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You are absolute angels of the first order. If I were Pope, I’d canonize you.” “The Pope would probably love to turn a cannon on you!

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Firsts
Angels
First
Absolutes
Would
Absolute
Love
Angel
Turn
Probably
Cannon
Turns
Cannons
Order
Pope

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Board the cows! We've come to enslave your marigolds.
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She loved attention. It was like a glass of the best champagne—bubbly and intoxicating—and as with champagne, she always wanted more of it. Still, she didn’t want to seem like an easy mark. “If you must know, I’ve come to join a convent,” Evie said, testing him.
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People tend to think that hate is the most dangerous emotion. But love is equally dangerous,” Will said. “There are many stories of spirits haunting the places and people who meant the most to them. In fact, there are more of those than there are revenge stories.
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Cash or check?” he said cheekily. Even the dullest Ohio girls knew that bit of lingo: Kiss now or kiss later? “Bank’s closed, pal.
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Retribution is a dog chasing its tail.
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What --- you don't believe in true love? Petra asked. The kind that can then be parlayed into awesome merchandising opportunities? - Beauty Queens
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Goodbye, I whisper at last, when it no longer matters and there is no one to hear it but the window.
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The key holds the truth
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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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One can never go back. One always has to move forward.
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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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I refuse to let the past find me here.
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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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May I suggest that you all read? And often. Believe me, it's nice to have something to talk about other than the weather and the Queen's health. Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.
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Her eyes take on that suspicious, wounded look girls get when they know they've fallen off the top rung of friendship and someone else has passed them, but they don't know when or how the change took place.
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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.
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No? Part girl, part wolf? Do they lick their butter knives?
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In a world like this one, only the random makes sense.
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Things aren't good or bad in and of themselves. It's what we do with them that makes them so.
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He took comfort in the neon signs, the wild strands of jazz creeping out of clubs whenever happy swells of people pushed through the doors in their finery.
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