One of my maids forgot the fruit with my breakfast. I became a skunk and sprayed her.
She remained an ass for all the rest of her days, as asses typically do.
Maybe you could write to a future version of yourself. Many people write their journals to future selves, I think. It demonstrates a kind of hopefulness.
Great,” I answer. It’s fruitless to argue with Dave; he’s so freaking calm. “I’ll get right on that.
No horse jokes,” he said. “My lord, I apologize for the horse joke. If you put down the book – unharmed! – I will give you a carrot.” He brandished the book at her. “Was that a horse joke?” “Neigh.” “Was that a horse joke?
Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t regret us. I don’t. I won’t, ever.
But my anger was a slippery thing, like a fish I was trying to keep hold of, and it wiggled out of my grasp.
It’s your mind you have to train, like your mom said that one time, you have to separate yourself from all the crap, get down to the core, focus.
Brave isn’t something you are. It’s something you do. It comes from action. I appreciate that.
Don’t be sorry for how you feel. Feel what you need to feel. Own your feelings.
She sleeps so she doesn’t have to be awake, so she will be conscious of what’s happened as little as possible.
Well, I figure if a girl wants to be a legend, she should just go ahead and be one.
I don’t need a man. I have a gun.
Never ever, ever, ever, trust a writer. As a whole, they’re a no-good bunch.
Sometimes it had taken her hours or days to recover from a particularly emotional book, but there’d always been another to take her mind off the anguish.
Sometimes all a person needs to turn themselves around is one good friend.
Our purpose on this earth is not a single event, an accomplishment we can check off a list. There is no test. No passing or failing. There’s only us, each moment shaping who we are, into what we will become. So I say forget about the future. Pay attention to now. This moment right now. Let go of expectations. Just be. Then you are free to become something great.
She took a shuddering breath. Crying, she told herself sternly, does not indicate that you are weak.
When a man hits a target, they call him a marksman. When I hit it, they call it a trick. Never did like that much. – Annie Oakley I figure, if a girl wants to be a legend, she should just go ahead and be one. – Calamity Jane.
But what I’m thinking in this moment is: none of us really get to have our own, separate lives. Our lives are always all horribly tangled up with the people around us. The people we love.
You can’t get a man with a gun.” “I don’t need a man, Mama. I have a gun.