A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.
The only thing worse than a boy who hates you a boy who loves you.
Personally, I like a chocolate-colored sky. Dark, dark chocolate.
It’s much easier, she realized, to be on the verge of something than to actually be it.
And it would show me, once again, that one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death. In a way, it was destiny.
When death captures me. He will feel my fist on his face.
All of this resulted in at least some form of contentment and would soon be built upon to approach the concept of Being Happy.
The human child—so much cannier at times than the stupefyingly ponderous adult.
A firm friendship was built on gambling, smoking, and music, not to mention a shared desire for survival.
Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.
But then, is there cowardice in the acknowledgment of fear? Is there cowardice in being glad that you lived?
You see, to me, for just a moment, despite all of the colors that touch and grapple with what I see in this world, I will often catch an eclipse when a human dies.
I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
Sometimes I imagined how everything looked above those clouds, knowing without question that the sun was blond, and the endless atmosphere was a giant blue eye.
Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me.
Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that’s where they begin.