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There are times when one friend requires the blind faith of another.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Requires
Blind
Friend
Faith
Times
Another

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Do not be tempted by English roses. Their beauty fades, but their thorns are forever.
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My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
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Im a techno moron. I need help just to plug in my video camera.
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It's so laughable that it's somewhere beyond comedy and right into tragedy again.
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Think: who has vans, huh? Soccer moms and serial killers.
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She bestowed the blessing of a wild girl's lips.
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I should never be left alone with my mind for too long.
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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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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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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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Truth casts a spell of its own.
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There are no wrong decisions ― only different ones.
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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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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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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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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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We don't look at each other anymore. Not really. Not since I pulled him from that opium den. Now when I look at him, I see the addict. And when he looks at me, he sees what he would rather not remember. I wish I could be his adored little girl again, sitting at his side.
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A man bumps me on his busy way without so much as an apology. But that is all right. I forgive you, busy man about town with the sharp elbows. Hail and farewell to you! For I, Gemma Doyle, am to have a splendid Christmas in London town. All shall be well. God rest us merry gentlemen. And gentlewomen.
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The key holds the truth
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