Contemporary writers annoyed him, he found their worlds insular, their style too self-conscious and ironic. Theirs was not a literature that belonged to him.
With him everything is a test, affection is measured, that given weighed against that which has been received, and the balance, more often than not, disappointing him.
A young and vital child knows no limit to his own will, and it is the only reality to him. It is not that he wants at the outset to fight other wills, but that they simply do not exist for him. Like the artist, he goes forth to the work of creation, ...
His smile wavers. I've been looking at him too long. 'Are you OK?' he says. I nod, take a deep breath. Then I lean over and kiss him.
She’d left him. Without a word. Without a thought. She’d left him and now he had feelings. For that alone, he’d never forgive her.
He looked at her as a man might look at a faded flower he had plucked, in which it was difficult for him to trace the beauty that had made him pick and so destroy it
He would eventually have to pass through the forest, but he felt no fear. Of course - the forest was inside him, he knew, and it made him who he was.
The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving on.
Yes, I'm back," he said, "And look who I ran into." Horace grinned at him. "i hope you ran into him hard." "As hard as I could.
Your name. That’s all I want.” I debate on whether or not I should explain to him that my name isn't going to help him in his stalking endeavours.
He said that if I ever hurt you, he'd find me and kill me. I told him that if I ever hurt you, I'd want him to." - Aiden MacRae
She could have lived every minute she'd had with him better. She should have always spoken the best words she could to him.
She became his Ariadne, leading him through the labyrinth of books, stopping now and then to pass another one to him.
I still love him so much I'll hide any amount of conjugated estrogen in his food. So much I'll do anything to destroy him.
You're murderers," she told the stunned crowd. "You killed him. He was a miracle, and you killed him. Now you've just got me. And I'm a curse.
Man was designed in a way in which he must eat in order to give him a solid reason to go to work everyday. This helps to keep him out of trouble. God is wise.
I had no desire to hear another woman tell my boyfriend how hot he was. If I wanted him to know, I'd damn well tell him myself.
To him it was a sort of hyperspace-librarian, girl-geek thing that he found clever and fetching without attracting him in a way that would have been creepy.
He was certain he was anorectic, because every time he looked in a mirror he saw a fat man. It was the Archchancellor, standing behind him and shouting at him.
Just looking at him made Andrew feel tense and irritated. It was wonder perfect strangers didn't go up to the guy and punch him in the face.
Ahmed turned, and leaned into him. Kissed him on the mouth again. “I’m pretty fucked up,” Eshe said. “It’s a good thing I’m perfect, then.
