I don’t think so,” Clary said. “I think maybe she reminded me of you.” “Because I’m tiny, blonde, and look good in pigtails?
Maybe home is something we have to make, and remake, over and over. But it's hard to make things when you're afraid―or you're certain—that they'll just be broken.
Maybe the difference between first marriage and second marriage is that the second time at least you know you are gambling.
I don't like people--much. This kind, I mean. And they don't like me at all, as a rule. Maybe the latter explains the former.
We could never go back to how things were on the day before 9/11, but maybe I could go back to who I was.
I've seen women-and men too, sometimes-as canna bear the sound of their own thoughts, and they maybe dinna make such good matches with those who can.
Ah, Proph." Tom paused. "You did have a nightmare last night." "And here I thought maybe I dreamed it," Prophet muttered sarcastically.
love me get lost in me but beware side effects include a lot of shivering, baby a lot of drinking, maybe a lot of sinking, baby
It's good to keep changing your mind. It shows you're thinking. I'll only stop changing my mind when I'm dead. And maybe not even then.
I was told that this road would take me to the ocean of death, and turned back halfway. Since then crooked, round-about, godforsaken paths stretch out before me.
Sometimes,well,all the time,I can't think of what to say because I'm so dumb and stuff,and then maybe I think of it like five days later.
I think you're wrong." "Well I think you're naive," Hayley snapped. "Maybe," Marley conceded, starting to walk away. "But I'd rather be that than a bully like you.
Sometimes there’s no cure for the crazy.” Dale sighed, stroking my hair. “I think we all just have to keep loving through it. Maybe that’s the cure.
Elizabeth: "Maybe he'll surprise you." Meghann: "Birdie, they all surprise me. Last week, I hugged my date at the door and felt a bra strap.
Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time.
And in that history you're trying to connect to something that once was yours - to something purer, better, something that you lost or something, maybe, that you never knew but that you feel you knew.
But a myth, to speak plainly, to me is like a menu in a fancy French restaurant: glamorous, complicated camouflage for a fact you wouldn't otherwise swallow, like maybe lima beans.
Maybe the books can get us half out of the cave. They just might stop us from making the same damm insane mistakes!
I just want someone to hear what I have to say. And maybe if I talk long enough, it’ll make sense.
It's like she has her heart in her hand and it's broken. She's holding it out and showing me all the little pieces. Or maybe it's my heart.
At the time, my life just seemed too complete, and maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves.
