, or Valentine would have broken her long since.
Nancy Herman, my new gym partner and locker neighbor, puts her hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Don't worry April. I have foot fungus too.
No sky Leila had seen before could compare to the beauty she was seeing above her. It didn't feel like some accident of nature but rather something that was purposefully unleashed on the world.
He barred his forearm across Marco's brawny chest and shoved him against the stone door. "She may not be mine, but I am still hers.
The American's literature is all about being hot and sexy, inspiring a girl and going to bed with her. It focuses on being a hero, saving lives and surviving last, but it has nothing to do with dignity, serenity.
He thought her more beautiful than ever, with a beauty that was at once feminine and angelic, that wholeness of beauty that had moved Petrarch to song and brought Dante to his knees.
She had spears of straw and grass in her hair, not like Ophelia gone mad through contact with Hamlet's madness, but because she had slept in some stable loft.
You’re hurt.” “No. No, I’m fine. It’s not blood. The militiamen were adjusting Sir Lewis’s trebuchet, and there was a mishap. You took a melon for me.” She smiled, even though her lips trembled.
I am an equation that only she solves, These X's and Y's by other names called, My way of division is desperatley flawed, while I multiply days without her.
She had been proud of his decision to serve his country, her heart bursting with love and admiration the first time she saw him outfitted in his dress blues.
...all she wanted was a button she could push to pause her age, just for a little while, a few years, while she got used to the idea.
