Some men just can’t stomach the necessary steps it takes to make a good girl great.
And all the books you've read have been read by other people. And all the songs you've loved have been heard by other people. And that girl that's pretty to you is pretty to other people. and that if you looked at these facts when you were happy, you would feel great because you are describing 'unity.
Beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes.
Pars minima est ipsa puella sui=--The girl herself is the least part of herself.
You state here that you believe your daughter, Amy, is no longer with you; that the girl living in your house - who looks and sounds exactly like Amy - is not in fact your daughter. Is this correct? Is this still the case?
It’s like that one time you woke up and tripped down a rabbit hole and a blond girl in a blue dress kept asking you for directions but you couldn’t tell her, you had no idea, you kept trying to speak but your throat was full of rain clouds and it’s like someone has taken the ocean and filled it with silence and dumped it all over this room.
She was a girl who knew how to be happy even when she was sad. And that’s important—you know
That disease Of which all old men sicken,--avarice.
Auferimur cultu: gemmis auroque teguntur / Omnia; pars minima est ipsa puella sui=--Dress deceives us: jewels and gold hide everything: the girl herself is the least part of herself.
I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.
I see... the way you're always searching. How much you hate anything fake or phony. How you're older than your years, but still... playful, like a little girl. How you're always looking into people, or wondering what they see when they look back at you. Your eyes. It's all in the eyes.
Unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised; / Happy in this, she is not yet so old / But she may learn.
No girl who is well bred, kind, and modest is ever offensively plain; all real deformity means want of manners or of heart.
I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass.
When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.
I was thinking about the first time I ever saw you," he said, "and how after that I couldn't forget you. I wanted to, but I couldn't stop myself. I forced Hodge to let me be the one who came to find you and bring you back to the Institue. And even back then, in that stupid coffee shop, when I saw you sitting on that couch with Simon, even then that felt wrong to me-- I should have been the one sitting with you. The one who made you laugh like that. I couldn't get rid of that feeling. That it should have been me. And the more I knew you, the more I felt it--it had never been like that for me before. I'd always wanted a girl and then gotten to know her and not wanted her anymore, but with you the feeling just got stronger and stronger until that night when you showed up at Renwick's and I knew.
Oh, but to get through this night. Why won’t sleep come? What’s bothering me here in the dark? It’s not the badgers, it’s not the snakes. What’s bothering me? Something darker is worrying a hole inside me—look how my legs are trembling. Stop moving, Tatiana. That’s how the carnivores find you, by the flash of life on your body, they find you and eat you while you sleep. Like venomous spiders, they’ll bite you first to lull you into sleep—you won’t even feel it—and then they will gnaw your flesh until nothing remains. But even the animals eating her alive was not the thing that worried the sick hole in Tatiana’s stomach as she lay in the leaves with her face hidden from the forest, with her arms over her head, in case anything decided to fall on her. She should’ve made herself a shelter but it got dark so fast, and she was so sure she would find the lake, she hadn’t been thinking of making herself more comfortable in the woods. She kept walking and walking, and then was downed and breathless and unprepared for pitch black night. To quell the terror inside her, to not hear her own voices, Tatiana whimpered. Lay and cried, low and afraid. What was tormenting her from the inside out? Was it worry over Marina? No... not quite. But close. Something about Marina. Something about Saika... Saika. The girl who caused trouble between Dasha and her dentist boyfriend, the girl who pushed her bike into Tatiana’s bike to make her fall under the tires of a downward truck rushing headlong... the girl who saw Tatiana’s grandmother carrying a sack of sugar and told her mother who told her father who told the Luga Soviet that Vasily Metanov harbored sugar he had no intention of giving up? The girl who did something so unspeakable with her own brother she was nearly killed by her own father’s hand—and she herself had said the boy got worse—and this previously unmentioned brother was, after all, dead. The girl who stood unafraid under rowan trees and sat under a gaggle of crows and did not feel black omens, the girl who told Tatiana her wicked stories, tempted Tatiana with her body, turned away from Marina as Marina was drowning...who turned Marina against Tatiana, the girl who didn’t believe in demons, who thought everything was all good in the universe, could she . . . What if...? What if this was not an accident? Moaning loudly, Tatiana turned away to the other side as if she’d just had a nightmare. But she hadn’t been dreaming. Saika took her compass and her knife. But Marina took her watch. And there it was. That was the thing eating up Tatiana from the inside out. Could Marina have been in on something like this? Twisting from side to side did not assuage her torn stomach, did not mollify her sunken heart. Making anguished noises, her eyes closed, she couldn’t think of fields, or Luga, or swimming, or clover or warm milk, anything. All good thoughts were drowned in the impossible sorrow. Could Marina have betrayed her?
A wise girl kisses but doesn't love, listens but doesn't believe, and leaves before she is left.
The first symptom of love in a young man is timidity; in a girl boldness.
Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.
You know what else the average girl who’s acting out does?” Duke asks quietly. I glance once at Laila, but it’s obvious she can’t hear us. “What?” “She starts spending all her time with a boy who’s no good for her.
All he desired in life was that — that he could pick himself together again and go on with his daily occupations if — the girl, being five thousand miles away, would continue to love him. He wanted nothing more, He prayed his God for nothing more.
The beginning, and very nearly the end, of bodily education for a girl, is to make sure that she can stand and sit upright; the ankle vertical, and firm as a marble shaft; the waist elastic as a reed, and as unfatiguable.
Beneath the makeup and behind the smile I am just a girl who wishes for the world.
As it 'appens, I am Arthur's right-hand man," said Suzy. "Or left-hand girl, I can't remember where I stood last time. Anyhow, me and Arthur is like two fingers of a gauntlet. Or at least the thumb and the little finger. I mean, I'm his top General, and all. So if I say you're in, you're in.
All my life I’d been told what to believe about politics, coloreds, being a girl. But with Constantine’s thumb pressed in my hand, I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe.
"The only way I can lose this election is if I'm caught in bed with a dead
The girl anchors the stage, sucks in the male gaze, and, depending on who she is, throws her own gaze back out into the audience.
No lover should have the insolence to think of being accepted at once, nor should any girl have the cruelty to refuse at once, without severe reasons.
All you need to make a movie is a girl and a gun. Jean-Luc Godard
We are all going, I thought, and it applies to turtles and turtlenecks, Alaska the girl and Alaska the place, because nothing can last, not even the earth itself. The Buddha said that suffering was caused by desire, we'd learned, and that the cessation of desire meant the cessation of suffering. When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.
A lovely girl is above all rank.--_Charles Buxton._
Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.
I wrote the story myself. It's about a girl who lost her reputation and never missed it.
I wonder if I know the girl he’s looking at.
..he was prettier than any girl, and that his skin was like sunshine with a suntan.
And when her lips met mine, I knew that I could live to be a hundred and visit every country in the world, but nothing would ever compare to that single moment when I first kissed the girl of my dreams and knew that my love would last forever.
No one is perfect, Jet. We all have things that have happened, that are going to happen that make us who we are, and maybe you need to look past all the superficial stuff you see when you look at this girl and see what’s underneath.
around at the sound of the flat Cockney vowels. The sight of the girl detective bearing down on him was about as welcome as a Russian son-in-law.
We love a girl for very different things than understanding. We love her for her beauty, her youth, her mirth, her confidingness, her character, with its faults, caprices, and God knows what other inexpressible charms; but we do not love her for her understanding. Her mind we esteem (if it is brilliant), and it may greatly elevate her in our opinion; nay, more, it may enchain us when we already love. But her understanding is not that which awakens and inflames our passions.
My mother’s voice. It’s the first thing I remember after I opened my eyes. My beautiful girl. You came back to us. But she was wrong.
Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.
I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil. I am just a small girl in a big world trying to find someone to love.
I am a woman of very few layers, and most of them are selfish and mean. My parents tried to make me a good girl, but I just wasn’t having it.
...and my coffee is Blue Mountain and I drink it black, which is unusual for a teenage girl, but it's definitely the way good coffee should be drunk if you have any respect for the bitter beans.
He left here thinking he had one type of girl and he’s going to come home to me being a complete basket case. Who comes over to their boyfriend’s place so they can sniff his shit and hug his pillow?
The spirit world shuts not its gates, Your heart is dead, your senses sleep,’ says the Earth Spirit to Faust. And the senses sleep when there is not enough energy to run them efficiently. On the other hand, when the level of will and determination is high, the senses wake up. (Maslow was not particularly literary, or he might have been amused to think that Faust is suffering from exactly the same problem as the girl in the chewing gum factory (described earlier), and that he had, incidentally, solved a problem that had troubled European culture for nearly two centuries). Peak experiences are a by-product of this higher energy-drive. The alcoholic drinks because he is seeking peak experiences; (the same, of course, goes for all addicts, whether of drugs or tobacco.) In fact, he is moving away from them, like a lost traveller walking away from the inn in which he hopes to spend the night. The moment he sees with clarity what he needs to do to regain the peak experience, he does an about-face and ceases to be an alcoholic.
And she's got brains enough for two, which is the exact quantity the girl who marries you will need.
I'm not the girl they remember. I'm not anyone they know.
You think because he doesn't love you that you are worthless. You think that because he doesn't want you anymore that he is right -- that his judgement and opinion of you are correct. If he throws you out, then you are garbage. You think he belongs to you because you want to belong to him. Don't. It's a bad word, 'belong.' Especially when you put it with somebody you love. Love shouldn't be like that. Did you ever see the way the clouds love a mountain? They circle all around it; sometimes you can't even see the mountain for the clouds. But you know what? You go up top and what do you see? His head. The clouds never cover the head. His head pokes through, beacuse the clouds let him; they don't wrap him up. They let him keep his head up high, free, with nothing to hide him or bind him. You can't own a human being. You can't lose what you don't own. Suppose you did own him. Could you really love somebody who was absolutely nobody without you? You really want somebody like that? Somebody who falls apart when you walk out the door? You don't, do you? And neither does he. You're turning over your whole life to him. Your whole life, girl. And if it means so little to you that you can just give it away, hand it to him, then why should it mean any more to him? He can't value you more than you value yourself.
Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.
Many a man who falls in love with a dimple make the mistake of marrying the whole girl.
You think I don’t know what I want? You think I love the idea of relying on my looks for life? No! It’s pathetic! In my head, I have a nice, quiet, normal job that involves me running my own business. I carry a briefcase around my office with important documents, I have a nice assistant who calls me boss, and people ask me questions—they ask for my advice because I matter! I’m important to them! I’m recognized as something more than a pretty face and a pair of legs. I have a brain and interests and thoughts about religion, and poverty, and economics. I’m not a miserable girl with a number attached to her chest, stripping her clothes off in a room full of people.
Before marriage, a girl has to make love to a man to hold him. After marriage, she has to hold him to make love to him.
It's my old girl that advises. She has the head. But I never own to it before her. Discipline must be maintained.
Let it go, let it go! I am one with the wind and sky! Let it go, let it go! You'll never see me cry… Let it go, let it go! And I'll rise like the break of dawn Let it go, let it go! That perfect girl is gone Here I stand In the light of day! Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway!
You don't love a girl because of beauty. You love her because she sings a song only you can understand.
her ear. She was stick-thin and pretty, with a loose pink top that let her breasts sway and rose-colored tight pants, but other than her Vegas body, she wasn’t making any effort to look glamorous. Her brown hair hung limply to her shoulders in a mess of curls. She hadn’t put on makeup or jewelry, except for a gold bracelet that she twisted nervously around her wrist with her other hand. The whites of her eyes were lined with red. Amanda began to approach her but found her way blocked by a giant Samoan in a Hawaiian shirt, obviously a bodyguard. She discreetly flashed her badge. The man asked if she could wait, then lumbered over to Tierney and whispered in her ear. The girl studied Amanda, murmured something to the Samoan, and went back to her phone call. “Mrs. Dargon wonders if she could talk to you in her limo,” the bodyguard told Amanda. “It’s waiting outside. There’s a picture of Mr. Dargon on the door.” Amanda shrugged. “Okay.” She found the limo without any problem. Samoa had obviously radioed to the driver, who was waiting for her with the door open. He was in his sixties, and he tipped his black hat to Amanda as she got in. “There’s champagne if you’d like,” he told her. “We have muffins, too, but don’t take the blueberry oatmeal muffin. That’s Mrs. Dargon’s favorite.” Amanda smiled. “She
Equality comes in different forms, and it is a lot harder being a girl in Ethiopia than it was in Pennsylvania.
Maybe I was crazy to consider it, but I’d always hoped that if I were a good enough girl, if I did everything right, if I said the right things or said nothing at all—I thought my parents would change their minds. I thought they would finally listen when I tried to talk. I thought they would give me a chance. I thought they might finally love me. I always had that stupid hope.
Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love. How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.
A “Perth girl.” There’s a whole Perth thing. They all seem to know each other. Like a big country town.
The dress of words, / Like to the Roman girl's enticing garb, / Should let the play of limb be seen through it, / And the round rising form.
An unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised; Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn.
If you can make a girl laugh, you can make her do anything.
~Babe.~--It is curious to see how a self-willed, haughty girl, who sets her father and mother and all at defiance, and can't be managed by anybody, at once finds her master in a baby. Her sister's child will strike the rock and set all her affections flowing.--_Charles Buxton._
With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.
A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.
If he needed to hurt a girl, why couldn’t it be me? If I had to be hurt, couldn’t I at least choose who hurt me?
When a youth is fully in love with a girl, and feels that he is wise in loving her, he should at once tell her so plainly, and take his chance bravely with other suitors.
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.
Some asked how pearls did grow, and where? Then spoke I to my girl To part her lips, and showed them there The quarelets of pearl.
Life is like a cloud. It comes in a million shapes and sizes and it offers no guarantees, no sympathies for the man who told his kid he'd fly a kite today, no consideration for the girl who was sure she'd see the sun today, no promises for the weary world and the wants wants wants of which it has too many today. Life is like that.
I was beginning to like this girl. She had mad pillow–slaughtering knife skills and didn’t seem to have any problems with vibrators. I wondered if she was putting Leethu’s stash of toys to good use.
When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.
The girl who has many suitors, and makes no choice of one of them, is doomed to become an old maid.
A girl of eighteen imagines the feelings behind the face that has moved her with its sympathetic youth, as easily as primitive people imagined the humors of the gods in fair weather: what is she to believe in, if not in this vision woven from within?--_George Eliot._
All I need to make a comedy is a park, a policeman and a pretty girl.
Before I leave, the Eurotrash girl tells me she likes my gazelleskin wallet. I tell her I would like to tit-fuck her and then maybe cut her arms off, but the music, George Michael singing “Faith,” is too loud and she can’t hear me. Back upstairs I find Patricia where I left her,
The girl behind the counter was prim, but bad at tying ribbons. Inexcusable.
The proper confidant of a girl is her father. What she is not inclined to tell her father should be told to no one, and, in nine cases out of ten, not thought of by herself.
Funny, how accustomed I’d become to visiting her here; how it gave me a strange sense of comfort to know that she and I were living in the same building. Her presence on base changed everything for me; the weeks she spent here became the first I ever enjoyed living in these quarters. I looked forward to her temper. Her tantrums. Her ridiculous arguments. I wanted her to yell at me; I would’ve congratulated her had she ever slapped me in the face. I was always pushing her, toying with her emotions. I wanted to meet the real girl trapped behind the fear. I wanted her to finally break free of her own carefully constructed restraints.
Even the fantasies that had consoled and comforted her for so many years aboard the satellite were growing feeble. She was not a warrior, brave and strong and ready to defend justice. She was not the most beautiful girl in the land, able to evoke empathy and respect from even the most hard-hearted villain. She was not even a damsel knowing that a hero would someday rescue her.
Katniss, the girl who was on fire!
I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
I know she’s new here. If not, she’s made some drastic, unfortunate transformation over the summer, because I’m more than aware of most of the people on this campus, and even if I wasn’t, I’d remember the girl who comes to school looking like an undead whore.
Okay. Come on.” And really, isn’t that just what every girl wants to hear from a guy agreeing to fuck her? But I wasn’t like every girl.
The giant Bolg settled back again. “By the sea. “Twas jammed in the sand between them shipwrecks we told you about. Thought o’ you and that you might like it, ’specially when the dreams are too strong.” Tears glinted in her eyes again. “You are the most wonderful Bolg that ever lived, did you know that?” You are the most wonderful girl in the world. “Damn right,” said Grunthor smugly. Rhapsody laughed, blinking away the tears. “Now, put your ’ead back down and cover your up-ear with it. Maybe it’ll sing you to sleep.
When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity. ― Albert Einstein
The trouble with censors is that they worry if a girl has cleavage. They ought to worry if she hasn't any.
All a girl really wants is for one guy to prove to her that they are not all the same.
ii. p. 809._ Oh the heart is a free and a fetterless thing,-- A wave of the ocean, a bird on the wing!
This is the story of a family who didn’t fit in. A little girl who was a bit geeky and liked maths more than makeup. And a boy who liked makeup and didn’t fit into any tribes.
A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.
Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid. ― Hedy Lamarr
Here’s the thing. I met this girl, this beautiful woman who’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She’s funny, and brave
When I was a little girl I used to read fairy tales. In fairy tales you meet Prince Charming and he's everything you ever wanted. In fairy tales the bad guy is very easy to spot. The bad guy is always wearing a black cape so you always know who he is. Then you grow up and you realize that Prince Charming is not as easy to find as you thought. You realize the bad guy is not wearing a black cape and he's not easy to spot; he's really funny, and he makes you laugh, and he has perfect hair.