Hanks grin almost sent me into meltdown. The kind where I killed him, but first I would stick my tongue down his throat and ride him till he was blind.
He should always wear jeans because they make him look hotter than a nebula. Black suits him too. It hugs to his muscular vales and swells, turning temptation into sexy man therapy.
I don't care if you danced naked on the roof of the Little Palace with him. I love you, Alina, even the part of you that loved him.
Even Mongo liked him, although Mongo likes everybody. (Also Mongo was so thrilled with himsel for staying in the dog bed till I'd released him that was going to blow his mood.)
Flowers and jewelry worked for most girls as a romantic gesture, but here I was, misty-eyed at watching him show my mother how to stab the shit out of him.
I realized how hard it that must have been, how much hurt when you know the only way to help someone is to give him distance. So I let him go.
Nature exists for man to exploit for his own ends, while the end of man himself is nothing else but to serve God, to be grateful to Him, and to worship Him alone.
Sneak out." He shrugged, as if that should have been a no-brainer. But that was easy for him to say. He was dead. What else could they do to him, take away his birthday?
A single radio post still heard him. The only link between him and the world was a wave of music, a minor modulation. Not a lament, no cry, yet purest of sounds that ever spoke despair.
No destiny attacks us from outside. But, within him, man bears his fate and there comes a moment when he knows himself vulnerable; and then, as in a vertigo, blunder upon blunder lures him.
I tell him there'll be an army waiting for him, and your friend is only concerned with the color of their uniforms. What's this really about?" Max shrugged. "A girl." I glared at Max. "Dude. Shut up.
She never answered. She couldn’t. All she could do was stare, reaching toward him with her gaze alone, pulling him to drown in the sorrow of those depthless black pools.
He had something in him, how he walked, how he carried himself with that carelessness, he wasn’t my type entirely, if I ever had a type of guy before him.
I never gave him a chance to decide if I was worth loving. I'd taken that choice away from him - because I feared what it would be.
He was gone and did not have time to tell him what I had just now realized: that I forgave him, and that she forgave us, and that we had to forgive to survive in the labyrinth.
If, in his pride, he considers God as a challenge, he will deny Him; and if God becomes man and therefore makes Himself vulnerable, he will crucify Him.
As he watches the sun rise, what grieves him is that he failed her. He thinks of the terror she felt. They tell him it was quick, as if that will somehow confine the horror.
The limitless, lowering sky, the long stretches of motionless empty prairie, the silence, complete right down to the absence of birdsong -- who knows what decides a man to leave most of his words unspoken?
What are you thinking, Bliss?” I should have said, you. Naked. That would have shocked him. Not that I was actually thinking of him naked… well, now that I mentioned it I was… damn.
We cannot begin to define God's knowledge. We know, simply and profoundly, that nothing is hidden from Him or incomprehensible to Him.
i have to love myself more than i love him, in order to leave him.
