Now, go shovel some shit.
She blamed the lack of real flowers on both weather and the war, and instead put four or five pieces of coal in glass bowls, added water, salt, and ammonia, before finally pouring a mixture of violet...
She had been warned away from it her entire life, for its depth came quickly, its coldness was fierce, and the Kelpie lay in wait.
She looks at her watch - a real one, with arms. Those digital ones came and went, thank God. When will people learn that just because you can make something doesn't mean you should?
She’s not your friend. She’s a barmaid.
So what if I'm ninety-three? So what if I'm ancient and cranky and my body's a wreck? If they're willing to accept me and my guilty conscience, why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus? It's...
Sometimes I think if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn.
Sometimes I think that if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn. Not that I wouldn't love to have a final roll in the hay - I am a man yet, and some thi...
Sometimes I think that if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn. Not that I wouldn't love to have a final roll in the hay - I am a man yet, and somethin...
Sometimes I think that if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn.
Sometimes the monotony of bingo and sing alongs, ancient dusty people parked in the hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death, particularly when -- remember that I'm one of the ancient dusty peop...
Sometimes when you get older — and I’m not talking about you, I’m talking generally, because everyone ages differently — things you think on and wish on start to seem real. And then you believe them,...
That moment, the music screeched to a halt. There was an ungodly collision of brass, reed, and percussion—trombones and piccolos skidded into cacophony, a tuba farted, and the hollow clang of a cymbal...
The longer I do this job, the less I like people. The species, of course, he adds grimly. There are individuals I like just fine.
The monster—if there was one—never revealed itself to me again. But what I had learned over the past year was that monsters abound, usually in plain sight.
The more distressing the memory, the more persistent it's presence.
The sky the sky- same as it always was.
The whole thing's illusion, [Jacob], and there's nothing wrong with that. It's what people want from us. It's what they expect.
To be sure, I'm not perfect wife material: I'm neurotic. I'm compulsive. I speak before I think and can't cook worth a damn. I'm messy and germaphobic all at once, and it's not entirely unheard of for...
There is no question that I am the only thing standing between these animals and the business practices of August and Uncle Al, and what my father would do--what my father would want me to do--is look...
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