I can't help but laugh into my next sip of water. For the first time, mine doesn't seem so bad. "I don't know why you're fucking laughing. You have a girl's name and no middle name.
And you don't have to pinch me to see if I'm real, either. How about you just place your hand in mine while we walk to the store, then you can see just how real I am, firsthand.
I want to mark him permanently, brand him as mine. I grab my ankles to keep from grabbing him, digging my short, blunt nails into my flesh, the pain heightening my pleasure.
The night is mine, my own time, to do with it as I will, as long as I am quiet. As long as I don't move. As long as I lie still. The difference between and . Lay is always passive.
Perhaps the True Self--and the full Christ Mystery (not the same as organized Christianity)--will always live in the backwaters of any empire and the deep mines of any religion.
I'm Razo, a member of Bayern's Own," he said, stopping himself from adding "Loafing is just a hobby of mine." "Bayern's Own? But you're a child." Razo looked up to the sky. "I'm not a child, I'm just short.
And don't stress about the trip. We'll find some alone time in London," he continued, bending his head closer to mine. "Nothing keeps 007 from romancing a beautiful woman.
- Just that. Your family must be very different from mine. - I’d say so. - I laughed. - For one, no one wears their tiaras to breakfast. - Maxon smiled. - More of a dinner thing at the Singer house?” - “Of course.
You're mine, Angel, and don't you forget it. Your fights are my fights. What if something bad had happened today? It was bad enough when I thought your ghost was haunting me; I don't think I can handle the real thing.
I know that these mental disturbances of mine are not dangerous and give no promise of a storm; to express what I complain of in apt metaphor, I am distressed, not by a tempest, but by sea-sickness.
And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with you all through my life?-sharing my fire, my bed, Sharing-oh, worst of all things!-the same head?- And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?
Although most advice should be distrusted, particularly when it comes from myself . . . keep an open mind, Miss Hathaway. One should never look a rich husband in the mouth." - St. Vincent
She shook her head as she confessed, "I want it so much, I'm afraid to hope." "Never be afraid to hope," Rohan said gently. "It's the only way to begin." -Rohan to Win
I read somewhere that flying is like throwing your soul into the heavens and racing to catch it as it falls." "I don't think mine would ever fall," he murmured, looking at the clear cold sky.
It is possible, however, that the artist is both thin-skinned and prophetic and, like the canary lowered into the mine shaft to test the air, has caught a whiff of something lethal.
Okay, okay, okay … go to your corners, boys. This is a nice Aubusson carpet you’re standing on. You get blood on it and I’ll have Fritz so far up my ass I’ll be coughing on his hankie.
Digestion of words as well; I often read aloud to myself in my writing corner in the library, where no one can hear me, for the sake of better savouring the text, so as to make it all the more mine.
I was living "every girl's" dream. But I had yet to find my own passion, my personal project, the thing that would help make Paris mine.
I believe that life always has a way of surprising you, for better or for worse," he looks at me once more, his eyes holding mine captive in its strong hold. "And that you always have a choice as to how the story ends...
You know I still don’t like your…hobby.” “Didn’t ask your opinion.” Jake rubbed his aching ribs. “If you want mine: anyone using the missionary position twice in a row should serve time.
Bryan helped me up. "How can you be so good one minute then clumsy the next?" I shrugged. "I've never been very athletic. Not unless you count fencing." "You made fences?
