I would really love to work with Paul McCartney. Isn't that arrogant?
Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lostmemories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreamsplay when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?
Do not be so ridiculous, I can more easily find you someone else. Gripping the bars of his prison so strongly that the bones of his knuckles showed prominently through his pale skin, the monster growled again, I will have no other. Nearing the end of his patience, Klaus demanded, Why? Why are you being so impossible? Turning to the diminutive creature beneath the blanket, he smiled nastily, his light red eyes gleaming, Because he wants her.
Brother I've been right where you are now And my heart was broke Cause I never spoke Those healing words out loudBut I've learned my lesson well And now every night Before I close my eyes I look at my woman and I ask myself did you Tell her that you love her Tell her that you need her Tell her that you want her to stay Reassure her with a kiss She may never know unless you Show her what your feeling Tell her you're believing Even though it's hard to say 'Cause she needs to know you're thinking of her So open up and tell her that you love her
Okay, here it is, your choice... it's simple, her or me, and I'm sure she is really great. But Derek, I love you, in a really, really big 'pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window', unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me, choose me, love me.
I think the act of reading imbues the reader with a sensitivity toward the outside world that people who don't read can sometimes lack. I know it seems like a contradiction in terms; after all reading is such a solitary, internalizing act that it appears to represent a disengagement from day-to-day life. But reading, and particularly the reading of fiction, encourages us to view the world in new and challenging ways...It allows us to inhabit the consciousness of another which is a precursor to empathy, and empathy is, for me, one of the marks of a decent human being.
...He wanted to hear her concerns and alleviate them, he wanted to hold her and kiss her and convince her that he would find a way to make their relationship work, no matter how hard that might be. He wanted to to make her hear his words: that he couldn't imagine a lofe without her,that his feelings for her were real. But most of all, he wanted to reassure himself that she felt the same way about him.