But sometimes this hatred broke like a wave, unexplainably collapsing under its own weight, and before it would begin to well up again, she suddenly felt nothing but pure compassion for him, a kindness and forgiveness that almost broke her heart.
Arcadio had seen her many times working in her parents' small food store but he had never taken a good look at her because she had that rare virtue of never existing completely except at the opportune moment.
You know," she murmured, "we're all heading straight to hell." "Yes," said Masako, giving her a bleak look. "It's like riding downhill with no brakes." "You mean, there's no way to stop?" "No, you stop all right - when you crash.
Don't you find it strange that your mother would leave you?' Becky said. 'I can't imagine my other leaving me.' I'd never thought of it like that before. 'I don't think she knew what else to do.
I have a Greek-American friend who named her daughter "Nike" and is often asked why she chose to name her offspring after a sneaker.
Nina sniffed, shifting her shoulders to look at the sky through the branches. "She's a sweet girl, but poor." Ire pricked through me, and the last of his charisma shredded. "Being poor is not an indication of potential or worth. It's a lack of resour...
And what have I done?" What? WHAT?...You've stolen them." With that, Cornelia fled, but Buttercup understood; she knew who "them" was. The boys. The beef-witted featherbrained rattledskulled clodpated dim-domed noodle-noggined sapheaded lunk-knobbed ...
I let it boil and it's got scum on it," Carol said annoyedly. "I'm sorry." But Therese loved it, because she knew this was exactly what Carol would always do, be thinking of something else and let the milk boil.
How could she trust this man, so imprecise with his words, to take care of the burial? To say there had been a loss was ludicrous; one lost a shoe or a pair of keys. You did not suffer the death of a child and say there was a loss. There was a catast...
His father read aloud, quietly, his voice steady and gentle, while he pressed a hand to Liam's delicate back, supporting his position. ... She realized Dragos was reading the quarterly profit percentages from a stockholders' report.
Every woman who makes a permanent impression on a man is afterwards recalled to his mind's eye as she appeared in one particular scene, which seems ordained to be her special medium of manifestation throughout all the pages of his memory.
You’re just begging for a piece of me, you know that?” she growled. “I don’t know what gave you the idea I've lowered my standards, but I assure you, I haven’t. I want no part of you.
You look incredible, Kavanagh,” Quinn whispered close to my ear. “Are you trying to kill me?” “Ssshhh,” I hissed. “They’re going to hear you.” “I can’t tell my date she’s beautiful?” I turned my head. “No. No, you can’t.
She seemed so happy, so at peace, and I wondered how anybody around me could feel that way when liquid fire was raging inside me, when fear was mingling with hope and clutching itself around my ankles.
Mr. Chan," Grace said as the wind whipped strands of her hair across her face. "What are you doing here?" She shouted over the howling wind as it lashed around them. "Catering," the old man said flashing her a toothy gold grin.
But she had known, better than anyone else, what demons he had faced, had known how hard he had fought to free himself from them. That he had lost the fight in the end made the struggle no less honorable.
To touch a person...to sleep with a person...is to become a pioneer," she whispered then, "a frontiersman at the edge of their private world, the strange, incomprehensible world of their interior, filled with customs you could never imitate, a langua...
And she keeps saying, how can you do this to me? And i want to scream, what do you mean, how can I do this to you? Aren't we confusing our pronouns here? The question, really, is How could I do this to myself?
Love is nothing but a Pentimento", she mumbled, not sure if he could hear her. "It looks like something from the outside, whie it's something totally different from the inside. And one can only understand this after some time, when the lie on the out...
She was my friend and I loved her and relied on her, even though there were days when her moodiness and fragility frightened me, because they reminded me of my own tenuous grasp on life.
She couldn't disappoint the whole village. There were no wallscreens here, no newsfeeds or satellites bands, and touring soccer teams were no doubt few and far between. (...), that made stories a valuable commodity, and it probably wasn't very often ...
