You know it feels good. I can hardly geta…I don’t even…” There was something amusing about watching him trying to form a coherent sen-tence. Amusing, but arousing at the sametime.
Lillian sometimes wondered why psychologists focused so much on a couple’s life in their bedroom. You could learn everything about a couple just watching their kitchen choreography as they prepared dinner.
For how many generations now had his people been turning their backs on things? How long had they sat in their living rooms and watched other people die?
Was he hitting some type of werewolf midlife crisis? First, he'd left Wolf Town, and now he was envisioning a mate. What next? Bird watching? Board games? Retirement homes?
Flowers and jewelry worked for most girls as a romantic gesture, but here I was, misty-eyed at watching him show my mother how to stab the shit out of him.
I stared up at the sky and raised my middle finger, just in case God was watching. I don't like being spied on.
I watched the rows and rows of chappals left by devotees outside the Hindu temple and wondered if the homeless boys who sometimes steal our chickens ever steal them, and if they do, are they punished, and if so by whom?
His son's transformation cannot be stopped, or hastened, or adjusted; the man he will become is already present, like a form emerging from a slab of stone. All that remains is to watch it happen.
It is a horrible, terrible thing, the worst thing, to watch somebody you love die right in front of you and not be able to do nothing about it.
As they lifted off, Aaron watched the white, puffy clouds and thought, "I'm going to die here. This is it." But God had a lot more for this child of mine, more than he could have ever imagined...
Before her parents were killed, Lena hadn't minded school. She had even liked some of her classes. Now school was just watching the clock tick.
What was my truth worth, if I was prepared to defend the entire world, but not those who were close to me? If I subdued hate, but wouldn't give love a chance?
The horsemen came closer. Vimes was not good at horsemen. Something in him resented being addressed by anyone eight feet above the ground. He didn't like the sensation of being looked at by nostrils.
Only one in a thousand sits down in the midst of it all and says—I will watch my Father mend this. God must not be treated as a hospital for our broken “toys,” but as our Father.
I gave her a broken watch, to symbolize that my love for her is forever and timeless. And as an excuse to why I’m always late.
A rocking chair in the middle of a boxing ring. You know, for the lover in the fighter. Also as something more entertaining than watching boxing.
Life, it’s made up of two things—time and love. A watch tells one, but what tells the other? We tell each other.
Strangely, I thought of the emotion I ought to feel without feeling it, as impartial as a National Geographic field researcher, carefully watching the events and chronicling them in a notebook.
As he watches the sun rise, what grieves him is that he failed her. He thinks of the terror she felt. They tell him it was quick, as if that will somehow confine the horror.
...every now and then I watched him beam at Olivia. He obviously adored her. And I realized that meeting her father made me look at Olivia differently. She was somebody's little girl.
If by that you mean that I dislike celebrity magazines, prefer food to anorexia, refuse to watch TV shows about models, and hate the color pink, then yes. I am proud to be not really a girl.
