She had her sonar continually set for excuses to entertain, to bring together influential and powerful people in a mix that hummed, sizzled, throbbed, and sometimes burst into flames. But I was delighted to be her excuse tonight.
I’m no werewolf, and I’m tired of hearing the word. I’m a Changeling, okay? And either you trust me or we call it quits right here.” It was Travis’s turn to fold his arms, as if he was daring her to convince him.
Maybe she’d remember him as a pain in the ass. Or maybe, he hoped most of all, that she’d remember what she told him: “You can be a real jerk sometimes, but you’re decent.” As epitaphs went, it wasn’t bad.
...I will shed no more tears, like a spoilt child. For whatever happens we have had what we have had. No one can take that from us. And I have been alive, who was never alive before.
Nathanial can show me how to better control the change, but even so, you never have to worry about me turning into a cat again. Didn't you know, I'm allergic to cats.
Daddy, how come in Kansas City the bagels taste like just round bread?
Spirituality can go hand-in-hand with ruthless single-mindedness when the individual is convinced his cause is just
Let's see," mused the dragon, "that doesn't tell us much, does it? What sort of a word is this? Is it an epithet, do you think?" Gawaine could do no more than nod. "Why, of course," exclaimed the dragon, "reactionary Republican.
That's all right," she told him. "I can manage. I can sleep outside just fine." Four pairs of eyes looked at her with a distinctly male skepticism.
The first prerequisite for fine literature is that the writer must see the language not as a transparent medium for self-expression or the representation of reality, but as a medium one must struggle with to make it do one's bidding.
Thing is, I am not a big fan of hovers. I firmly believe that if man was meant to fly we’d have feathers, rubber bones, or better insurance coverage.
Nobody looks good in their darkest hour. But it's those hours that make us what we are. We stand strong, or we cower. We emerge victorious, tempered by our trails, or fracture by a permanent, damning fault line.
Eduardo Galeano notes that America was conquered, but not discovered, that the men who arrived with a religion to impose and dreams of gold never really knew where they were, and that this discovery is still taking place in our time.
Maybe the word forgive points in the wrong direction, since it's something you mostly give yourself, not anyone else: you put down the ugly weight of old suffering, untie yourself from the awful, and walk away from it.
But, here was a curious thing. The more I tried to give up thinking of her, the more I said to myself, 'She's nothing to you', the harder I tried to pluck the idea of her out of my heart, the more she stayed there.
Stories are compasses and architecture, we navigate by them, we build our sanctuaries and our prisons out of them, and to be without a story is to be lost in the vastness of a world that spreads in all directions like arctic tundra or sea ice.
I don't forgive him," I said. "Hell, no, you don't. And why should you? So he can feel better? Get on with his life? And what's he done to help you get on with yours?
I expected you to look... content, happy even, after your alone time with Sammi, not all mopey and depressed. You didn't screw up, did you? Don't all Kings make love perfectly?
Sammi watched him walk toward her. He walked like a predator, a conqueror. A king who ruled and commanded all. He was sex and sin, decadence and sensuality. He was, simply put, spectacular.
They open their wings, flash patterns and color, fly from flower toflower. I, with the dark brittles and many feet of the former form, inchalong the ground. Sometimes all I want is two armfuls of air, a fistful of sky.
I always wanted to eat with a Negro,” Grandma said. Yeah, well I always wanted to eat with a boney- assed old white woman,” Lula said. “So I guess this works out good.
