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Rachel, Rachel, Rachel,” he said, very still and unmoving. “Always jumping to the wrong conclusion. You’re like a frog, you know.
Kim Harrison
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Kim Harrison
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Midwest
Wyoming
Dawn Cook
Frogs
Jumping
Conclusion
Wrong
Stills
Still
Unmoving
Always
Rachel
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Frog
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And I’m not spying! I’m evaluating!” “It’s the same difference!
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Breaking rules isn't bad when what you're doing is more important than the rule itself
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A compassion swirled form nowhere in the high I was lost in. She needed me. She needed me to accept her for what she was. And when I realized that I had it within myself to give her at least this small part of me, the last of my fear melted away.
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I suddenly realized that a bunch of my friends needed babysitters and vowed to start screening my calls.
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Big lots,' I said, seeing the eighty-year-old oaks and shady lawns. The houses were set way back and had iron fences and stone drives. The harder to hear your neighbors scream, my dear,' was David’s answer, and I sent my head up and down in agreement.
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There is black. There is white. Gray is a cowardly excuse to mix our wants with our needs.
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Relief spilled into me. He wanted to live. He just didn't know how.
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You cannot thrash the person who makes you coffee. It's a rule somewhere.
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You need a new hobby, Rachel. Something other than nasty little men with visions of world domination.
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The small gargoyle had gone entirely white to match the ceiling, and only the rims of his ears, his long clawlike nails, and a thick stripe down his whip-like tail were still gray. He was crawling along the ceiling like a bat, wings held to make sharp angles and claws extended. It just about broke my creepy meter.
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We could've done this anywhere, but I wanted you to see me, to see this, he said, gesturing at the room. I wanted you to know where I come from, what I am under the choices I make.
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I want…” he said, then hesitated, taking a breath of air and lifting his chin. “I want one pure thing in my life,” he said loudly, his voice ringing in the red-tinted air. “I want one thing I can point to and say, ‘That is good, and it’s a part of me.
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The undead did not love, but they remembered love with a savage loyalty.
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