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Bo ruled the city by suggesting new scent formulas in a booming croak of a voice that shook the earth for acres around, yet as a result everybody on the block smelled like fairy breath. Or, on his BAD BREATH DAYS all of the people reeked of rotted sushi f
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187100
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Despite the light of the torches, the darkness around them was overwhelming. They could not see the walls unless they leaned the flames close.
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187183
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Can't please everyone / Or sail in all directions / Sail on / Stay the course / Still the ill-pleased storms come / To suck the wind from my sails
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187162
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We came to the furthest reach of hell-
A place that email users know well.
The woman or man whose unmitigated gall
Causes him or her to hit "Reply all".
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187162
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The Dark It chokes It threatens To consume me Im Scared Mommy Im confused Everything is A Secret But I Know Who is that man You're withI call Uncle But I wait Outside Why does your hug Feel safe But anothers Feels So Wrong …
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187021
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ZaSu played wingwoman to Gale Storm, who played herself, and quite well I might add–she had herself down pat! But I found ZaSu as second fiddle to be, curiously enough, more alluring than the first chair.
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187088
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Doorface has a door for a face. Thus his name. He was born with it. The door in his face, not his name. No one is born with a name. The naming comes later.Doorface finds his unusual physiognomy mildly inconvenient. People keep trying to enter his head. No one likes it when…
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187021
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He lays his piping accoutrement on the bedside table, removes his cap, brocaded jacket, boots and slacks. Holmes brushes gently, the back of his hand across the confused face of Watson— their…
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187000
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187011
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“I will become a respected novelist!” proclaimed Billy.
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18701511
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There was nothing to do but dream ourselves forward. Nothing to do but not die.
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18701211
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Everything would've been copasetic except about the time we got down there they put the turkey in the fryer..
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187000
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It is suddenly very cold. Mon opens his eye. He sees fog, the ground. A skeletal tree. Where am I? he thinks. ... Mon listens. He can hear distant noises through the fog: laughter, …
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186962
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It was as if a car bomb went off in Beaver Cleaverville.
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186923
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It's blues, bars and boots since you went away. You were wiferustled like sheep, like cattle.
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186830
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186811
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His name was Atticus. Yes, exactly like that other Atticus you’re thinking of. Though it was more to do with his mother’s unnatural obsession with Gregory Peck and less to do with a love of classic novels (because Lord knows she scarcely read a thing
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186800
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The first time they were separated, he rediscovered music and writing.
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186821
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“Where did it go? You don’t know do you?” he teased the dogs as he adjusted the bottle rocket he had twisted into the ground at his feet, trying to find the optimal path.
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186800
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186898
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“As you do it unto the least of these so you do it unto me.” —Jesus These children that you murder are not your enemy. They are not your pain or your personal sorrow. They are, if anything, flowers blowing and …
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18681312
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Let’s talk about Chattanooga, the cloud / mountains, the monastery bench, drunk / at sunset
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186895
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Then I would say to my new friends, “My God, look at all the weight you’ve lost.” Even when they hadn’t lost any. Even when they were fatter than before.
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18671513
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Solitude is such an excellent alternative to suicide.
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186722
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Mama told me never to play with the Dooley boys. They play too rough, they’re not to be trusted, and no one has seen Mrs. Dooley since she tried to clean out their tree house. Mama would always say, “You play with the Dooley Boys, you play with Satan.”
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1867277
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It's a business, after all, all are quick to remind us. True dat, and the sun always rises in the east and sets in the west, and death and taxes...yup yup, we know. We get it.
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1867107
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The Muse stands at the summit of a paragraph playing with a yo-yo.
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186700
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She wanted to have an eating disorder, but she liked food too much to stop eating it and hated the taste of vomit mixed with tooth paste.
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18671110
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In San Francisco, there rides at night a phantom streetcar whose driver is none other than Walt Whitman . . .
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18671512
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To touch our skin was filthy,
to spread our legs a mortal sin. You closed
the keyholes to keep us apart, so we used them
to keep you out and keep our secrets to ourselves.
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