In the mind of all, fiction, in the logical sense, has been the coin of necessity;—in that of poets of amusement—in that of the priest and the lawyer of mischievous immorality in the shape of mischievous ambition,—and too often both priest and ...
I was trying to foment a little dissension.' He paused. 'No, that's too flippant. How about trying to make the system less warlike—injecting a little love?' He snorted. 'Through violence, of course, like all religious reformers.
During sex, people are often way too focused on giving or taking to actually just celebrate this moment, be themselves completely, and rejoice in their own realities.
When we're all gone at last then there'll be nobody here but death and his days will be numbered too. He'll be out in the road there with nothing to do and nobody to do it to. He'll say: where did everybody go? And that's how it will be. What's wrong...
Oh, it's called, em...' Kate thinks, 'I can't remember what it's called.' 'You're the same as me,' Dad says to her. 'You've got CRAFT too.' 'What's that?' 'Can't. Remember. A. Fuc-
But I do know we’re deficient in some way. We are too involved in materialistic things, and they don’t satisfy us. The loving relationships we have, the universe around us, we take these things for granted.
If you don't feel the same way about him, if you're just leading him on, you need to tell him that. I've seen too many nice guys get shafted because a girl can't get over some jerk.
It's too weird to think about - how death seems to rewrite all the rules. People who never talked to each other can suddenly cry together. People who used to be close can hardly bear to be in the same room.
Nobody cares for getting belittled by a person you’ve had sex with. A person you’ve licked all over. Nobody wants to sit there and get run down too far by somebody who gives them a hard-on.
The bus had one too many people on it (the driver), so all of them had to die. The only thing that saved all those passengers was my love—and the fact that I know how to drive with a blindfold on.
I was too late to be early. Good thing I was on time. And though my I love you was said at the right moment, my aim was off and I hit the wrong person.
When you carry a gun, everything starts looking like a sword. If you pass the butter too quickly, I’m likely to shoot you. But even if you attack me, we can still be lovers.
Lover’s Lane is so narrow only unicycles can travel down it. My high school teachers didn’t call me “The Babe Ruth of the Bicycle” for nothing. It’s too bad they didn’t call me that, because it was accurate.
Due to its late nature, tomorrow morning will start after tonight. People say early morning, but it’s later than late at night, so I say it’s entirely too decadent for me to be a part of.
Ah, the good ol’ days. I remember those days. That was before your time. It was before my time too, because I didn’t have a watch, and I hadn’t been born yet.
The whole world is dying. Just too slowly and naturally for my liking. Somebody should poison the food by genetically modifying it somehow. But even if that happened, nobody would be stupid enough to buy it—let alone eat it—would they?
Earwax is nothing more than sound boogers. I’m too congested to hear anything but I love you. Not that I expect you to flick it at me lightly.
He told me he had a wife and daughter, and then he showed me a picture of an 8-year-old girl, to which I said, “Don’t you think she’s a bit too young to be a wife and mother?” Fucking pedophiles.
You're weird,' he says. Despite everything, I smile. 'You're always saying that, but in fact, you're weird,' I say. 'Yeah, I know. Remember? That's how I can tell you're weird, too.
You're weird,' he says. Despite everythin, I smile. 'You're always saying that, but in fact, you're weird,' I say. 'Yeah, I know. Remember? That's how I can tell you're weird, too.
Just know this: What you will do among children is as close to the heart of God and central to his kingdom as anything we could mention.
