Her model of self-control with food is why I have never had an issue in this area. Praise God for my mom's good example in how to eat.
I believe God spoke to you at cliffs. Her hand came to rest on the top of my head. But perhaps you weren't truly listening
He had more of Carina during these summer months than he’d ever had with her when they were fuck buddies and attempting to date. She was nothing yet she was everything to him. Jaxon wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.
These are her accomplishments. Challenges she's lived through. Shithead was just along for the ride. In the background. Like wallpaper. You can change the color of the walls anytime, and it might look different, but the room's still the same.
Intermittently she caught the gist of his sentences and supplied the rest from her subconscious, as one picks up the striking of a clock in the middle with only the rhythm of the first uncounted strokes lingering in the mind.
Flo hated how public an event affection inevitably became. Marrying in a church while scrutinized by dozens of people struck her as a barbaric custom.
But Jeanie had just gone through the motions. No one would have realized, except perhaps her too-perceptive son-in-law, but that was one of the few perks of maturity: you knew how to dissemble.
If a woman enjoyed sex, or expressed her sexuality outwardly she was automatically a slut with no respect for herself. Sex was a favor you allowed your husband so angels wouldn't curse you until morning.
There was a young girl named Ratchet. She had skill and no one could match it. She wanted to be More stylish and carefree, But she couldn't give up her Ratchet.
The pain of an injury is over in seconds. Everything that comes after is the pain of getting well." He gave her a heartfelt look, full of apology. "I'd forgotten that you see. Coming back to life ... It hurts.
Don't go," she whispered, her eyes closed. It was all happening too fast. She couldn't give Daniel up. Not yet. She didn't think she ever could.
Rosemary was unaccustomed to worrying about what people thought of her memories. She certainly did not judge others on theirs. In a society that circulated memories as currency, such judgment was considered the height of prudishness.
When she told me to sit down, I didn’t know where I stood with her. Ah, love—it’s like a chair. It’s always sitting, yet standing on its legs.
She doesn’t want me to leave, and she doesn’t want me to stay. That’s a double helping of Doesn’t Want Me, and one big I’m Not Hungry back at her.
To let her imagine how great a lover I’d be, I ate soup with chopsticks. She went home with another man, but I’ll bet she fantasized about me.
I gave her all the love I had to give—which wasn’t 100%, but rather 10%. The other 90% either evaporated or got stolen in the name of war reparations.
The woman I love rolled through town yesterday, and she didn’t even stop her wheelchair once as she passed through. I got so angry I had to walk it off.
My girlfriend bought me a collared shirt for my birthday, mainly so I don’t get too far ahead of her when she takes me for a walk.
Her name was Penny, and she was good looking. She wasn’t a dime, but she wasn’t a nickel either. If there were a coin worth 7.5 cents, she’d be that. And I’d be the vending machine that accepts those coins.
She smiled as though someone had just offered her, the oldest virgin in town, a fully functioning Kingsize Vibro vibrator and a deluxe inhibition bypass.
I asked her out on a date, and she said, “Sorry, I can’t see you.” “That’s no problem,” I replied, “I won’t wear my invisible cloak.
