In memoir, you have to be particularly careful not to alienate the reader by making the material seem too lived-in. It mustn't have too much of the smell of yourself, otherwise the reader will be unable to make it her own.
As a little kid, I used to lock myself in my room and put on my Whitney Houston CD's and pretend to be her and try and hit every single note that she hit. I used to dream that one day that would be me.
Silent. So it should be. You have no place in this world, Luthiel. And there is no other.' Zalos reached out and lifted a few strands of her hair. 'Bright songs and the magic of hope are but a dangerous illusion. The fake comfort of witches charms.
A song she heard Of cold that gathers Like winter's tongue Among the shadows It rose like blackness In the sky That on volcano's Vomit rise A Stone of ruin From burn to chill Like black moonrise Her voice fell still...
Jodi Melnick is hotly self-absorbed. Her onstage musicians are much too loud, and like so many narcissistic performers, she goes on much too long: She's interested in herself; why wouldn't we be?
'Betrayed' starts off with Shane Gallagher rescuing Elena Reyes and a group of hostages from a madman with a gun. And as the story progresses and Shane's feelings for Elena blossom, his urge to protect her grows.
The thing about fairy tales is that the princess find her prince, but there's usually a price to pay. A compromise is required for happily ever after. The woman in the fair tale is general the one who pays the price. This seems to be the nature of sa...
Nynaeve shook her head. She supposed it was one way to find money for the poor. Simply rob anyone who was not poor. Of course, that would just make everyone poor in the end, but it might work for a time
I reject the notion that America is in a well-deserved decline, that she and her citizens are unexceptional. I do not believe America is the problem in the world. I believe America is the solution to the world's problems.
Her angel didn’t look at all like she’d expected. He was no benevolent creature with long, flowing robes and a bland, peaceful smile. Instead he was the stuff of every teenage girl’s—and quite a few teenage boys’—fantasies.
One thing I have learned for sure. A woman is like a living Violin. She would only offer herself to this who can get the best tunes out of her.
I've got lots of favourite authors, but I would say Nicci French because I look more forward to reading her next new book than any other author.
I tell my boys not to play rough with their younger sister. I try to teach them what I know already: You're never going to win an argument with a girl, so just let her have what she wants!
Her touch is like doing simple math When she sleeps in the bed, subtracting clothes There is a red ink, like a sparkling red wine, adding colors Dividing body, remembering gods, without multiplying
Kindness went out to play all on a summer's day. With her about many smiles came out and joined in sweet array. Sara Loo, "Mother Goose Move Over or you're gonna love poetry
He moved to sniff some white-and-yellow flowers. A nightmare. This was a nightmare. “You can’t really like flowers.” Again those dark eyes shifted to her. Blinked once. I most certainly do, he seemed to say.
With no words strucking in my mind, with no goals... standing alone in a window watching a lone moon shining in my face. A drop falling from my eyes for no reasons, feels like missing someone, not her but for one I loved.
In my relationship, she is my woman and I am her man. This designation is not one of ownership, but of passion. It is a loving and passionate expression that reflects the truth that out of over seven billion people in the world, she is my ONE.
I only met Margaret Thatcher twice. The thing that I thought about meeting her was how extraordinarily intelligent she was. You really had to be on your game; otherwise, she'd make mincemeat of you.
I believed or thought I was disoriented and the victim of a bizarre dream and I believe I paced in and out of the room and possibly into one of the other rooms. I may have re-examined her, finally believing that this was true.
My mother was a talker, but there are still so many things I want to ask her. She died when I was forty. But she did teach me to be a talker with my own children.
