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Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder?

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Think
Thinking
Terribly
Missed
Fell
Angel
Cry
Wonder
Lost

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Peace is not happenstance. It is a living fire that must be fed constantly. It must be tended to with vigilance, else it dies out.
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Tell my brother to remember his heart in all things. That is where his honor and his destiny will be found. Tell him.
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Because 'You're perfect just the way you are,' is what your guidance counselor says. And she's an alcoholic.
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So much of the literature we had to read for high school English class was filled with victimized, tragic, symbolic women who spurred the plot forward with their inevitable shunning/death/shunning-followed-by-pregnancy-followed-by-death timelines.
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Maybe girls need an island to find themselves. Maybe they need a place where no one's is watching them so they can be who they really are
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There are no wrong decisions ― only different ones.
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In every end, there is also a beginning.
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She is the elephant’s eyebrows,” Evie whispered appreciatively. “Those jewels! How her neck must ache.” “That’s why Bayer makes aspirin,” Mabel whispered back, and Evie smiled, knowing that even a socialist wasn’t immune to the dazzle of a movie star.
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She never utters a sound even when she's crying, and that makes me a little sad. Doesn't seem right. When you cry, people should hear you. The world should stop.
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The wolf was at the door. His shadow spilled into the room, taking it over.
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It's so laughable that it's somewhere beyond comedy and right into tragedy again.
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What do you feel? I’ve never been asked this question once. None of us has. We aren’t supposed to feel. We’re British.
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War. Gorgon spits the word. That is what they call it to give the illusion of honor and law. It is chaos. Madness and blood and the hunger to win. It has always been thus and shall always be so.
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But the past cannot be changed, and we carry our choices with us, forward, into the unknown. We can only move on.
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Around us the night creatures have their say. We are surrounded by a symphony of crickets and frogs. Neither of us feels the need to speak, and I suppose that is one of the qualities I find comforting in Kartik. We can be alone together.
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Goodbye, I whisper at last, when it no longer matters and there is no one to hear it but the window.
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Think: who has vans, huh? Soccer moms and serial killers.
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I hate high heels. Walking in high heels for eight hours a day should be forbidden by the Geneva Convention.
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- So my own sister will not promote me? Speaking of which, weren't you supposed to find me a beautiful future wife with a small fortune? Have you had any success on that front? - Yes - I have warned them all.
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Reminds us that greatness lies even in the smallest of moments, in the humblest of hearts, and we shall, each of us, be called to greatness. Whether we shall rise to meet it or let it slip away is the challenge put before us all.
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