A young man who doesn't have the foresight to seek out the girl he wants to be with and actively pursue her, doesn't deserve her.
Why couldn't she have given him a sultry laugh as she'd seen women do in movies instead of giggling like some enchanted, mindless school girl?
I met a girl I wanted to date, but she was spoken for—by her mouth. That’s the kind of relationship I could never talk her out of.
Last night my girl and I were knocking boots, but it won’t happen tonight, because earlier today I went out and bought a doorbell.
I asked the girl at the coffee shop out on a date. Unfortunately she said no, probably because I asked her out to coffee.
Every girl needs a bit of whimsy to remind her that life is a game and it's all about having fun.
You broke my heart. I fell for you and you broke my heart. Period, done, end of story.
I felt bad for the girls in my school, who flocked to prom like it was the second coming of Christ, complete with double-rainbows and unicorns.
My idea of a fun night was diving into a massive pile of To Be Read pile of books stacked near my dresser... I was the girl who loved everything geeky.
The lovely Hazard girls', they used to call them. Huh. Lovely is as lovely does; if they looked like what they behave like, they'd frighten little children.
I felt tears prick my eyes as I looked down at the model again, looking at that girl and boy on the curb. Forever in that place, together.
Yet only the atrocities of the conquered are referred to as criminal acts; those of the conqueror are justified as necessary, heroic, and even worse, as the fulfillment of God's will.
Give it up, mister! No sex for you!" I yelled at the wall as my girls cackled maniacally. "Tons of sex for me, sister. None for you!" he yelled all too clearly through the wall.
It's not that girls are delusional, per se. It's just that they have this subtle ability to warp actual circumstances into something different.
What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born.
But what I do know is this: you got to find your own places. The places you get, girl, the ones that stick in your heart. And if you’re lucky, you find people to share them with.
You're a girl on fire. And it seems to me, you been dousing those flames for years. Let yourself burn a little.
There was something of Francis in the boy, something pure and genuine and flawed. That type didn't think twice before running headlong into a burning house or a young girl's arms.
This was how girls left. They packed up their suitcases and walked away in high heels. They pretended they weren't crying, that it wasn't the worst day of their lives.
Girls either wanted him or wanted to improve him, but most often a combination of the two. They wanted to improve him until he justified the amount they wanted him.
We don't know how to be women because we were taught it was not OK to be girls. Our most natural impulses were thwarted and distorted.
