418550
|
"... not just a jerk, you're like the king of the jerks!" the Black man said as they came into earshot. "When other jerks look for leadership, they just pick up their cell phone and you're pre-programmed in as the first entry on their speed dial!"
|
213474
|
In his dream, he was choking on an ice cube. He didn’t know what would happen first — if it would melt or he would die.
|
2581
|
You don't really love me, you love yourself. That's okay, but please, do me the one biggest favor you could ever do me.
|
99300
|
you choose to be mine
when you take hold of my hand -
silently, i'm yours
|
97100
|
stoplight - (haiku love series - #2)
eyes lock in a gaze
glimpses of my future spark
then you walk away
|
254543
|
They were all in love with tortured musicians, 22-year-old geniuses who hanged themselves after making one perfect album. The musicians generally lived in England. It was safer that way.
|
92100
|
What's the protocol for telling people your spouse has cancer? How do you tell your son, your friends, your co-workers? How do you tell your mother? How do you tell her mother?
|
105210
|
The summer before cancer—the summer of the boy/friend, the summer before Max started high school, the summer when all the decisions about blowing apart their marriage were made—they drove to Martha's Vineyard. Astrid had insisted she wasn't going, rig
|
127116
|
I am a mean guacamole, she once said, after a glass of wine
|
126023
|
Mr Robertson chuckled gently as he caught the aroma of freshly cooked cinnamon doughnuts and watched the oil leave its fingerprints.
|
103900
|
The first time they were separated, he rediscovered music and writing.
|
99200
|
Astrid hadn't always hated him.
They met at the Beta house in the fall of his junior year. Typical Friday night. Stoned, drinking beer. He and Red Chapman sitting in their room playing guitars. The girls in their blues jeans. The guys from the house hi
|
99300
|
"I think you're a great candidate for a sentinel node biopsy," said Dr. Kartes.
They sat in the small, dark office. On the sofa, not touching. She still wouldn't take his hand.
|
133133
|
A patchwork of fonts, the best of the world’s Sunday editions, selections from the Crayola 64 to fill in blanks. The note threatens, a finger at a time, a toe per day, then it’s organs.
|
11563
|
Here is confinement. Here ties his enthusiasm to his waist and chains his ankles to obscurity. He must be there, sharing his face, telling his news, receiving his praise.
|