Park's eyes got wide. well, sort of wide. Sometimes she wondered if the shape of his eyes affected how he saw things. That was probably the most racist question of all time.
I wondered what it would be like to be just myself all the time, but my self seemed to be far away, and made up of all sorts of things that didn't really exist.
There was no need to hurry that future—yet the length of his own youth pressed upon him. Whatever he was to do next he wanted to begin now. But how to begin and on what?
But you can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up around them. It can't last.
His right ear still held both studs, and I wondered who had the missing earring. I would have asked, but was afraid he’d tell me Ivy had it.
Men like you preach change, but I wonder. Is this a battle we can really fight?” “You’re fighting it already, Goodman Mennis. You’re just losing horribly.
Will history remember us, I wonder? I do hope so - to imagine that one might do something, touch an event somehow, & thereby transcend the bounds of a single human lifetime!
Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.
When I look back on the stuff I used to wear, I wonder why somebody didn't try to stop me. Just a friendly warning, "You may regret this," would have been fine.
And this all causes her to wonder at the disparity between the silk dresses and the natural postures of the body, and to think: How far, HOW FAR, we are willing to go to pretend we are not of the body at all.
Look at the stars,” said Tim. “Don’t you ever wonder what they’re for?” The Night was an open book of constellations. “They’re for the same as everything else, “said Sam. They’re just for themselves.” The stars silently agreed.
Children seem to need, then, a delicate balance between the realistic and the fantastic in their art; enough of the realistic to know that the story matters, enough of the fantastic to make what matters wonderful
I watch with envious eyes and mind, the single-souled who dare not feel The wind that blows beyond the moon, who do not hear the fairy reel
Never use five words if you can get away with one, eh? I've known dead men talk more than you do.
It is interesting to wonder whether taxonomists of the future may regret the way our generation messed around with genomes.
I snap and storm around and then spend long nights thinking of the most damaged adults I know and wondering if my particular brand of maternal fuckups are how they ended up like that.
In the back of his mind, he had always wondered why — why they harbored such resentment for him. Now he had the answer, and he felt sick. He felt the bottom dropping out.
Only by showing the world the cataclysmic cost of a world divided can it appreciate the wonders of life and endless possibilities of a world united.
What wonderful things dreams are! They can make you be anything you want and take you anyplace in the world.
Seeing the transformation in Aaron made me wonder how it would feel to have someone-even a not-so-nice guy like Aaron- look at me the way he looked at Anjali.
So now, when I look back, all I see is who we used to be and who we are now. And I wonder how anybody can recognize anyone at all.
