Age is artificial. It's soulless. It doesn't matter one bit.
Laurie Faria StolarzTags: book
Every action has a reaction,everything we do or say has an effect.
Heidi AyarbeTags: book
AuthorZoom- You do the writing, let us do the rest.
Christopher SeufertTags: writing book author cape-cod zoom
a book is a box of words until you open it.
Ursula K. Le GuinTags: book
When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud crashing sound. When a window shatters a table leg breaks or when a picture falls off the wall it makes a noise. But as for your heart when that breaks it s completely silent. You would think as it s so important it would make the loudest noise in the whole world or even have some ... Read Moresort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. But it s silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain. If there is a noise it s internal. It screams and no one can hear it but you. It screams so loud your ears ring and your head aches. It trashes around in your chest like a great white shark caught in the sea it roars like a mother bear whose cub has been taken. That s what it looks like and that s what it sounds like a trashing panicking trapped great big beast roaring like a prisoner to its own emotions. But that s the thing about love no one is untouchable.
Cecelia AhernTags: love book cecelia-ahernt if-you-could-see-me-now
If invisible people eat invisible food does invisible wind blow invisible trees?
Cecelia AhernTags: book invisible cecelia-ahernt if-you-could-see-me-now
Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.
Markus ZusakTags: book
She stood up and took the book from him, and as he smiled over his shoulder at some other kids, she threw it away and kicked him as hard as she could in the vicinity of the groin.
Well, as you might imagine, Ludwig Schmeikl certainly buckled, and on the way down, he was punched in the ear. When he landed, he was set upon. When he was set upon, he was slapped and clawed and obliterated by a girl who was utterly consumed with rage. His skin was so warm and soft. Her knuckles and fingernails were so frighteningly tough, despite their smallness.
You Saukerl." Her voice, too, was able to scratch him. "You Arschloch. Can you spell Arschloch for me?
Hair the color of lemons,'" Rudy read. His fingers touched the words. "You told him about me?"
At first, Liesel could not talk. Perhaps it was the sudden bumpiness of love she felt for him. Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death.
Of course I told him about you," Liesel said.
Never in our silent moments of illusion do we sense the dark parallel that lives next to us. Nor do we suspect the carrier.
Kris CourtneyTags: book memoir parallel kris-allen-courtney norma-jean
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