Roarke: The bodies of the three men were found floating in the Chattahoochee River. Eve: I think it'd be embarrassing to be dead in the Hoochie-Coochie River. Roarke: Chattahoochee Eve: What's the difference? Roarke: Quite a bit, I'd think.
Even if I take him out for three hours every day, and go and chat to him for another hour, that leaves twenty hours for him all alone with nothing to do. Oh, why can't dogs read?
You can always count on the promise of forever that He made when He died on that cross and rose again three days later. He did that for you.
Because there are three classes of intellects: one which comprehends by itself; another which appreciates what others comprehend; and a third which neither comprehends by itself nor by the showing of others; the first is the most excellent, the secon...
We have to be back in three hours," Ronan said. "I just fed Chainsaw but she'll need it again." "This," Gansey replied "is precisely why I didn't want to have a baby with you.
Basil Stag Hare tut-tutted severely as he remarked to Ambrose Spike, 'Tch, tch. Dreadful table manners. Just look at those three wallahs, kicking up a hullaballoo like that! Eating's a serious business.
I can see that Elijah knows exactly what Thompson’s asking. Thompson is asking if Elijah likes killing. Elijah considers it for a moment. ‘It’s in my blood,’ he finally says.
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.
The only book I’d read in the shower is Naked Lunch, because my bathtub is in the center of my kitchen. I make breakfast like I make love, and sometimes I’m so hungry I make if for three people.
I sympathize with a mother who has three mouths to feed—especially if two of those mouths are on her face. With a woman like that I’d listen twice as hard for doublespeak. I’m pretty accustomed to picking up on political rhetoric.
If you were to ask me what’s under my bed, I’d tell you shoes. They’re brown, and they’re still attached to the body that’s been decomposing there since I hid it three days ago.
I’ll watch the Final Four when there are three teams playing at once for two titles and one large bag of regrets. That bag is mostly full of air, like a bag of potato chips, only harder to chew.
Love is two smiles shared between two people. Or two smiles and a smirk, shared between one couple and a jerk. Or maybe three smiles and a frown, shared between two parents, their child, and a clown.
From time to time, too, and for the space of two or three paces, an image or an echo would rise up from the recesses of time: in the little streets of the beaters of silver and gold, for instance, there was a clear, unhurried tinkling, as if a djinn ...
There was something pathetic about the rejected wife bravely pulling herself together, joining a tennis club, doing a photography course, cutting her hair, venturing timidly back out onto the single scene.
Perhaps, this is what love has always been, whether it is for a woman of for a cause -- the readiness to give and not ask for anything in return, the unquestioning willingness to lose everything, even if that loss is as something as precious as life ...
...three particular T-shirts with vulgar slang written on them that made the vein in his forehead poke out. It was a cute little vein and I grew fond of seeing it's public appearance while I walked behind him like a parade of humiliation.
However, at fourteen years old, she didn’t understand that all those terrible troubles the heroines in her books went through in real life hurt. That the , Trials and tribulations to prove your love were exactly that, trials and tribulations.
A fantastically huge, roiling cloud, glowing bluish gray, swaggered over the city. It was more than three miles tall. Below it Hiroshima was boiling.
With a heavy heart, I pulled out my own pocket knife, and carved three little words beneath Archer’s. A plea and a wish, in a form I could never take back. Return to me.
One ought to have some sort of transcendent realization that the world exists because the gods are trapped in the same abyss you've occupied for three years. It should be inspiring or comforting or, I don't know, cathartic.
