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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
Missed
Fell
Angel
Cry
Wonder
Lost
Think
Thinking
Terribly

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It's possible to pretend I'm someone other than who I am, and if I pretend long enough, I can believe it.
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Write like it matters, and it will.
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Clothing left on the bed unfolded. Books stained with coffee spots. Tabs not paid until the last possible second. Boys kissed and then forgotten in a week’s time.
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Please do not strain yourself, Miss Doyle. I won't have my girls going cross-eyed in the name of art.
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Truth casts a spell of its own.
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What makes a girl a girl? What makes a guy a guy? Do you have to be what they want you to be? Or do you stop and listen to that voice inside you? I know who I am. I'm Petra West. And I'm a girl. You want me to sleep somewhere else, fine. Whatever. But I'm not going to pretend to be somebody I'm not. I've done enough of that.
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Adina gave a little shriek. That fish just swam past my leg! Creepy! Where did it go? To your right! Two o'clock! Get it! You are officially the most bloodthirsty vegetarian ever.
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It's always darkest before the ultimate sparkle.
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We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else. To spend time trying to change that, well, it's like chasing clouds.
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In every end, there is also a beginning.
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There were few things worse than being ordinary, in Evie’s opinion. Ordinary was for suckers.
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We create the illusions we need to go on.
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People always fear what they don't understand, Evangeline. History proves that.
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She smiled as sweetly as a show poster for the glorified, all-American Ziegfeld girl just before dumping her second cigarette into Wally’s fresh cup of coffee.
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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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I run after her, not really giving chase. I’m running because I can, because I must. Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.
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Theta crashed next to them on the thick zebra-skin rug. “I’m embalmed.” “Potted and splificated?” “Ossified to the gills. Time for night-night.
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Taylor clapped for attention. “Miss New Mexico, let’s not get all down in the bummer basement where the creepy things live. There are people in heathen China who don’t even have airline trays. We have a lot to be grateful for.
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When I dream, I dream of him. For several nights now he’s come to me, waving from a distant shore as if he’s been waiting patiently for me to arrive. He doesn’t utter a word, but his smile says everything: I’ve missed you.
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