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I sleep better knowing that a naked cork-eater is not sneaking around at night, stealing my underwear.
Maureen Johnson
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Maureen Johnson
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 16
Author
Novelist
Writer
Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
Around
Eater
Better
Cork
Underwear
Stealing
Naked
Sleep
Knowing
Night
Sneaking
More quotes by Maureen Johnson
I knew it was beautiful, but knowing something is beautiful and caring about it are two very different things, and I didn't care.
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She was standing in the airport of Copenhagen, staring at a doorway, trying to figure out if it was (a) a bathroom and (b) what kind of bathroom it was. The door merely said H. Was she an H? Was H hers? It could just as easily be his. Or Helicopter Room: Not a Bathroom at All
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I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.
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We study there a lot because... what other choice does society give us, right? It's Starbucks or death, sometimes.
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I envisioned huge piles of the Elf Hotel flying off the belt, taking down everybody in sight. I had seen pictures of that Elf Hotel - it had sharp candy-cane spires that could easily impale someone. If anyone was ever going to be killed by an Elf Hotel, it would be my parents.
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Nothing was quite like it was supposed to be.
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She firmly held the theory that everyone gets at least one very stupid superpower.
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This kind of thing always amazed Ginny--people who just walked away from institutions. People who left school when they didn't see the point. Aunt Peg had done that. Ginny knew she never would. That either made her someone who worked hard and finished things, or someone who didn't have the guts to break away from the pack. Maybe both.
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But we made our own fun, mostly. I recall a time, many years later, when American children seemed unable to amuse themselves without a fortune in electrical and electronic equipment. We had no fancy equipment and did not miss it.
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Why are Americans so fascinated by Ireland? Keith asked... you all think you're Irish. What's the appeal? Do you like the accent more? Is it all the magical rocks? Oh, look, a leprechaun.
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One question, I said. Did you tell me all that because you think I'm going to die? No, he said. It's because you're doing something brave, and I felt I should too. I'll take that as a yes, I said.
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Spicy food and I have a close relationship—an obsessive one, in fact. If it’s spicy, I want it. I want to sweat and shake and go half blind from the searing pain . . . which, now that I put it that way, seems really suggestive. But spicy stuff is addictive. That’s a known fact of science.
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You've never told me about your love life, Scarlett. You're a very pretty girl. You must have a boy shacked up somewhere for your personal delights. I'd bet it's a booky one, overtones of Harry Potter and a lot of black T-shirts.
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The essay I had to read was called, An Essay on Criticism by Alexander Pope. The first challenge was that the essay was, in fact, a very long poem in heroic couplets. If something is called an essay, it should be an essay.
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I guess life is full of maybes.
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Can I tell you something you really don't want to hear? He's going to break up with you. - Stuart
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She wasn't only gay, she was a gay elf.
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I could envision it all to clearly: Stuart or Debbie finding the dented door off its hinges, lying in the snow. She came in, ravaged the boy, stole plastic bags, and ripped off the door in her escape, the police would say in the APB. Probably making her way to bust her parents out of jail.
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It was fine, I said stiffly. We played Mouse Trap. Is that what they're calling it these days? she asked, throwing me a terrible grin. I have to go give Rachel a quick bath. Feel free to make yourself some cocoa or whatever you like! She stopped short of adding ...future child-bride of my only son.
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No sausage? he asked. Apparently my pork consumption habits were a matter of public record.
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