I say nothing, not one word, from beginning to end, and neither does he. If it were lawful for a woman to hate her husband, I would hate him as a rapist.
In the wide pile, by others heeded not, Hers was one sacred solitary spot, Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain For moral hunger food, and cures for moral pain.
Her works are said to be too far from reality to be considered real literature. “Why doesn’t she write about life?” the people of Rabbit Back ask.
You know as well as I do, damn you. Like it or not I seem to have grown a heart. I have absolutely no use for the damned thing, but there it sits, demanding Elinor. I can't live without her.
Yeni bilim'in gelişmesiyle, geleneksel din biçimleri, giderek etkisini yitirmiş Avrupa'da, dinsel değerlerin yitirilmesi tehlikesi başgöstermiştir. Dostoyevski bu korkuyu şu ünlü tümcesinde dile getirmiştir: "Tanrı yoksa, her şey mümk�...
A soft smile curved up her lips, and my gut dropped a little. A smile…I’d never known a smile could have that kind of effect. Could feel like a kick to the chest.
Just keep her away from bookstores, if you can." Bookstores. Thanks, Grayson. That helps. Apparently whoever said, "no harm ever came from reading a book," hadn't met this girl.
She stopped and leant her elbows against the parapet of the embankment. He did likewise. There is at times a magic in identity of position; it is one of the things that have suggested to us eternal comradeship.
Sometimes I wore smiles but didn’t feel them. Sometimes I felt them and didn’t wear them. I didn’t want her to know how much I craved this. I bit my bottom lip.
Her eyes narrowed, but she wasn't yelling. I think she liked me... kind of. The way a mother would like an annoying spastic two year old who belonged to someone else.
No matter what she'd done in our past, I would always want her. I could turn away and show restraint a thousand times, and it would never lessen the hunger I had for that woman.
The dragons live in the casino? Tee's eyes widened and alarm coursed through her. My God, it's like the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
He released her arm and crossed his own over his chest. "I'm trying not to jump to conclusions. Spit it out." "I'm more of a swallowing kind of a girl." Holy hell.
She was trying to make him understand that she would never march to the beat of anyone else's drum again and he was arrogantly assuring her that she would if he were the drummer!
I have always loved Elle. I love her now even more deeply than before, as the woman I wish to share my life with." ~Sean O'Neill
A child with minimal video and TV exposure... might be more naive about social ills but at the same time more sophisticated in inner direction, self-discipline, and the realities of her actual physical world.
Perfect,” he groaned. “You are perfect.” He sank his teeth into her ass, hard, drawing blood. “And now you wear my mark,” he finished proudly. “Your ass is mine.
It probably wasn’t entirely her fault that she was such a bitter person. Having a name like Grace can be a serious stigma, especially when nature has endowed you with about as much charm as that of a disillusioned walrus.
Even after she was gone, he passed her place each day: something white in a high window - not a face, but the white belly of a pigeon beating its wings against the pane in the boarded-up house.
There was a rare quality about Nurse Grace’s smile. It was the knowledge that sooner or later her smile would inspire some witty observer to say something around the lines of, “Every time you do this, an angel farts”.
How can I grieve what is still in motion?" I ask her. "Shoes are still dropping all over the place. I´m not kidding," I say. "It´s Normandy out there.
