Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripened something of our happiness.
I was no suffragette, but I was pretty sure the he-can’t-control-himself defense was a big, stinky load of horseshit.
The worst memories stick with us, while the nice ones always seem to slip through our fingers.
There’s a good kind of crazy, Kaylee,” he insisted softly, reaching out to wrap his warm hand around mine. “It’s the kind that makes you think about things that make your head hurt, because not thinking about them is the coward’s way out. The kind that makes you touch people who bruise your soul, just because they need to be touched. This is the kind of crazy that lets you stare out into the darkness and rage at eternity, while it stares back at you, ready to swallow you whole.
I went up on my toes to kiss him, and he groaned. "Do you really think this is appropriate on school grounds?" "Nope. " I wrapped my arms around his neck. "And I happen to know there isn't an appropriate thought running through your head right now. " "Or any other time. " Tod pulled me close and held me so tight my ribs almost hut, but I didn't want him to let go. Ever.
Tod's eyes widened, and his irises swirled in tight twists of blue. "Well, I don't see that I have much of a choice, considering that's part of Reaper Law. " "There's a Reaper Law?" "Of course. 'A reaper is Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous. . . '" He shrugged. "It gets boring after that. But this situation is clearly covered under the 'helpful' category. " I rolled my eyes. "I think that's the Boy Scout law. " "They took it from us. But they left out all the good stuff.
She just got out of the hospital. Why don't you go gossip behind her back, like decent people?
I went to visit Alcatraz years ago when I was on tour with the Pistols, and I really liked the atmosphere of the place. I genuinely, really, thoroughly enjoyed the whole morning there. I just liked the quietness and stillness of what is basically a cruel prison complex. I still found some kind of joy in that. That's how I am.
Aimee-"If someone's possessed by a demon, how do you get the demon out?" Xedrix-"Call a priest.
Well, I've never been in a touring rock band, it was all just high school and college, playing toga parties in frat houses.
My theory is that poems are written because of a state of emotional irritation. It may be present for some time before the poet is conscious of what is tormenting him. The emotional irritation springs, probably, from subconscious combinations of partly forgotten thoughts and feelings. Coming together, like electrical currents in a thunder storm, they produce a poem. . . . the poem is written to free the poet from an emotional burden.