Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.
Let me say to you what I said once, in an entirely different context to Catherine the Great," Magnus declared. "My dear lady, you cannot afford me,and also, please leave that horse alone. Good night.
I have to say that you're the last person I'd have expected would have a seventeen-year-old daughter. You're so..." Alice stopped, suddenly looking guilty. "Dashing?" Gunner supplied. "Debonair?" "A bit of a dawg, actually.
Are you one of those fifty-shades-of-bondage people? I haven't been into that in the past, but I might be willing to try with you. Although I would want to be the one to do the bondaging, while you would have to be the bondagee.
He flashed a grin over his shoulder at me. "Ready to be astounded?" I eyed him. "You're not going to drop your trousers and demand I admire your gorgeous testicles, are you?" "Not after you disparaged their beauty.
And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister's story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead.
You're not destined or chosen, I wish I could tell you that you were if that would make it easier, but it's not true. You're in the right place at the right time, and you care enough to do what needs to be done. Sometimes that's enough.
Follow your dreams, Bailey," she says. "Be they Harvard or something else entirely. No matter what that father of yours says, or how loudly he might say it. He forgets that he was someone's dream once, himself.
Follow your dreams Bailey. Be they Harvard or somehing else entirely. No matter what that father of yours says, or how loudly he might say it. He forgets that he was someone's dream once, himself
Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of your mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness. Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds.
You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows that they might do because of it, because of your words. That is your role, your gift.
That's the beauty of it. Have you seen the contraptions these magicians build to accomplish the most mundane feats? They are a bunch of fish covered in feathers trying to convince the public they can fly, I am simply a bird in their midst.
He turns and walks away, moving so quickly that the candle flames shiver with the motion of the air. “I miss you,” Isobel says as he leaves, but the sentiment is crushed by the clatter of the beaded curtain falling closed behind him.
There's magic in that. It's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, bec...
If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the unive...
One-night stands were invented to free men from worrying about the size of their penis. And to free women from worrying about the size of their stretch marks.
Kiekvieną akimirką jaučiame, kad negalime laimės išlaikyti, ir nė nebandome <...> Bet jeigu mes nemėginame sučiupti jos ir suturėti savo šiurkščiomis rankomis, tai gal ji, niekieno nebaidoma, išlieka mūsų akių gilumoje? Gal ji išliek...
- <...> Žmogus nesi jau toks svarbus. - Nesvarbus? - Švarcas vėl pakėlė sutrikusį veidą. - Nesvarbus? Žinoma, ne! Bet malonėkite pasakyti man, kas gi tuomet svarbu, jeigu gyvenimas nebesvarbus? - Niekas, - atsakiau žinodamas, kad tai ir tei...
I want to be hurt. I want to be in so much pain that I can’t think and I can’t remember why. That’s what I want. That’s all I want.
They spent pork-barrel money like a tidal-wave sea, but no funds trickled down far enough to reach me. Our books numbered few and were falling apart, and I sat mending pages with a crestfallen heart.
Nick chided a censor, who wished some books gone, and suggested she scan Fahrenheit 451. For the book-budget cutters, Old Claus had no plan, cause if they could read, they just read Ayn Rand.
