I wonder if the real measure of "home" is the degree to which you can leave it alone. Maybe appreciating a house means knowing when to stop decorating. Maybe you've never really lived there until you've thrown its broken pieces in the garbage. Maybe ...
I see the glow before I see her. The orange light is so strong it’s hard to believe the house isn’t on fire, but when feet appear at the top of the staircase, I can finally see that the light isn’t coming from the house. It’s coming from her....
I do not pretend to understand the moral universe; the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways; I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight, I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it...
Wait," I said as Noah slipped a book from a shelf and headed toward the door. "Where are you going?" "To read?" But I don't want you to. "But I need to go home," I said, my eyes meeting his. "My parents are going to kill me." "Taken care of. You're a...
I always wondered why the makers leave housekeeping and cooking out of their tales. Isn't it what all the great wars and battles are fought for -- so that at day's end a family may eat together in a peaceful house? The tale tells how the Lords of Man...
Most men appear never to have considered what a house is, and are actually though needlessly poor all their lives because they think that they must have such a one as their neighbors have. As if one were to wear any sort of coat which the tailor migh...
Once upon a time, there was a boy. He lived in a village that no longer exists, in a house that no longer exists, on the edge of a field that no longer exists, where everything was discovered, and everything was possible. A stick could be a sword, a ...
A poem was a box for your soul. That was the point. It was the place where you could save bits of yourself, and shake out your darkest feelings, without worrying that people would think you were strange. While I was writing, I would forget myself and...
I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have...
Juno: Okay, have you been studying the manual? Adam: Well, we tried. Juno: The intermediate interface chapter on haunting says it all. Get them out yourselves. It's your house. Haunted houses aren't easy to come by. Barbara: Well, we don't quite get ...
Gaear Grimsrud: Where is pancakes house? Carl Showalter: What? Gaear Grimsrud: We stop at pancakes house. Carl Showalter: What... are you nuts? We had pancakes for breakfast. Gotta go to a place I can get a shot and a beer, steak, maybe, not more fuc...
Madame Thénardier: [to male customer] I used to dream that I would meet a prince, but God Almighty, have you seen what's happened since? Thénardier: [defensive as others stare at him] What? What? Madame Thénardier: Master of the house isn't worth ...
Arthur Bannister: [on the movie screen, "The Lady from Shanghai" is playing] I'm aiming at you, lover. Mrs. Dalton: I'm aiming at you, lover. Arthur Bannister: Of course, killing you is killing myself. Mrs. Dalton: Of course, killing you is killing m...
David's Mom: When your father was here, I used to think, "This was it. This is the way it was always going to be. I had the right house. I had the right car. I had the right life." David: There is no right house. There is no right car. David's Mom: G...
On a whitely cloudy day I get sad, almost afraid, And I begin to meditate about problems I make up.
Bees blew like cake-crumbs through the golden air, white butterflies like sugared wafers, and when it wasn't raining a diamond dust took over which veiled and yet magnified all things
They had become a fixed star in the shifting firmament of the high school's relationships, the acknowledged Romeo and Juliet. And she knew with sudden hatefulness that there was one couple like them in every white suburban high school in America.
Skin color doesn't make you different,' Melody said. 'We're all the same on the inside.' 'The only people who ever say that,' Raymon replied, 'are white.
Skin color doesn't make you different," Melody said. "We're all the same on the inside." The only people who ever say that," Raymond replied, "are white.
Evangelicals come from all ethnic and racial backgrounds, but nearly 90 percent of Americans who call themselves evangelicals are white.
You think you have a handle on God, the Universe, and the Great White Light until you go home for Thanksgiving. In an hour, you realize how far you've got to go and who is the real turkey.
