If we were in Victorian England I would have called him dashing;but, since we lived in the 21st century I would have to settle for the wordier GQ model hot.
He didn't save us ; haven't you been listening?" Elizabeth held an icepack to her chin where she'd been hit by an meaty elbow . "Fiona stabbed one of them with a Susan Bates needle, Marie was wielding a tequila bottle, Sandra pistol-whipped the other, and I shot the third." "Where were Janie and Kat?" Ashley looked from me to Kat. "Hiding behind the couch like sane people!" Kat said before anyone else could speak."
No. Since I first saw you. Since I first laid eyes on you and felt sorry for every beautiful thing that was made no longer resplendent--nullified by your being.
Do ever respond to a question without asking another question? Does it bother you? No. But it does confirm my hypothesis. What hypothesis? He let out a heavy sigh, and with it, all the residual warmth from our flirty banther evaporated. " You're a shrink," he said. He might as well have accused me of being a traitor or a murder or a Kardeshian."
You'll have to read the book, and don't interrupt me. It's distracting enough looking at you. You've already derailed my brain train with your face several times.
Boy bands are sent by God to aid women of all ages in their quest to avoid reality, but specifically to trick young women into believing that males think about topics other than sex.
I changed my mind." "You changed--" "My. Mind." I stopped short and faced him, placing my hands on my hips. "It's like underpants, Jethro." "Dirty and dark?" He smirked. "No." I scowled at his facial expression. "A mind is like underpants because people change them all the time." "But you don't." "I do change my underpants all the time, Jethro. And, for the record, I think it's mighty rude of you to assume I don't." He almost rolled his eye..
Love was never enough, not without mutual respect and a great deal of drudgery and effort. And even then, it wasn't enough. Wanting each other, being open to change, pushing each other to improve and grow--for the better--working to deserve each other, was the key.
I hadn't seen Jennifer in a week. Absence doesn't make the heart grow fonder. Whoever said that was a damn fool. Absence makes the heart suicidal. Take my heart for example. It hadn't stopped hurling itself against my ribs--at odd times, day or night--for a week.
We fought over the bill when it came. By fought I mean: I insisted loudly on paying half and he responded with beleaguered silence. Instead of discussing it or attempting to engage in my one-sided conversation, he wordlessly put his credit card in the holder; he kept it carefully out of my reach as I continued to list all the reasons we should split the check, not the least of which was that we'd agreed earlier that this was not a date, the..
Fire burns blue and hot. Its fair light blinds me not. Smell of smoke is satisfying, tastes nourishing to my tongue. I think fire ageless, never old, and yet no longer young. Morning coals are cool: daylight leaves me blind. I love the fire most because of what it leaves behind.
Maybe love, at its essence, is being a mirror for another person--for the good parts and the bad. Perhaps love is simply finding that one person who sees you clearly, cares for you deeply, challenges you and supports you, and subsequently helps you see and be your true self.
Let's clear one thing up: Introverts do not hate small talk because we dislike people. We hate small talk because we hate the barrier it creates between people." -- Laurie Helgoe, Introvert Power ~Jennifer~"
If they don't learn about launching rockets at home, then they'll just learn about it on the streets." I glowered at him. "That sounds like something Hitler would say."
Alex the waiter was on my Spank Naughty list in third place, right after Henry Calvill the actor, then Henry Calvill as Superman. He was proof that God existed, and that God loved straight women.
My previous outlook could be summed up as follows: Life is shit. Math makes sense. Fictional characters are superior to real people because real people are equal parts pitiful and predictable.
With enough use, practice, and honing of skill, words were the weapons of choice used by exceptional writers and poets. Minds can be changed, hearts can be lost and broken, souls can be surrendered given the right words.