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I can see his pain, see it in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, over and over, and I understand what it costs him to hide it all.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Cost
Hair
Pain
Understand
Running
Costs
Way
Runs
Hide
Fingers

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This is the world we live in, Gemma, for better or for worse. Make of it what you can, he says, and I pull him to me.
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There was something about the island that made the girls forget who they had been. All those rules and shalt nots. They were no longer waiting for some arbitrary grade. They were no longer performing. Waiting. Hoping. They were becoming. They were.
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To those who will see, the world waits.
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Evie wanted to cry. From fear. From exhaustion, yes. But mostly from the cruel uselessness, the damned stupid arbitrariness of it all.
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The desperation meeting the silence with its unmasked wish.
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But you've changed,' I whisper. 'Haven't you?' It is the scorpian's nature to sting. Just because he has no opportunity doesn't mean that he cannot.
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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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Mawah meenon ne le plus poohlala, I say with an affected bow.
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Why should we girls not have the same privileges as men? Why do we police ourselves so stringently- whittling each other down with cutting remarks or holding ourselves back from greatness with a harness woven of fear and shame and longing? If we do not deem ourselves worthy first, how shall we ever ask for more?
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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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Harold Brodie is a louse and a lothario who cheats at cards and has a different girl in his rumble seat every week. That coupe of his is pos-i-tute-ly a petting palace. And he’s a terrible kisser to boot.” Evie’s parents stared in stunned silence. “Or so I’ve heard.
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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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There are no wrong decisions ― only different ones.
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And for a moment, I understand that I have friends on this lonely path that sometimes your place is not something you find, but something you have when you need it.
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We're like pretty horses, and just as on horses, they mean to put blinders on us so we can't look left or right but only straight ahead where they would lead.
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The wolf was at the door. His shadow spilled into the room, taking it over.
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I'd like to thank readers. Every time you open a book, it is a strike against ignorance. Unless you're reading Sarah Palin.
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What kind of person doesn't let you have gummi bears?
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Please, I'm a transgender former boy-bander. You think I don't know how to defend myself?
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The trouble with morning is that it comes well before noon.
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