O guide my judgment and my taste, Sweet Spirit, author of the book Of wonders, told in language chaste And plainness, not to be mistook. O let me muse, and yet at sight The page admire, the page believe; "Let there be light, and there was light, Let ...
So I'm over there in England, you know, trying to get news about the [L.A.] riots... and all these Brit people are trying to sympathize with me... 'Oh Bill, crime is horrible. Bill, if it's any consolation crime is horrible here, too.' ...Shutup. Thi...
(...) Sir Boris had fought and killed the Paynim; Sir Gawain, the Turk; Sir Miles, the Pole; Sir Andrew, the Frank; Sir Richard, the Austrian; Sir Jordan, the Frenchman; and Sir Herbert, the Spaniard. But of all that killing and campaigning, that dri...
I don't want to be a vampire' she told herself. But in her dreams, she kind of did.-Tana Bach-page 29-chapter 4
In the dream, Tana's mother loved her more than anyone or anything. More than death.-Tana-page 21-chapter 4
All around us God is writing a grand story of His love and He invites us to let our lives fill the pages.
I am the poet, you are the poem; I hold the pen, you are the words, love is the ink, silence is the blank page.
The book of Jonah is one of the shortest books in the Bible. Yet, something beneath the surface whispers to us, hinting that there is much more beneath this little book. (page iii)
Life is a book, and there are a thousand pages I have not yet read. I would read them together with you, as many as I can, before I die.
Stella scribbled in thick black texta across half the pages of my best storybook, filled with people who ventured where their hearts took them. Beautiful worlds beyond mine.
I sometimes think if I did not write I would be a madwoman. Now I am a sane woman with a lot of mad pages.
Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show
When you end a chapter in your book of 'Wrong Men,' don't close the book of your love story, just turn the page.
I still have enough faith in language to believe that if I place enough words next to each other on the page, they will start to speak with sounds of their own.
In here I'm the guy who can get things for you... outside all you need is the Yellow Pages. I don't think I could make it.
The bloody times, the horror, will just be history to them, words on a page, so how will they dare to judge? Very easily, I should imagine.
His words had tossed the book that was her life into the air and the pages had been blown into disarray, could never be put back together to tell the same story.
Besides it's not as though the prisoner can truly die, any more than a character in a novel can. You can always flip back to the first page, can't you?
Being there doesn't mean I'm present. I exist only in words. I want to be transmuted fully to white page and ink.
The world doesn't fully make sense until the writer has secured his version of it on the page. And the act of writing is strangely more lifelike than life.
Look, don't just stare at the pages," I used to tell my students. "Become the characters. Live inside the book.
