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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
Time
Thank
Like
Ignorance
Reader
Unless
Sarah
Open
Palin
Reading
Strike
Book
Readers
Every
Strikes

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It keeps her purity vacum-sealed to preserve its freshness for her future husband.
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I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. I've got to think.
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I wish to live for myself. I should never want to be trapped.
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The world is only as fair as you can make it. Takes a lot of fight. A lot of fight. But if you stay in here, in your little cave, that's one less fighter on the side of fair.
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One can never go back. One always has to move forward.
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Next time we see you, you’ll be on trial for some ingenious crime!” Dottie said with a laugh. Evie grinned. “Just as long as they know my name.
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So, now I've been to see a drug counselor who told me I need to lay off the drugs and talk about my feelings, and a shrink who heard what I had to say and immediately put me on drugs.
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They swoon over Tom, who preens for them, bowing, which sets them to blushing and giggling. God help us all.
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Jericho lay back down on his side, watching her breathe just an arm's length from him. She was not beautiful while she slept her mouth hung open and she snored very lightly, and this, despite everything that had happened, made him smile.
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The key holds the truth
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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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There is never any turning back Gemma. You have to go forward. Make the future yours.
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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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You can never know about about your own destiny: are the people you meet there to play a part on your oun destiny, or do you exist just to play a role in theirs?
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You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.
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The uncertainty of our future is nothing more than a fog of breath on a windowpane.
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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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I know because I read...Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.
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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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