Oh that voice, so sweet. Rich, like the taste of vanilla ice cream, vowels like flute music, warm caramel consonants. She could float in that voice forever and not miss a thing.
Dying is an art. Like everything else, I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I have a call.
She smiled and said with an ecstatic air: "It shines like a little diamond", "What does?" "This moment. It is round, it hangs in empty space like a little diamond; I am eternal.
He’d lapped at her ankles like a lovesick pup, and she’d been exactly what she was now, a woman born too beautiful and too rich to worry about a small thing like integrity.
James - "Are you paying attention or just trying to make me look like an idoit?" Elizabeth - "Oh, I'm definately paying attention. If you look like an idiot it has nothing to do with me.
Spending some time alone is a therapy that most of us don’t know how to practice. You need a little time alone every now and then to know what you are made of, to know and to do what you really like and to actually like yourself.
I believe in times of adversity there’s a line that is sometimes drawn, a line that separates your old life from your new. You cross the line, you’ll never be the same.
Was it just her, or did lovers look more adoringly at each other in this city? Especially in the springtime. 'Die, bastards.' She sighed. It wasn't their fault that they were bastards who should die.
She'd made him watch every Alien movie. Most of the goriest scenes were accompanied by his dialogue: 'Ach, that's no' - that's just no' right.... Bloody hell, this canna be right.
She could sense the desire pouring off the man in front of her, and to be wanted so obviously, so fiercely, went to her head like moonshine. He made her feel like a goddess. Provided goddesses got this horny.
I had a dream about you. I ran a marathon like a mannequin stands still, and you stood still like Roger Bannister runs errands.
Like Blue Ribbon Coffee, my love is in second place. But that’s OK, because like Blue Ribbon Coffee, I have winning taste.
Her name was Ashley, but I called her Ash, because she looked like the burnt remains of a cigarette. But she smelled like coffee, and I thirsted for her affection.
I love coffee like I love making love. It’s like liquid sex, except you don’t want to spill it all over your crotch.
I drink coffee like goats walk on tightropes. It’s fun to watch, but it sure would be easier if this monkey dressed like a cowboy would get off my back.
It's probably weird to think about an addiction like it's a sentient being, but that's how it feels. Like it's something living inside you. Something you can't get rid of because killing it means killing you.
Sometimes a name seems our most arbitrary possession, and sometimes it seems like the grain in a rock like a sculptor's hunk of Italian marble: Whack it and you might get either your first glimpse of a saint or a pile of rubble.
My fingers are blistered and they smell like lighter fluid— like burnt tin foil and rusted silverware. Quick question: Is it still considered heroin chic if I’m actually using heroin? No? Whatever.
the prospect of beginning a third- act career scared me almost as much as it attracted me.
A sex trophy should be functional, and shaped like a dildo, yet decorative, and shaped like Ben Bernanke. Insert it in your ass as desired.
I want to make the choice that gives an accurate impression of who I am; and who I am is someone who wants to be ethical, evolved, yet not at all an oil pan for the machinations of the morally corrupt.
