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There was a war going on in our house. A silent war that sounded no guns, and the bodies that fell were only wishes that died and the bullets were only words and the blood that spilled was always called pride.

Virginia C. Andrews

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Virginia C. Andrews
Called
Wishes
Words
Fell
Wish
Bodies
War
Gun
House
Silent
Spilled
Body
Died
Sounded
Going
Pride
Bullets
Always
Blood
Guns

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I saw myself dancing alone, always alone.
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There is no hate such as that born out of love betrayed- and my brain screamed out for revenge.
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The creative genius begins in the idle moment, dreaming up the impossible, and later making it come true.
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Life is like that - twenty minutes of misery for every two seconds of joy.
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you've got to learn something from every defeat in life or life will defeat you.
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My thoughts took frantic flight, wanting to escape this prison, and seek out the wind so it could fan my hair and sting my skin, and make me feel alive again.
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Love … I put so much faith in it. Truth … I kept believing it falls always from the lips of the one you love and trust the most. Faith … it’s all bound up to love and trust. Where does one end and the other start, and how do you tell when love is the blindest of all?
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Mine are the deep-seated fears established when we are children, and they never quite go away: the fear of being helpless, the fear of being trapped, the fear of being out of control.
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I don't think she's ever coming back.
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Angel, saint, Devil's spawn, good or evil, you've got me pinned to the wall and labeled as yours until the day I die. And if you die first, then it won't be long before I follow.
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Love, when it came and knocked on my door, was going to be enough. And that unknown author who'd written that if you had fame, it was not enough, and if you had wealth as well, it was still not enough, and if you had fame, wealth, and also love ... still it was not enough - boy, did I feel sorry for him.
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Love doesn't always come when you want it to. Sometimes it just happens, despite your will.
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Tragedy had sent me headlong into reality. All the things I had seen before now looked different, even nature.
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It was the eyes. The secret of love was in the eyes. The way one person looked at another, the way eyes communicated and spoke when the lips never moved.
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I wish the night would end, I wish the day'd begin, I wish it would rain or snow, or the wind would blow, or the grass would grow, I wish I had yesterday, I wish there were games to play.
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Dreams, I thought. They're the riches of a poor person, stashed in treasure chests buried deeply in the imagination. But are dreams enough?
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love, is an unnatural attachment to another living thing. it's the root cause of most personal problems people have.
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