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I'm sorry,' he says simply. 'People make mistakes, Gemma. We take the wrong action for the right reasons, and the right action for the wrong reasons.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Make
Says
People
Simply
Mistake
Wrong
Action
Gemma
Reason
Reasons
Take
Mistakes
Right
Sorry

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I want to ask him if it’s possible that a girl can be born unlovable, or does she just become that way?
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Dead bodies are such trouble,” Evie said with a little sigh, and Mabel had to turn her head away so as not to laugh.
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It isn't that we do what we want. It's that we're allowed to want at all.
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Reason was for suckers and Presbyterians.
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Helloooo. Miss Ohio rolled her eyes. I'm from the Buckeye State. We are serious about our tailgating parties. I can turn anything into a grill.
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You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.
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Memphis found his smile. 'You know me, sir. I don't wear worry.
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I told myself it was the snow—she couldn’t possibly get to Philadelphia on the roads. I told myself a hundred lies. Children do that. It’s amazing the sorts of things you’ll make yourself believe.
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I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. I've got to think.
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In our travels, we have come across many equations--math for understanding the universe, for making music, for mapping stars, and also for tipping, which is important. Here is our favorite equation: Us plus Them equals All of Us. It is very simple math. Try it sometime. You probably won’t even need a pencil.
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She wished she were as inconsequential as the ghosts in her dreams.
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Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder?
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Sometimes I see things, I think. Out of the corner of my eye, taunting me, and then it’s gone. And dreams. Such horrible dreams. What if something terrible happened to me? What if I am damaged? The rain is a cool kiss on my sleeve as I link my arm with hers. We’re all damaged somehow.
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I love you for who you are, not who the world thinks you should be.
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All things are possible.
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There are times when one friend requires the blind faith of another.
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Tonight, she went into the woods, and I fear she shall live in the woods of my soul for the rest of my days.
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I invited myself. Thought this table needed some class.
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Everything is randomly connected.
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You are working up to Mr. Fantastic Fiction levels of Zombie Expert, which is like playing Guitar Hero on some level that actually melts the guitar controller, burning your fingers with searing hot plastic till you scream in pain. Only with words. And zombies.
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