Listen to your second thought, or the third might be too late.
My ma says a rock lasts forever, but people don’t, and that’s what makes them more precious.
If you’re listening Big Brother, I refuse to be Fanny Price.
The woman gestured to a seat and put on a patient face. An impatient sort of patient face, like an impatient face dressing up as a patient one for Halloween.
The snow was too light to stay, the ground too warm to keep it. And the strange spring snow fell only in that golden moment of dawn, the turning of the page between night and day.
Saying my story makes me want to change it, make it sound pretty the way I do with the stories I tell the workers. I’d like it to have a beginning as grand as a ball and an ending in a whisper, like a mother tucking in a child for sleep.
I am not sure I am ready to know what I think about that, so I dare not write it out.
For one thing, everyone there is so clever. Do they think me dull? Perhaps I should assure them that our goats enjoyed listening to me for hours on end. I am certain their bleats meant “Do go on, Miri, darling. You are immensely entertaining.” Your immensely entertaining sister, Miri.
No small thing, a bee’s sting When it enters the heart Not so benign, the growing vine When it tears stone apart.
She’s as fetching as brown hair done up with ribbons blue The mountain, my lady She’s as sweet as pink flowers made bright with morning dew, Mount Eskel, my lady.
She wore white heirloom lace about her throat And in her hair a bright golden feather A pearl like a plum hung ripe from her neck But her smile fetched ten gold together.
The army slew a thousand and showed little pity The king ordered fealty from the conquered city The prince charmed its people with words wise and witty And the queen sat on a couch, looking very pretty.
Here’s the thing about home: you can create it most anywhere, as long as you gather your people around you.
Many times I have learned that, you never judge a book by its cover. Like people, it is the inside that counts.
He did a very good impression of a stone column.
Years ago, before this estate was generously and unwillingly turned over to the crown, the lord here was a genuine dimwit. He had a minister stashed behind his throne to whisper clever things to say.
Go on, son, you’re not doing me any good by bleeding.
Wait, I want more green. I hope I did not imply I only wanted your colors. We can’t turn a cold shoulder to green, and blue, and purple, for the sake of all ordered things, how can you dismiss purple? Celi, call Nom back and tell him of my need for purple!
I can see that one can never pay back Gilsa for the fear that she will give again.
Razo knew he was best at nothing, except maybe cramming two cherries into a single nostril.