To Gran, “strong medicine” could be good or bad, just like the laxatives she was forever talking about. Good for makin’ the mail move smooth, but too much and you shit yer brains out. -strange angels
A boss in essence is every woman willing to try, push, succeed, fail but ultimately do the work in her lifescape to make her mark on the world the way she wants to draw it.
It’s like you are oozing magic.” Tari rolled her eyes. “Yes I am an all-powerful witch,” she said sarcastically. “No. Not a witch, but something. I can’t explain it. It’s as if magic is your friend,” Ivy continued.
Owls hoot in B flat, cuckoos in D, but the water ousel sings in the voice of the stream. She builds her nest back of the waterfalls so the water is a lullaby to the little ones. Must be where they learn it.
oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)
We talk. Darlene worries aloud that her husband works with a lot of attractive young women; she herself is fourty. I tell her it´s not about age. "Little thing called character," I say, thinking,
He lowered his head toward her, so she could feel his breath warm against her skin, their mouths only inches apart. “You’re panting for it, aren’t you, Princess?” he murmured.
She looks so serious. Why such a stern look? Oh yeah, somebody’s just been murdered. With all my diabolical laughter, I seem to have forgotten about that.
She wondered how Dr. Watson - a clever man in his own right - had lasted so many years without bashing his roommate over the head out of sheer frustration.
And if we can imagine the art of fiction come alive and standing in our midst, she would undoubtedly bid us break her and bully her, as well as honour and love her, for so her youth is renewed and her sovereignty assured.
That's the way life takes us,' Elleke once said. 'It takes us like this, then it turns us over and takes us like that.' What she didn't say was that through it all we manage to cling to something that makes sense.
When she turned to see me smiling. It was an awkward smile, but you only really know what a smile means when you own the face behind it. Everyone else just sees the smile they expected it to be.
A litany of headlights blinding her, she stands unsteady on the dotted traffic line, takes timid steps toward rolled up windows behind which any horror could crouch....
She studied my face for a long minute. "Are you going to help my mom?" It was a simple question. But how do you tell a child that things just aren't that simple, that some questions don't have simple answers--or any answer at all?
In a calm, clear voice, she suggested that the wyrsa in question could do several highly improbable, athletically difficult and possibly biologically impractical things involving its own mother, a few household implements, and a dead fish.
It was dark, so I couldn't make out much of her face, but she had brilliant red hair, like honey and roses and the sun altogether.
Emma was horrified and transfixed at the same time. She was watching Jonah Kinlock doing what he did best. There was a certain macabre beauty in watching form and function wedded together. In Jonah's case, a dance of beauty and death.
She felt the smile turn the corners of her lips upward and placed her hand flat on his chest, just above his heart. “That’s yours now, babe,” Jason whispered, kissing her forehead. “Be careful with it, OK?
Shall a man grave his sorrows upon a stone when he hath but need to write them on the water? Nay, oh /She/, I will live my day, and grow old with my generation, and die my appointed death, and be forgotten.
Once, long ago in her world, a sunny day in spring was her favorite, but now a sunny day in winter delights her more. It is the perfect metaphor for their love. Sunshine on ice. She warms his frost. He cools her fever.
I heard a bump and knew it must have been Nathan throwing the door up in anger. “And so what if she is here you asshole? I told you the other day that you are NOT welcome here anymore..!” He roared.