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Evie wanted to cry. From fear. From exhaustion, yes. But mostly from the cruel uselessness, the damned stupid arbitrariness of it all.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Cruel
Mostly
Cry
Stupid
Arbitrariness
Fear
Evie
Wanted
Uselessness
Exhaustion
Damned

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I've heard it said that God is in the details. It's the same with the truth. Leave out the details, the crucial heart, and you can damn someone with the bare bones of it.
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So much of the literature we had to read for high school English class was filled with victimized, tragic, symbolic women who spurred the plot forward with their inevitable shunning/death/shunning-followed-by-pregnancy-followed-by-death timelines.
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When she can't bring me to heal with scolding, she bends me to shape with guilt.
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Mawah meenon ne le plus poohlala, I say with an affected bow.
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We're all damaged somehow.-A Great and Terrible Beauty
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No one can live in the light all the time.
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I refuse to let the past find me here.
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There’s a moment of profound sadness that can be dispelled only by summoning my anger.
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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.
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Centuries of fighting, and for what? I say. Today it ends. I can't live in fear any longer. I've cursed this power. I've both enjoyed and misused it. And I've hidden it away. Now I must try to wield it correctly, to marry it to a purpose and hope that is enough.
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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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But the past cannot be changed, and we carry our choices with us, forward, into the unknown. We can only move on.
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Does my new feminism make me look fat?
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She hadn’t meant to get trapped in a conversation. That was the trouble with offering help to old people.
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Truth casts a spell of its own.
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But you've changed,' I whisper. 'Haven't you?' It is the scorpian's nature to sting. Just because he has no opportunity doesn't mean that he cannot.
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On the Bowery, in the ornate carcass of a formerly grand vaudeville theater, a dance marathon limps along. The contestants, young girls and their fellas, hold one another up, determined to make their mark, to bite back at the dreams sold to them in newspaper advertisements and on the radio. They have sores on their feet but stars in their eyes.
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People have a habit of inventing fictions they will believe wholeheartedly in order to ignore the truth they cannot accept.
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I wish to live for myself. I should never want to be trapped.
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You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.
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