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Oh, sure. Of course, they say now that we’ve got Freud and the motorcar, God is dead.” “He’s not dead just very tired.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Tired
Dead
Courses
Course
Sure
Motorcar
Freud

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She never utters a sound even when she's crying, and that makes me a little sad. Doesn't seem right. When you cry, people should hear you. The world should stop.
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My dad was a Presbyterian minister. Yes, I am one of those dreaded P.K.s - Preachers Kids. Be afraid.
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These are hard times. The world hurts. We live in fear and forget to walk with hope. But hope has not forgotten you. So ask it to dinner. It's probably hungry and would appreciate the invitation.
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- 'Music opens your soul, makes you ready.' - 'Ready for what?' - He smiles big. 'Exactly.
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What you want can be yours. But you must first know what it is you want.
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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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I change the world, the world changes me.
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There were few things worse than being ordinary, in Evie’s opinion. Ordinary was for suckers.
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Men have feelings too, you know. You bruise the petals of my manflower.
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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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...because really, sometimes the irony gods just get drunk.
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How I'd love to get away from here and be someone else for a while in a place where no one knows or expects certain things from me.
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Prepared to fly, even if she has to loose her legs to do it
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My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
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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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Tell my brother to remember his heart in all things. That is where his honor and his destiny will be found. Tell him.
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No, I call. Come back. I'm here, he says. But I can't see. It's too bright. You can't hold back the light, Gemma. I'm here. Trust me.
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Evie didn’t mind yelling, but she hated feeling judged. It got under her skin and made her feel small and ugly and unfixable.
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Because it is morning, it is morning, and there is so much to see.
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