If woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of the utmost importance (...); as great as a man, some think even greater. But this is woman in fiction. In fact, as points out [in his ], she was locked up...
Did you see her again in France?" I asked him.” “No. When I got to France, she was already dead. She committed suicide ...” “Why?” “She often told me she was frightened of getting old...
michelle would get picked up and bang someone anonymous stud in the bathroom, and i would sip my drink wishing i could go home and curl up with a book. i sigh. thats ok. she was my vicarious slutty friend. and for that i loved her
My name,” I whispered in her ear, and she shivered with pleasure. “Say my name again. Not in anger, or disgust, but as you did just now. As if I am the only man in the world who can satisfy you. ~Liam C.
In my mind, I was reliving my whole life again-slowly, taking my time. Delaying. Because I knew, sooner or later, I'd get to her. And then...Well, I'd already died once. I couldn't live through it again.
I met Anne in the autumn... Autumn, that wild season when rural men rack orchard trees with sticks and weep with the desire to kiss faraway Demeter’s supple breasts—to set lips to her travel-swollen eyes. They seek goddesses, but I desired only A...
To Trin Tragula's horror, the shock completely annihilated her brain; but to his satisfaction he realized that he had proved conclusively that if life is going to exist in a Universe of this size, then the one thing it cannot afford to have is a sens...
He reached out, put his hands on her shoulders and pressed downwards. She fell into a seated position against a fallen tree. "Sit," he said. "Stay." "That's cute," she said. "Tell me to 'heel' and see what happens.
Then she smiled and told me I was cute, and that I should be careful, and I asked her why, then she said that she might fall for me, but I know she was joking, because who would want to fall for me? I'm a mess.
And while a bald head and a looped ribbon were seen as badges of courage and hope, her reluctant vocabulary and vanishing memories advertised mental instability and impending insanity. Those with cancer could expect to be supported by their community...
Grandmother walked up over the bare granite and thought about birds in general. It seemed to her no other creature had the same dramatic capacity to underline and perfect events -- the shifts in the seasons and the weather, the changes that run throu...
Whenever she opened a scientific book and saw whole paragraphs of incomprehensible words and symbols, she felt a sense of wonder at the great territories of learning that lay beyond her - the sum of so many noble and purposive attempts to make object...
The smell of her hair lingered just out of reach of his memory and left him with a nervous hum resonating throughout his body like a child forced to sit in church while the sun was shining outside on a perfectly good summer's day.
I want the evening upon which we lose our collective virginities to be special. I'm no parthenologist but I suspect that Jordana's virginity is still intact. Her biological knowledge is minimal. She thinks that a perineum is to do with glacial morain...
Because it gives him and excuse to be around her--without making it look like he gave in first. That way, he can still seem manly." "That's ridiculous." Especially the part about Christian being manly. "Guys do ridiculous things for love.
Mandy loved the smell of a sunny day after a night of rain. The sun hit the orange puddles, the overgrown, soft, green grass on her lawn, and it beamed down through the orange steel mill smog, sending otherworldly, bizarre shadows across the concrete...
Yes: but aren't love and marriage notoriously synonymous in the minds of most women? Certainly very few men get the first without promising the second: love, that is--if it's just a matter of spreading her legs, almost any woman will do that for noth...
Ruby has eyes that sparkle like emeralds. Or sapphires. Not too sure what color her eyes are, because I try to avoid eye contact with murder suspects—especially if they are sexy.
McAllister looked up into her face, his eyes blazing with anger. At last, his composure cracked. ‘That’s right,’ he shouted back. ‘My word against – whose? Yours? You were dead, remember? No, of course you don’t remember. You were dead!
You're sleeping here?" He'd originally planned to just cuff her to him but now she'd proved the cuffs were useless and she didn't seem to be going anywhere. "Well, I'm not sleeping on the floor. Unless you're worried about me killing you in your slee...
For a moment she lay still in the big bed, blinking sleepily, loath to move. And then she realized that the angel’s song hadn’t stopped on her waking. Silence sat up. The tantalizingly beautiful voice was coming from the half-open door to Mickey ...
