It’s as if the more he cares about someone, the less he can see. Emotion clouds his vision.
Oh, thank heavens! Someone remembered the bath mat, Enoch deadpanned. We are saved.
If you must fail, fail spectacularly!
Which was just well: goodbyes had never been my strong suit anyway, and lately my life had felt like an unbroken series of them. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Pointing into the ice, she said, “See that potted plant on the desk in there?” I saw. Nodded. “It’s green now, preserved by the ice. But inside it’s dead. And the moment that ice melts, it’ll turn brown and wither into mush.” She locked eyes with me. “I’m like that plant.
Because from the day I met her I’d known I wanted to be part of any world she belonged to. Did that make me crazy? Or was my heart too easily conquered?
And eventually the dark peeled back layer by layer, and with imperceptible gradations the sky feathered to a delicate pale blue.
I didn’t know you could fry toast,” I remarked, to which Kev replied that there wasn’t a food he was aware of that couldn’t be improved by frying.
Just because they knew it was lost didn’t mean they knew how to let it go.
The human psyche was much more flexible than I’d imagined, capable of expanding to contain all sorts of contradictions and seeming impossibilities.
I wondered what this odd, well-spoken man was doing on Cairnholm, with his pleated slacks and half-baked poems, looking more like a bank manager than someone who lived on a windswept island with one phone and no paved roads.
I swear on my life, one day I’ll personally escort all those that hurt my sisters to Hell.
What would Golan Do? That way I can ask myself before I do anything. Before I take a dump. How would Dr. Golan want me to take this dump? Should I bank it off the side or go straight down the middle? What would be the most psychologically beneficial dump I could take?
The sirens droned on, a soprano counterpoint to the bombs’ relentless bass, their pitch so eerily human it sounded like every soul in London had taken to their rooftops to cry out collective despair.
That’s because the true purpose of money is to manipulate others and make them feel lesser than you.
He was a human exclamation point, but carried himself with such dignity that I couldn’t laugh at him.
When it comes to big things in life, there are no accidents. Everything happens for a reason.
It seemed like my parents were always trying to get me to care about money, but I didn’t, really. Then again, it’s easy to say you don’t care about money when you have plenty of it.
If I’d kept my heart better armored, where would I be now?
I was here for a reason. There was something I was meant not simply to be, but to do- and it wasn’t to run or hide or give up the minute things seemed terrifying and impossible.