Rosy lifted her arm, tried to say something, then pointed at the cafe, held her head, covered her mouth and—humiliation of humiliations—she began to cry. Right there in the street. “I’m so confused,” she said but it came out as a great honk...
Leaning her silly, beautiful, drunken head on my shoulder, she said, "Oh, Esther, I don't want to be a feminist. I don't enjoy it. It's no fun." "I know," I said. "I don't either." People think you decide to be a "radical," for God's sake, like decid...
Leaning her silly, beautiful, drunken head on my shoulder, she said, 'Oh, Esther, I don't want to be a feminist. I don't enjoy it. It's no fun.' 'I know,' I said. 'I don't either.' People think you to be a 'radical,' for God's sake, like deciding to ...
To many people I have no doubt that it appears merely silly. I once found it expressed in a rather amusing way in a Russian Book called , which means the lure of far horizons. The author is Galinischev Kutuzoff [Golenischev-Kutuzov], and he tells of ...
It was Ebon's turn now, and he stepped forward and gave the pegasus' great clarion neigh -- far more like a trumpet than a horse's neigh; hollow bones are wonderful for resonance -- and swept his wings forward to touch, or almost touch, his alula-han...
Used to be he was my heart's desire. His forthright gaze, his expert hands: I'd lie on the couch with my eyes closed just thinking about it. Never about the fact that everything changes, that even this, my best passion, would not be immune. No, I wou...
What's your name?" he asked above the roar of the music. She leaned close. "My name is Wind," she whispered. "And Rain. And Bone and Dust. My name is a snippet of a half-remembered song." He chuckled a low, delightful sound. She was drunk and silly, ...
How crazy it would be if the moon did spin and the earth stood still and the sun went dim! How absolutely ludicrous if snakes could walk and kids could fly and mimes did talk! How silly it would be if the nights were tan and the mornings green and th...
Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you're 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written, or you didn't go swimming in those warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable...
Ellie Andrews: Your ego is absolutely colossal. Peter Warne: Yeah, yeah, not bad, how's yours? [Shuts and locks the door] Ellie Andrews: You know, compared to you, my friend Shapeley's an amateur. Just whatever gave you any idea I'd stand for this? P...
Uncle Charlie: The cities are full of women, middle-aged widows, husbands, dead, husbands who've spent their lives making fortunes, working and working. And then they die and leave their money to their wives, their silly wives. And what do the wives ...
Mad Hatter: Why is a raven like a writing desk? Alice: Riddles? Now let me see... why is a raven like a writing desk? Mad Hatter: I beg your pardon? Alice: Why is a raven like a writing desk? Mad Hatter: [alarmed] Why is a what? March Hare: Careful, ...
What we don't often realize is that the rebirth and collapse of grand things do not begin with grand things at all, like the things we see, but with the small, like the things we are - in the things we do - in the things we say.
We kept our heads down and did our jobs. We controlled the only thing we could, which was the show. We did the thing. Because remember, the talking about the thing isn't the thing. The doing of the thing is the thing.
Things aren't different. Things are things.
Forget the American dream...whats your dream? The thing that keeps you up at night...the thing that makes you happy...the thing that keeps your spirit going. Do that thing. Don't label it a hobby or what you do in your spare time type of thing...labe...
A beautiful thing is never perfect.
In the world all things are two and two.
There are three kinds of people; those that make things happen, those that watch things happen and those who don't know what's happening.
Good things happen, bad things are done...
Doing the right thing has power.
