She was not quite what you would call refined. She was not quite what you would call unrefined. She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.
I don't write romance novels.
It happens to everyone as they grow up. You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you've known forever don't see things the way you do. So you keep the wonderful memories, but find yourself moving on.
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.
It’s never too late to do the right thing.
In the blink of an eye, something happens by chance - when you least expect it - sets you on a course that you never planned, into a future you never imagined.
It's the possibility that keeps me going, not the guarantee.
I like the idea of my art being a covetable object; I like preciousness. A lot of art seems to flaunt its throw-away character. . . But you have to sail out into the dangerous sea of fine art with these crafted works.
Of course it hurts", she grumbled, tipping my head further back. "Life sucks. Get over it
Great things are done by devotion to one idea.
I'm bored with the same genre, the same remakes of things. I like original ideas and high-concept things where it's off the page and kind of fantastical.