I know you better then anyone. You’re practically my son, and I think that it’s the fact that you don’t want to see her leave. You are afraid of change.” He paused; he was right. “You are afraid that she will change.
You can't make the world perfect, Daniel," Michelle said calmly while dusting dirt off her jeans with her delicate hand. "No. I can't," I agreed. "But I can sure help make it better.
Tell me, how do get away from your own self?” she questioned. I knew what she meant with a sickening realization. They knew what I was. Somehow, they had found out my only secret.
It is yin and yang. Light is the left hand of darkness... how did it go? Light, dark. Fear, courage. Cold, warmth. Female, male. It is yourself, Therem. Both and one. A shadow on snow.
Thank goodness for the first snow, it was a reminder--no matter how old you became and how much you'd seen, things could still be new if you were willing to believe they still mattered.
Cousin-screwing. It is not totally safe. It raises the risk of birth defects slightly. But I was reading in a book for history that there's, like, a 99.9999 percent chance that at least one of your great-great-great-grandparents married first cousin.
We are all flawed, my dear. Every one of us. And believe me, we've all made mistakes. You've just got to take a good hard look at yourself, change what needs to be changed, and move one, pet.
The snow covered the two hills like vanilla frosting on two breasts. That’s what I thought then, because I was in love, and ready to sled down the icing on a birthday cake.
She tossed a handful of snow at his face, then shrieked as the wind whipped it back into her own. Red hooted. "Karma's a boomerang, sweetheart. Don't forget it.
One of my pet peeves was when an adult imagined they had to encapsulate Life for you, hand you Life in a jar, in an eyedropper, in a penguin paperweight full of snow-A Collector's Dream.
With age I have voluntarily chosen certain limitations. I don't have the energy to start over again. To learn new skills or fight my own personality or figure out diesel engines.
With the blood dripping from her lips, with her blood spattered white dress, and with her pale skin, she is just a horrifyingly lovely and a breathtakingly attractive sixteen-year-old girl living in Hell. Nothing wrong with that, right?
I've had the privilege of learning foreign languages. Instead of merely speaking a watered-down form of my mother tongue, like most people, I'm also helpless in two or three other languages.
The way the leaves on the trees tremble in the passing air is the way love reaches you, from all directions at once, mysterious, overwhelming, indescribable. To be in love is to find something you didn't know was missing.
Plus, once he did the requisite double-take and recognized me, he’d probably beat the crap out of any guy who looked at me in all my Snow White meets Frederick’s of Hollywood glory.
I tried to think the same thought in as many different religions as possible, so the thought itself wouldn't be limited by any particular way of reasoning, the way words restrict -- the whole eskimo-seventeen-words-for-snow idea.
The white noise from the old Walkman enveloped them both; like a blanket of new snow, it draped itself over them, shutting out all the curious looks. And the world under the blanket was - surprisingly, wonderfully - absolutely, quiet.
If my mom told one more story about how cute I looked in the bathtub when I was three years old I was going to burrow into the snow and freeze myself to death.
I admired so many things about you. Almost everything. But I don’t want to wind up like you. I don’t want to starve to death, all alone on some island inside my own head. Hopeless.
Somebody once asked me where I come up with my stuff. I replied, "Who knows? Where does yellow snow come from? It's just a gift from God I guess.
Is there some kind of rule for when Sam should be a boy and when he's a Wolf?" "A Wolf lifts his leg and yellows up the snow. A boy has to use the toilet." "And that will work?" "Only if he needs to pee.
