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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.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Reading
Strike
Book
Readers
Every
Strikes
Time
Thank
Like
Ignorance
Reader
Unless
Sarah
Open
Palin

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Evie was so nervous that she downed her cocktail in two stiff swigs, then refilled her glass. Henry arched an eyebrow. “A pro, I see.” “What else is there to do in Ohio?
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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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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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Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder?
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People aren't always what you want them to be
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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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It is a giggle full of high spirits and merry mischief, proof that we never lose our girlish selves, no matter what sort of women we become.
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Hot off the presses, today’s headlines: The love of your life does not approve of my wanton flapper ways,” Evie said in a voice of affected mystery. “Really, Mabesie. You might want to reconsider—he is a bit of a killjoy.
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What happened to the winner Adina asked. She tripped. And the first runner-up? Miss Michigan cracked her knuckles. She tripped, too.
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If there was one truth Evie had learned in her short life, it was that forgiveness was easier to seek than permission. She didn’t plan to ask for either one.
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Reason was for suckers and Presbyterians.
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They don't know what they're in for at Spence, getting me, a ghost of a girl who'll nod and smile and take her tea but who isn't really here.
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She shrieks above the din. If you wish a battle, I shall give it. I am the last of my kind. I shall not lie down without a fight.
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One can never go back. One always has to move forward.
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There is a time in every life when paths are chosen, character is forged. I could have chosen a different path. But I didn’t. I failed myself.
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Naughty John, Naughty John, does his work with his apron on. Cuts your throat and takes your bones, sells 'em off for a coupla stones.
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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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When you looked up to the sky and cried 'Why?' sometimes the sky shrugged, yet other times it answered with warm assurance of linked hands.
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She bestowed the blessing of a wild girl's lips.
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