The choices we make about the lives we live determine the kinds of legacies we leave.
In there?' She nodded. 'You want us to go into the tortoise?' Another nod. 'It's alive. ' Another nod.
He had the prettiest hair she had ever seen on a man: dark brown, almost black, and soft like sable, it fell down to his shoulders. She wondered what he'd do if she threw some mud in it. Probably kill her.
You snore worse. At least I don't turn into a lion in my sleep. " "I only did it once. " "Once was weird enough, thank you.
What do you do to your hair?" "Dust, hair gel, and a little gun oil. " "Ever thought of patenting the recipe?" "No.
He referred to you as his little snack. " "He's a sweetie.
There was something very comforting about him, and I was not sure if it was his easy manner or his complete immunity to my scowling.
Everyone's mind wanders, without doubt, and we always have to start over. Everyone resists or dislikes the thought of or is too tired to meditate at times, and we have to be able to begin again.
There's nothing like self-improvement to get your friends to like you for who you were.
Exsanguinated," said Jace, impressed. "That's a big word. " "And you're a big-" "Tsk tsk," he interrupted. "No swearing in church.
Among Negroes of my generation there was not only little direct acquaintance or consciously inherited knowledge of Africa, but much distaste and recoil because of what the white world taught them about the Dark Continent. There arose resentment that a group like ours, born and bred in the United States for centuries, should be regarded as Africans at all. They were, as most of them began gradually to assert, Americans. My father's father was particularly bitter about this. He would not accept an invitation to a 'Negro' picnic. He would not segregate himself in any way.