One was our own Mother Fallopia, tall, elegant, austere, and with a habit so black she looked like a nun-shaped hole in the air.
I liked him, but since his particular field of interest was Remote Suggestion – the skill of projecting thoughts into people’s heads from a distance – I didn’t know whether I actually liked him or he was just suggesting I like him, which was both creepy and unethical. In fact, the whole Remote Suggestion or “seeding” idea had been banned once it was discovered to be the key ingredient in promoting talent less boy bands, which had until then been something of a mystery.
She had large, questioning eyes that seemed to draw me in and a sense of quiet outrage that simmered just beneath the surface. More than anything, within her features, there was a streak of wild quirkiness that made her dazzlingly attractive.
They’d never get here in time. It’s easy. A lobotomized monkey could do it.” “And where are we going to find a lobotomized monkey at this time of night?
A sloppy half-Windsor is the first symptom of serial indolence’ she replied in the patronizing voice that Yellows reserved for Rule-breakers, ’and ignoring the infraction gives the impression that it is acceptable to be inappropriately attired. The next day it might be badly polished shoes, then uncouth language, showing off and impoliteness. Before one knows it, the rot of disharmony would start to dismantle everything that we know and cherish.
If a shred of integrity fell into your soul, it would die a very lonely death.
And he gave me a smile that looked as though it had come from a hastily-read handbook on cultivating personal charm.
She had met the man who was now her husband. He was seven foot three, and she was six foot two and a quarter. It was a match made perhaps not in heaven but certainly nearer the ceiling.
Although helpful, a disembodied hand on the Bugatti’s steering wheel was a bit creepy, especially because this one was hairy and had No More Pies tattooed on the back.
After all, color in itself has no color – it’s simply a construction of the mind: a sensation, like the Humming Chorus from Madame Butterfly and the smell of honeysuckle.
And we kissed again. It was a warm, indescribably lovely feeling. But it was more than just physical. It was a dialogue between two young people with high ideals and a Big Plan. It was about belonging, secrets, partnership, commitment.
I can hardly contain my indifference.
These are the real puzzles that will face humanity. There is, he claims, a single theory that will explain not only why the queue you choose at a supermarket is always the slowest but why trains always leave on time when you are late and leave late when you are on time.” “There isn’t an answer to those,” murmured Madeleine doubtfully. “It just happens.” “That’s what they used to say about lightning,” replied Pandora, “and rainbows.
Don’t underestimate mediocrity... Lasting happiness, I’ve found, only really favors the unadventurous.
The sky was like ebony and the only illumination was the harsh white light of the central streetlamp, which cast shadows so hard it seemed you might cut yourself on them.
Male guilt avoidance syndrome,′ explained my father. ‘It’s a recognised medical condition by 2054.
I found Jane, too, or perhaps she found me. It doesn’t really matter. We found each other. And although she was Grey and I was Red, we shared a common thirst for justice that transcended Chromatic politics. I loved her, and what’s more, I was beginning to think that she loved me. After all, she did apologize before she pushed me into the leafless expanse below the spread of the yateveo, and she wouldn’t have done that if she’d felt nothing.
To avoid a repeat of this near disaster, the Council of Genres took the only course of action open to them to ensure TGC would be too inefficient and unimaginative to pose a threat. They appointed a committee to run it.
Inspector Turner’s hope to marry a wealthy Mr. Right and leave the service stayed just that – a hope – as so often Mr. Right turned out to be either Mr. Liar, Mr. Drunk or Mr. Already Married.
Ninety-seven minutes ago,” replied Copperfield. “Killed two male nurses and his doctor with his bare hands. The other three orderlies who accompanied him are critical in the hospital.” “Critical?” “Yes. Don’t like the food, beds uncomfortable, waiting lists too long – usual crap. Other than that they’re fine.