I threw back my head, my hair falling about me like a great red curtain, and cried out. My eyes felt hot and burned with tears as my body trembled with the passion for blood.
I love the smell of my mother’s hair after she washes it. I love the feel of the scratchy stubble on my father’s face before he shaves. But I’ve never been able to tell them.
Do you know the Ai'oan word for heart? he asks. I shake my head. "It's py'a." We're so close, his whisper is right in my ear, and his breath warms the side of my neck. "You are my heart, Pia.
I understood that as much as I had resisted the outside, as much as I had constricted my life, as much as I had closed and narrowed the channels into me, there were still many takers for the quiet heart.
He was in my hair, my eyes, my fingers, my heart. I day-dreamed about what he was doing, thinking, seeing, smelling, feeling. I could not eat for thoughts of him.
What occurs to me at this second is this: There is a huge world out there. I only know my dumb family and my dumb house and my dumb school and my dumb job. But there is a huge world out there…and most of it is underwater.
The moment of crisis had come, and I must face it. My old fears, my diffidence, my shyness, my hopeless sense of inferiority, must be conquered now and thrust aside. If I failed now I should fail forever.
I keep my heart in my hope chest. Other items in there are clothes, towels, silverware, and all the love I have to offer my future wife. I must specify that my love is hand wash only.
The tears are falling freely now, and I don't care if he sees them. They're tears of relief for my nephew, worry for my grandfather and my brother, and shame for my mistake. I figure I earned them.
I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind.
I pawned the remote to my misery, trading it in for liquor that was cheap; screwdrivers for my vitamin c, and a little bloodstream to my IV, helping to soothe my lunacy
When I said, “I am my mother, but I’m not,” I was saying my path would be my own.
Syllogism ― Major premise: I can control my thoughts. Minor premise: My feelings come from my thoughts. Conclusion: I can control my feelings.
I can tell you that, you know, when I went to my first movie premiere, it was my own movie, and I wore the best jeans I had and my favorite top. You know, I made sure my hair had some wave in it because I braided it the night before myself.
I think what makes our marriage work amid all the glare is that my husband is my best friend. He inspires everything in my life and enables me to do the best that I can. I want to hang out with him more than anyone.
For many years I enjoyed the pleasure of cruising on my yacht all summer long and these were my best holidays. In mid-May, we'd start in St Tropez. I'd collect my bikinis from my home there and then we'd go up to Cannes for the Film Festival, on to M...
I find in my poetry and prose the rhythms and imagery of the best - I mean, when I'm at my best - of the good Southern black preachers. The lyricism of the spirituals and the directness of gospel songs and the mystery of blues are in my music or in m...
I thought I had to make an impact on history. I had to become the greatest choreographer of my time. That was my mission. Posterity deals with us however it sees fit. But I gave it 20 years of my best shot.
If only, if only, the moon speaks no reply; Reflecting the sun and all that's gone by. Be strong my weary wolf, turn around boldly. Fly high, my baby bird, My angel, my only
I never went shopping. That wasn't my thing. I grew up horseback riding. That was my passion. I didn't start shopping until about 16 or 17, when I could drive myself to stores and explore on my own.
I used to try to pick locks because I grew up on my grandparents' farm and I started my own little spy club. I would go around the farm and try to break into the shed and try spying on my grandpa. It was ridiculous.
