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But no matter what was going on in our lives, I could imagine lying beside her in bed at the end of the day, holding her while we talked and laughed, lost in each other's arms.
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I am lost without you. I am soulless, a drifter without a home, a solitary bird in a flight to nowhere. I am all these things, and I am nothing at all. This, my darling, is my life without you. I long for you to show me how to live again.
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The romantics would call this a love story, the cynics would call it a tragedy.
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Because you aren't just someone I loved back then. You were my best friend, my best self, and I can't imagine giving that up again." He hesitated searching for the right words. "You might not understand, but I gave you the best of me, and after you left, nothing was ever the same.
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They continued to watch each other from across the room, both frozen for a moment by the shadow of distant possibilities.
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What's the challenge in writing a novel that few people will read? I'm more than happy writing what I do and have no plans to change that.
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Love is fragile. And we're not always its best caretakers. We just muddle through and do the best we can. And hope this fragile thing survives against all odds.
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He put his arms around her. “Well, in my defense, then, whatever I did seemed to work, didn't it?” She sighed. “I suppose.” “You suppose?” “What do you want? A medal?” “For starters. A trophy would be nice, too.” She smiled. “What do you think you're holding right now?
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Everyone is always going through tough things, the irony in it is that everyone thinks what they're going through is just as hard as what you are. Life isn't about surviving this, it's about understanding this.
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Before I started (college), that's the advice my dad gave me. He said to pick classes based on the teacher whenever you can, not the subject...his point was that good teachers are priceless. They inspire you, they entertain you, and you end up learning a ton even when you don't know it.
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We sit silently and watch the world around us. This has taken a lifetime to learn. It seems only the old are able to sit next to one another and not say anything and still feel content. The young, brash and impatient, must always break the silence. It is a waste, for silence is pure. Silence is holy. It draws people together because only those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking. This is the great paradox.
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The emotions attached to them were like sand castles in the tide, slowly washing out to sea.
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I don't write romance novels.
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There are guys who grow up thinking they'll settle down some distant time in the future, and there are guys who are ready for marriage as soon as they meet the right person. The former bore me, mainly because they're pathetic; and the latter, frankly are hard to find.
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You have no idea how much the last few days have meant to me," I began. "Meeting you has been the best thing that's ever happened to me.
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A guy out there was meant to be the love of your life, your best friend, your soul mate, the one you can tell your dreams to. He'll brush the hair out of your eyes. Send you flowers when you least expect it. He'll stare at you during the movies, even though he paid $8 to see it. He'll call to say goodnight or just cause he's missing you. He'll look in your eyes and tell you, you're the most beautiful girl in the world, and for the first times in your life, you'll believe it.
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When you know that someone close to you is going to die, there's a natural tendency to want to spend as much time with them as you can.
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Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching the crowds for your face - I know it's an impossibility, but I cannot help myself.
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Libraries are places that house our dreams, our fantasies, our thirst for adventure.
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What was it, he wondered for the hundredth time, that enabled Pastor Harris to hear the answers in his heart? What did he mean when he said he felt God’s presence? Steve supposed he could ask Pastor Harris directly, but he doubted that would do any good. How could anyone explain such a thing? It would be like describing colors to someone blind from birth: The words might be understood, but the concept would remain mysterious and private.
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Dramatic fiction - William Shakespeare made his biggest mark writing dramatic love stories.
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She'd always believed that people come in two varieties: those who look out the windshield and those who stare in the rearview mirror. She'd always been the windshield type: gotta focus on the future, not the past, because that's the only part that's still up for grabs. Mom throws me out? Gotta get some food and find a place to live. Husband dies? Gotta keep working, or I'll end up going crazy. Got some guy stalking me? Gotta figure out a way to stop it.
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Writing the last page of the first draft is the most enjoyable moment in writing. It's one of the most enjoyable moments in life, period.
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As Logan walked towards her, he smiled as if reading her mind and opened his arms.