There is a number among us, young and old, of all sorts almost among us, that swarm up and down towns, and woods, and fields, whose care and work hitherto hath been like bees, only to get honey to their own hive.
I believe every editor should stand to edit. That's just my particular soapbox. Some things are so delicate and depend on such fine, delicate work. One frame in one direction or another can make such a difference and it is, in that, like brain surger...
Whirrun ignored ‘em. ‘Then, when I’ve got two cut,’ and he dropped a pale slab of cheese on one slice then slapped the other on top like he was catching a fly, ‘I trap the cheese between then, and there you have it!’ ‘Bread and cheese.�...
I settled on the floor and whispered to Sam, “I want you to listen to me, if you can.” I leaned the side of my face against his ruff and remembered the golden wood he had shown me so long ago. I remembered the way the yellow leaves, the color of ...
Think of all the stories you've heard, Bast. You have a young boy, the hero. His parents are killed he sets out for vengeance. What next?" Bast hesitated, his expression puzzled. Chronicler answered the question instead. "He finds help. A clever talk...
Like a comet pulled from orbit, As it passes a sun. Like a stream that meets a boulder, Halfway through the wood. Who can say if I've been changed for the better? But because I knew you, I have been changed for good It well may be, That we will never...
Love Was Love Will Be But Most of All, Love is. Life Cannot Be Without It It is found in the Womb In The Woods In The Stars. To Be or Not to Be To Love, or not to Love They Are Equal. My Soul Whispers Into the Spaces. Yes.
Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods. Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt. But there’s music in us. Hope is pushed down but the angel flies up again taking us with her.
I like making money. I make it out of wood. I make nickels mostly.
The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story.
And how does one basically recognize good development? In that a well-developed man does our senses good: that he is carved from wood which is hard, delicate, and sweet-smelling, all at the same time.
So let me get this straight. You were living in a tent in the woods, but now you're living with Prince Charming and anger management boy? SERIOUSLY?!
There's nothing worse than the one that got away. It haunts you for weeks like a bad dream, eats away at your psyche like a termite on softened wood.
Oh, precious losing streak, you're too cute for your own good. I try to laugh about it but my face is made of wood.
His look darkens and he heaves me against his chest forcing me to look at him. “What I do know is that you are disrespectful and disobedient. And that is something that we have to change, don’t we?
A burial should be more than a fire pit, arena seating, and a squirming politician strapped to a pile of wood. There should also be marshmallows.
He threw his burning cigarette onto our clean living room floor and ground it into the wood with his boot. We were about to become cigarettes.
I spent the day running through the woods like a wild animal. Being chased by you is the only thing that would have made it more romantic.
It's great to be somewhat of a role model. I want to be a positive and good role model and lead by example and try to do the best I can. Playing good golf definitely draws attention, but I want to have a good attitude on the course and do the right t...
I think the attitude I was trying to learn myself was to really try hard, to give a great effort, to really care, and to let the results go where they are going to go. But at the same time, I don't have to be happy, and I shouldn't be happy, with les...
When I finish a book, I get extremely restless; I have to aggressively find ways to occupy myself; going off into the woods alone, doing things that are physically or mentally demanding to keep myself busy until the next big idea comes.
