And suddenly solitude fell across his heart like a dusty reflection. He closed his eyes. The dark doors within him opened and he entered. The next performance in the theater of Grenouille's soul was beginning.
Incidentally, I really agree with those who say that the capacity to forgive says something about the essential quality of a person. I'm the lowest grade.' 'I didn't mean to criticize you.' 'I promise to be better in my next life...
Much of what we acquire in life isn’t worth dragging to the next leg of our journey. Travel light. You will be better equipped to travel far.
Stani walks in later, glaring at them both. “Bloody bastards. One minute punching each other, next minute reading poetry. What’s wrong with everyone this week?” Tom can tell that
After all these years, his best friend is malaria. Even on the brink of an Alaska summer, it comes calling: a bone-deep chill one night, a ministry of sweat the next. Calling him back to old battles.
I once had a dream about a woman, and the next day she died. I stopped sleeping for three days after that to try to save some lives, but then my body relented and I went back to being a murderer.
If my clone were standing next to me, I’d be beside myself with joy. I’d also be literally beside myself. In that case, I’ll bet you’d love me twice as much, huh?
If I met a man who had eleven sons, the first thing I’d ask is, Are they all yours? And of course the next question I’d ask is, which one plays quarterback and which one is the best receiver?
I’m a Pisces, and people say that Pisces make the best the best lovers. That’s because Pisces are fish, and it’s like my grandpa always used to say, “The next best thing to making love to a mermaid, is having sex with a fish.
Death! Strange that there should be such a word, and such a thing, and we ever forget it; that one should be living, warm and beautiful, full of hopes, desires and wants, one day, and the next be gone, utterly gone, and forever!
A man [Joyce] whose earliest stories appeared next to the manure prices in the Irish Homestead knew that columns of prose, like columns of shit, could both recultivate the earth.
...But I know as well as the next werewolf who’s fallen that you don’t get to choose who trips you. Once your soul recognises its other half, what follows is no longer within your control..." ~ Connor Larsen
She'd survived the outside. She'd survived the Aether and cannibals and wolves. She knew how to love now, and how to let go. Whatever came next, she would survive it, too
Listen up, Little Miss Fun Hater. Off the record, if it wasn't for our school's strict but smarmy anti-bullying laws, I would bitch-slap you into next summer.
Not your distress. Never that. I loved— I loved being there. Next to you. The pile of limbs that was Us. Together in the same bed. Even if it meant waking up with a few new bruises.
Next day at the review the Tsar asked Prince Andrey where he desired to serve; and Bolkonsky ruined his chances for ever in the court world by asking to be sent to the front, instead of begging for a post in attendance on the Tsar's person.
Life's not fair. Life's often complicated, leaving us to deal with things that we shouldn't have to. Life can make you smile one day, only to leave you broken into tiny little pieces the next.
Folding the laundry, completing another project at work, or watching television for the next hour doesn’t build your writing muscles. It only leaves them flabby.
Walk Like A Pine Tree Day occurs on Stand Still Day. Orafoura and I observe both—and we observe whatever else we may be standing next to.
We made love like Leftover Tuesday you eat cold on a warm Wednesday morning. And the next day I didn’t hear from her until the following yesterday.
Your next action could change the world, so make it a good one.
