Regina Doman is a Christian writer who was born in 1970 in Havertown, Pennsylvania.
Some scars never heal. And he sounds like he has a lot of them. ' 'But Christ had scars too, even on His risen Body. Wounds in this life become glory in the next.
Some of them are okay, but the popular girls like to pick on my sister, and almost all the guys are gross. I don't know why guys are like that. Do you?
My parents reverted to their Catholic faith through the charismatic renewal, so I was raised charismatic.
I won't get killed,' Rose protested. Is that a promise?' Fish asked dryly, stirring his tea. 'If you break your word, I'll never believe you again. ' Rose shook her head at him. 'How can you even taste your tea if you put that much sugar in it?' Don't change the subject. I don't want to be responsible for depriving the world of Rose Brier. Under no circumstances are you allowed to help us do anything more dangerous than. . . change the oil in my car.
Bear heard Rose in the background saying, 'Why thank you, Mr. Fish. ' 'Good redhead. Helpful redhead,' Fish returned.
Blanche, prosaic in a pale yellow sweater and blue jeans, was wondering again if anything mattered—-life, faith--specifically, finishing homework assignments.
My skin's too white. " she said. Says who, Snow White?" he said, touching her cheek lightly with one hand.
She couldn’t picture anyone falling madly in love with such a person as Fish. What a name, Fish. . . Fish: think cold, slippery, detached. Benedict: think dry scholarly monk from the Dark Ages. Denniston: think English preparatory school, stolid country squire. Nothing about his name sounded the least bit romantic.
There are billions of men in the world, probably millions near my age. Maybe hundreds who are compatible with me. Maybe at least a dozen who would want to date me. There's got to be at least five on the continent whom I could probably marry. So why am I so hung up on this one guy?
Do you know, I always imagine that the subway trains are dragons,' Rose said to Bear as they clung to his coat for support in the swaying car. 'Tearing back and forth across the city in their underground caves, devouring people and spitting them out at random destinations.
There was a silence. Then Paul looked at Alex. 'She knows Chesterton. ' 'She lives,' said Alex.
One of my heroes, G. K. Chesterton, said, "The old fairy tales endure forever. The old fairy tale makes the hero a normal human boy; it is his adventures that are startling; they startle him because he is normal. " Discovering that the modern world can still contain the wonder and strangeness of a fairy tale is part of what my novels are about.
I went to work for Catholics United for the Faith, and I basically found myself in the midst of the traditionalist branch of the Catholic revival. There is an intellectual rigor that is very much valued there and that I was in awe of.
Hello again, violinist,' he said in a hoarse voice. 'Fancy meeting you here.
She remembered that once, when she was a little girl, she had seen a pretty young woman with golden hair down to her knees in a long flowered dress, and had said to her, without thinking, "Are you a princess?" The girl had laughed very kindly at her and asked her what her name was. Blanche remembered going away from her, led by her mother's hand, thinking to herself that the girl really was a princess, but in disguise. And she had resolved that someday, she would dress as though she were a princess in disguise.
It was Night. In most places, Night is a time for sleep, for calm, and for mystery. But not in New York City, where many things conspired every evening to murder the night.
The boys at school are so degenerate that it makes one feel pessimistic about the future of the male gender in general.
Have you ever felt that there was something going on in life that not everyone was aware of?
Try to be a whole person. Not just a night person, or a day person. Be the kind of person who can live in both.
I think that if a real princess was lost in this modern world and she could be whatever she wanted, she would be a musician,' Blanche said slowly. 'A violinist, or a harpist. That would be the only place where she could find solace for her lost kingdom.