As my lama always told me, I learned that I practice better when I'm by myself.
I want to live in a place where strangers rush to help someone in distress.
Reading groups, readings, breakdowns of book sales all tell the same story: when women stop reading, the novel will be dead.
The world should take note: not everything is getting worse.
You can tell a lot from a person's nails. When a life starts to unravel, they're among the first to go.
Not being boring is quite a challenge.
Wasn't writing a kind of soaring, an achievable form of flight, of fancy, of the imagination?
There is no book of mine that I reject. That does not mean that I find them good.
Using some economic issues to make one group of people, regardless of race or religion, the scapegoat for all the problems of the country is just the stupidest, and yet, the most creative propaganda scheme that you can come up with.
But Hazael only said, "I brought you a present. " Liraz took the flower, looked at it, and then a Hazael, expressionless. And then she ate it. She chewed the flower and swallowed it. "Hmm," said Hazael. "Not the usual response. " "Oh, do you give flowers often?" "Yes," he said. He probably did. Hazael had a way of enjoying life in spite of the many restrictions they lived under, being soldiers, and worse, being Misbegotten. "I hope it wasn't poisonous," he said lightly. Liraz just shrugged. "There are worse ways to die.
Anime has sent me all over the world, introducing me to people who have touched my life in indescribably profound ways.