The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is like a yellow hole. . .
Dor woke again as dawn came. The sun had somehow gotten around to the east, where the land was, and dried off so that it could shine again.
I'm a dad, and I no longer see a way for my kids to even inherit the money that I'm making, let alone go out there, have an idea, and create it in their own lifetime.
I'm awake as soon as the sun crests the eastern hills. I guess I'm motivated because I love just about everything about my life - the writing, the many critters, the art, and all the rest.
It's almost dawn. You can feel it coming. The world holds its breath, because there's really no guarantee that the sun will rise. That there was a yesterday doesn't mean there will be a tomorrow.
First smile!! An unseasonal little shower of rain fell here, and a lot of butterflies drowned, so we put them in the sun and they came back to life, and flew up and then Agaat SMILED!
It is more or less a given that nothing is less favorable to clairvoyance than the bright sun: physical light and mental light coexist on very poor terms.
When each day is the same as the next, it’s because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives every day that the sun rises.
Doubt thou the stars are fire Doubt thou the sun doth move Doubt truth to be a liar But never doubt I love
She pulls her hand away and Damian feels the sensation of falling, a somersault into a foreign abyss where a girl with eggplant hair and a hoop in her brow waits in the darkness.
The Red Cross irritated Ugwu; the least they could do was ask Biafrans their preferred foods rather than sending so much bland flour.
What are your interests?" "Your son in my room," I said. "Excuse me?" "The sun and the moon," I said. "Astronomy.
You must never behave as if your life belongs to a man. Do you hear me?” Aunty Ifeka said. “Your life belongs to you and you alone.
Her bladder felt painfully, solidly full, as though it would burst and release not urine but the garbled prayers she was muttering.
Is love this misguided need to have you beside me most of the time? Is love this safety I feel in our silences? Is it this belonging, this completeness?
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows: The sun-comprehending glass, And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
Love like life should be maddening to the point of fulfillment. It should make the sun shine brighter, and when they look at you, the earth should never be standing still.
People die, I think, but your relationship with them doesn't. It continues and is ever-changing.
They do make love stories for girls with black hearts after all. They go like this.
It was right and wrong both. Love does as it undoes. It goes after, with equal tenacity, joy and heartbreak.
Maybe a person is just made up of a lot of people," I say. "Maybe we're accumulating these new selves all the time.
