I liked you the first time I saw you. You were sitting on the floor surrounded by books, and you looked up when I opened the door and smiled right at me. It felt like you had been waiting for me, like you were welcoming me home.
Like true philosophers I've come to believe that religion is an illusion of childhood, outgrown after proper education.
People loved you in the way they knew how - and often it was not the way you knew. Or needed.
This is how God made me. You are how God made you. All God's chillun are made how God made 'em. You think God made a mistake, take it up with Him.
How did people get over this? They obviously did. Every day someone fell in love with the wrong person and had to pack up all their fragile, misguided hopes and unwanted affection, and move on to the next picnic table.
I know you've all heard the advice, "Show, don't tell." The best writers don't tell you, and quite frankly they don't just show you -- they make you feel it, live it, taste it, touch it. Storytelling is about being in the moment with the characters.
I don't know if real courage lies in storming barricades or simply not denying the truth.
All cynics are disappointed idealists. The more stars in the eyes, the harder the fall.
You know that thing about Death Be Not Proud? Well, Fear Be Not Proud either. And Fear Be Not Elegant. What Fear be is stumbling, bumbling flight, crashing through brush, slip-sliding on pine needles, sloshing through puddles that are always deeper than you expect.
He looked okay. No, to be honest. He looked a lot better than okay. He looked...fine. Fine, as in get the Chiffons over here to sing a chorus.
Rachel delivered it like an official pronouncement. Like she was one of the fairies gifting Sleeping Beauty's christening: Beauty. Intelligence. Heterosexual.
To find them all in one package...well, perhaps better not to dwell on his package in my fragile state.
Hearts got broken every day. Nobody died from that. But it did kind of fade the sunlight and drain the color from the days.
Sable hair bisected his pecs and arrowed down to the straight and unequivocal statement of his returned interest. Forcing my gaze to his face, I said, "I really don't think we have time for that." "You know that, and I know that, but HE doesn't believe it." "Believe it," I told HIM. J.X.'s mouth tugged into one of those heart-stopping smiles. "Maybe you should whisper in his ear.
Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.
One thing I’ve noticed about getting older, it takes twice as much work to get half the results one formerly achieved by falling out of bed.
Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.
Focus on someone else’s problems for a change, I instructed myself. You need the practice. From now on you’ll have to live in a world you didn’t make up. Horrible thought.
Love... doesn't happen every day. It doesn't happen at all for some people
Have I ever told you, you look like Monty Clift? he inquired in a deep, seductive voice. Before or after the accident?
And why is it the best looking ones are always straight?
You couldn't hurt a fly." Actually I was pretty good at pinging flies right out of the air, but I tried to look appropriately harmless.
You got a little bit of an attitude, Mr. English, if you don't mind my saying so. I don't mind.
Jake's mouth found mine, his lips molding hot and soft to my own. His tongue tentatively tested the seal of my lips; I parted them and he pushed inside. It was startlingly sweet and achingly familiar, like finding harbor.
I dug out the powder blue cashmere cardigan my mother Lisa gave me the Christmas before last, pulled on my oldest, softest Levi’s. Comfort clothes; the next best thing to a hug from a warm, living body. Lately there had been a shortage of hugs in my life. Lately there had been a shortage of warm, living bodies.
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