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Sometimes a wild horse needs to feel that his rider is just a little bit wilder.

Francesca Lia Block

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Francesca Lia Block
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: January 3
Editor
Novelist
Poet
Writer
LA
California
Wilder
Feel
Sometimes
Rider
Feels
Riders
Needs
Wild
Horse
Bits
Littles
Little

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Beauty loved him more than anything, her Beast boy, but, secretly, sometimes, she wished he would have remained a Beast.
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She began to feel like the plastic doll she had been named after, without even a hole where her mouth was supposed to be.
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I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.
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I think depression creates in me an urgent need to write, but I also believe that daily stress, and even the positive stress of intense happiness, can compel me to express myself through the written word.
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...It felt like they were telling each other secrets. Everything they said felt like that—whispered, tender, full of other meanings, like when you tell someone a dream or talk about your astrological signs as code for all the things you love about each other.
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We no longer believe in fairy tales. But we will learn to believe in monsters
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Maybe any love we ever have is an angel in whatever form.
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You make me feel like I have wings when you touch me.
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I saw my own blood and I thought, how could I live in a world where this exists- where love can become death?
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Maybe her own tears were the poison that made her grow.
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Welcome Beauty, banish fear.
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But be careful sand is already broken but glass breaks. The shoes are for dancing, not running away.
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The true warrior isn't immune to fear. She fights in spite of it.
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i could see the veins through your skin like a map to inside you. how could skin be that thin? i was so afraid you might drop and break. i stopped breathing so you wouldn't.
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Stories are like genies...They can carry us into and though our sorrows. Sometimes they burn, sometimes they dance, sometimes they weep, sometimes they sing. Like genies, everyone has one. Like genies, sometimes we forget that we do. Our stories can set us free...When we set them free.
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Wish on everything. Pink cars are good, especially old ones. And stars of course, first stars and shooting stars. Planes will do if they are the first light in the sky and look like stars. Wish in tunnels, holding your breath and lifting your feet off the ground. Birthday candles. Baby teeth.
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You were just a boy on a bed in a room, like a kaleidoscope is a tube full of bits of broken glass. But the way I saw you was pieces refracting the light, shifting into an infinite universe of flowers and rainbows and insects and planets, magical dividing cells, pictures no one else knew.
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There’s nowhere to escape,” Dobey said, jamming his hands into his pockets and staring into the Valley. That’s not true, baby,” said Desiree. She took his hands and pulled him to her, wrapping her legs around his torso. She could feel the sobs in both of them, but quiet, silenced by the kiss. They could escape inside each other.
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What sexual preference do you hope she has?” “Happiness.” Isnt that cool?
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It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.
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