Her life was one endless loop that she raced around, with steep banked curves so she could never change or slow down. It just delivered her back to herself, over and over and over.
My mother is my friend Who shares with me her bread All my hopelessness cured! Her company makes me secured!
Show me a girl with her feet planted firmly on the ground and I'll show you a girl who can't put her pants on. -Annik Marchand
She would've been a good woman," said The Misfit, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.
Truly, Mallow yearned to know everything. Curiosity was part of her, like her short blond hair and bitten fingernails.
She didn't want to forget how deeply she had loved him, how important it had been to her; she felt as if to discard the memory would be a betrayal of her younger self.
I could have been 23 next July I gambled on what mattered most, the dice were cast. I lost.
I loved everything about her, and I didn't care how dark she got. If anything it was what I loved the most, the veil of pain that fell across her face most of the day, and all of the night.
Aelin Galathynius smiled at her, hand still outreached. "Get up." the princess said. Celaena reached across the earth between them and brushed her fingers against Aelin's. And arose.
Rylan grabbed the seat of her chair and moved it to the side where Kade was sitting. She pulled one hand from his lap and squeezed it between hers. “You’ve got to have a little faith in me.
I’d practically groped her under the guise of helping her get out a stain, but still, she looked like she found me about as appealing as second-hand underpants.
Her voice was now so shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless..
Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears. "After all this time?" "Always," said Snape.
Always, every now and then, I had given her a hard time, just to keep her in line. Every once in a while a woman seems to need, in fact wants this too.
Her occupation was the worst that anyone could think of. No guest in the park had to think of it because, unlike the wandering dwarf women, her job had no bearing on paper.
For him, she was the evil one; the antagonist to his life story. The reason he was married at an early age. And to her, he would always be her infatuation gone horribly wrong.
Vera had also hated lipstick, Marzipan and Lutherans - excluding her husband, but not her late mother-in-law. Most of all she hated being governed by anyone or anything.
She brushed the tears from their faces and sang them a melancholy lullaby. Her obvious devotion to her daughters pulled at my heart strings, making my chest ache with longing for my own mother.
Maybe that was the root of my dislike for her: she had what I wanted, which earned her my jealousy, and since I was ashamed of myself for wanting it, my scorn, as well.
It was funny how none of her classes in library science has prepared her for this sort of thing, dead bodies, staff under suspicion, crazed reporters. Really, they needed to consider expanding the curriculum.
Duchamp had taken art to its logical conclusion. Every act of perception is art. So everything that perceives is an artist.
