If you boys... you men can do what has to be done when you'd rather do almost anything else, why do you think I will do less? Or Egwene
Do you understand now why books are hated and feared? Because they reveal the pores on the face of life. The comfortable people want only the faces of the full moon, wax, faces without pores, hairless, expressionless.
But you can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up around them. It can't last.
I will always take your part, Bee. Right or wrong. That is why you must always take care to be right, lest you make your father a fool.
And why is it all men think everything a woman writes is trivial or trashy-or just plain silly drivel? Don't men have romantic notions? Don't men dream of finding the perfect love?
Before, they had laughed at me, despising me for my ignorance and dullness; now, they hated me for my knowledge and understanding. Why? What in God's name did they want of me?
I freeze when I come face to face with a naked man’s chest. Why does this keep happening to me? Trying to keep my eyes averted from his very naked lower regions, I look up.
If you put the wrong foods in your body, you are contaminated and dirty and your stomach swells. Then the voice says, Why did you do that? Don't you know better? Ugly and wicked, you are disgusting to me.
There was much talk about why the prime minister had brought back such a troublesome and unpredictable colleague, and the consensus was that he preferred to have Churchill inside the tent spitting out.
Escape plan number seventeen," I told her. "Run away and open a juice stand in Fresno." "Why Fresno?" "Sounds like the kind of place people drink a lot of juice.
When I look back on the stuff I used to wear, I wonder why somebody didn't try to stop me. Just a friendly warning, "You may regret this," would have been fine.
He was home, but he wasn't. He had gotten where he had to go, but he hadn't. He had found out who he was, but he didn't know why it had failed to satify his questions.
People who know how to creatively break the rules also know why the rules were there in the first place.
To sell your soul is the easiest thing in the world. That's what everybody does every hour of his life. If I asked you to keep your soul - would you understand why that's much harder?
Although he never speaks of how or what or why, I know that his childhood was difficult, that his parents broke his heart. Books and excess poundage are his insulation against pain.
Who knows why we do it? And when we've done it, nobody wants it. Still we keep doing it. That's what makes a writer a writer.
Why do you suppose I’m here?” I asked him. Angel. A thirteen-year-old departed gangbanger. “Just ’cause you’re supposed to be, I guess.
Why would we need to experience the Comforter if our lives are already comfortable?
Why, could the good man not impose his will, control his wife? asked Mrs. Carew, who always made much of masculine authority in her talk with friends but ruled the roost at home.
I will always need you,' I whisper. 'All of this time I've waited for you. And you were never coming for me. Why did you let me wait for you?' (p. 257).
Yeah. I know why she cuts. I just don’t know the seed-reason. It’s deep inside her, and it’ll take time and patience to get it out of her.
