It is strange how fragile this man-creature is. . . . . in one second he's just garbage. Garbage, that's all.
Can’t take a chance that one day, in one spot, somewhere, an exit might appear. We can’t give up. Ever.
. . . You'd think the little part about them supposedly killing us would be the attention getter.
I love the sound of it," Trina whispers, as if speaking too loudly might interrupt the drumming patter of the rain outside. "It makes me want to sleep. Snuggle my head right up in your armpit and snore for three days. " "My armpit?" Mark repeats. "Good thing we all showered up in the storm this morning. My pits smell like roses. Go ahead and get comfy.
Ah, my Knight in Shining Armor. What, you don't think I can fend for myself?
We were lining up and counting off nice and easy till you came stumbling through like a doped-up bull,' Minho responded.
Thomas had a depressing - and scary - thought. 'Am I. . . replacing someone? Did somebody get killed?' Minho shook his head. 'No, we're just training you - someone'll want a break. Don't worry, it's been a while since a Runner was killed. ' For some reason that last statement worried Thomas, though he hoped it didn't show on his face.
The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it.
Every prophet and every saint has a way, But all lead to God. All ways are really one.
When one writer tries to silence another, he silences every writer-and in the end he also silences himself.
Plaque was placed on 6 May 1977 at Bellevue (a house on the slopes of the Wienerwald) where the Freud family spent their summers.