A Little Girl And Her Dog Quotes

Xav sprinkled olive oil on his lettuce. 'Lola was very particular that it all had to fit properly.'
'Lola?' squeaked Diamond. I wanted to warn her not to rise to the bait Xav was dangling in front of her but it was too late.
Xav added some Parmesan and pepper. 'Suspicious, Diamond? You should be. This is a bachelor party I'm organizing, not a school outing, and it is going to tick all of Trace's boxes. Lola is either a very efficient water sports instructor or an exotic dancing girl; I'll leave it your imagination.'
I rolled my eyes at Diamond. 'Myabe she's both. I mean the guys will really go for that, I guess. Don't worry,Di, Luigi and his crew will not disappoint us girls.' Luigi was in fact Contessa Nicoletta's little bespectacled chef with whom I had been consulting about the menu for Friday, but the Benedicts weren't to know that. 'He has promised to provide something suitably spicy for our tastes. ~ Joss Stirling

Daniel looked down the barrel of the shotgun al set to blow his
brains out and grinned. These days, even a gun-toting, trigger-happy
female was a delight to behold, and she was perfect.
Sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window. She all but shone
with it, like an angel or a princess or something. Something a little
overdue for a bath and a lot on edge, but something very good just
the same. The feeling of sweet relief rushing through him nearly
buckled his knees.
Tall and curvy, around thirty at a guess, and uninfected, she was by
far the best thing he had ever seen in jeans and a t-shirt. Not even the
dried blood splattered on the wal behind her could diminish the
picture she made.
Sadly, his girl did not appear to share his joy ~ Kylie Scott

He'd spent the night in the boat. Next to the spaghetti queen.

William glanced at the hobo girl. She sat across from him, huddled in a clump. Her stench had gotten worse overnight, probably from the dampness. Another night like the last one, and he might snap and dunk her into that river just to clear the air.

She saw him looking. Dark eyes regarded him with slight scorn.

William leaned forward and pointed at the river. "I don't know why you rolled in spaghetti sauce," he said in a confidential voice. "I don't really care. But that water over there won't hurt you. Try washing it off."

She stuck her tongue out.

"Maybe after you're clean," he said.

Her eyes widened. She stared at him for a long moment. A little crazy spark lit up in her dark irises. She raised her finger, licked it, and rubbed some dirt off her forehead.

Now what?

The girl showed him her stained finger and reached toward him slowly, aiming for his face.

"No," William said. "Bad hobo."

The finger kept coming closer. ~ Ilona Andrews

My name is Nick Sinclair," he said, and watched the young man's curious smile change to open animosity. "I would like to see Lauren."
"I'm Lauren's brother," the young man retorted, "and she doesn't want to see you."
Her brother! Nick's momentary relief was followed by an absurd impulse to smash the younger man's face for stealing Lauren's allowances when she was a little girl. "I've come to see her," Nick stated impacably, "and if I have to walk over you to get to her, I will. ~ Judith McNaught

Not to sound like a jerk, but Jane isn't really my type. Her hair's kinda disastrously curly and she mostly hangs out with guys. My type's a little girlier. And honestly, I don't even like my type of girl that much, let alone other types. Not that I'm asexual or something - I just find Romance Drama unbearable. ~ John Green

The dancer's grace and, forty years on, her arthritis - both are functions of the skeleton. It is thanks to an inflexible framework of bones that the girl is able to do her pirouettes, thanks to the same bones, grown a little rusty, that the grandmother is condemned to a wheel chair. Analogously, the firm support of a culture is the prime condition of all individual originality and creativeness; it is also their principal enemy. The thing in whose absence we cannot possibly grow into complete human beings is, all too often, the thing that prevents us from growing. ~ Aldous Huxley

Soon, droves of children start to show up, keeping us rather busy. We start tallying up the number of Trolls, Batmans, Lego men, and princesses we see. The most popular costume? Batman and Superwoman with the fabrics and accessories varying from child to child. But my favorite so far is the girl who dressed as Little Debbie, but then again, I may be biased.

"I think she might be my new favorite," Emma says as a little girl dressed as a nurse walks away.

"That's because you're a nurse, but you can't play favorites," I say, reminding Emma of the rules.

She levels with me. "This coming from the guy whose favorite child was dressed as Little Debbie."

"Come on." I lean back in my chair and motion to my head. "She had the rim of blue on her hat. That's attention to detail."

"And good fucking parenting," Tucker chimes in, and we clink our beer bottles together.

Amelia chuckles next to me as Emma shakes her head. "Ridiculous. What about you, Amelia? What costume has been your favorite so far?"

"Hmm, it's been a tough competition. There has been some real winning costumes and some absolute piss-poor ones." She shakes her head. "Just because you put a scarf around your neck and call yourself Jack Frost doesn't mean you dressed up."

"Ugh, that costume was dumb."

"It shouldn't be referred to as a costume, but that's beside the point." I like how much Amelia is getting into this little prete ~ Meghan Quinn

We shouldn't have left." Keeley paced the kitchen, stopping at the windows on each pass. Why weren't they back?
"Darling, you're shaking.Come on now, sit and drink your tea."
"I can't.What's wrong with men? They'd have beaten that idiot to a pulp.I'm not that surprised at Brian,I suppose, but I expected more restraint from Dad."
Genuinely surprised, Adelia glanced over. "Why?"
As worry ate through her she raked her hands through her hair. "He's contained. Now you,I could see you taking a few swings ... " SHe winced. "No offense," she said, then saw that her mother was grinning.
"None taken.My temper might be a bit, we'll say, more colorful than your father's. His tends to be cold and deliberate when it's called for.And it was.The man hurt and frightened his little girl."
"His little girl was about to attempt to gut the man with a hoof pick." Keeley blew out a breath. "I've never seen Dad hit anyone, or look like he wanted to keep right on with it. ~ Nora Roberts

The little girl feels that her body is escaping her, that it is no longer the clear expression of her individuality: it becomes foreign to her; and at the same moment she is grasped by others as a thing: on the street, eyes follow her, her body is subject to comments; she would like to become invisible; she is afraid of becoming flesh and afraid to show her flesh. ~ Simone De Beauvoir

The girl's arms jutted out at awkward angles, not quite hands on the hips belligerent but not relaxed either, as if they weren't all the way under the girl's control. "I came to find you."
"I didn't know. If I'd known ... "
"It doesn't matter now." The girl's attention was unwavering. "This is where you are."
"It is at that."
The girl looked sad. Her soil-dark eyes were clouded over by tears she hadn't been able to shed. "I came here to find you."
"I couldn't have known." Maylene reached out and plucked a leaf from the girl's hair.
"Doesn't matter." She lifted a dirty hand, fingernails flashing chipped red polish, but she didn't seem to know what to do with her outstretched fingers. Little girl fears warred with teenage bravado. Bravado won. "I'm here now."
"All right, then." Maylene walked down the path toward one of the gates. She pulled the key from her handbag, twisted it in the lock, and pushed open the gate. ~ Melissa Marr

Soon, things were heating up in the kitchen. The first course was a variation on a French recipe that had been around since Escoffier, Baccala Brandade. Angelina created a silky forcemeat with milk, codfish, olive oil, pepper, and slow-roasted garlic, a drizzle of lemon juice, and a shower of fresh parsley, then served it as a dip with sliced sourdough and warmed pita-bread wedges, paired with glasses of bubbly Prosecco.
The second course had been a favorite of her mother's called Angels on Horseback- freshly shucked oysters, wrapped in thin slices of prosciutto, then broiled on slices of herb-buttered bread. When the oysters cooked, they curled up to resemble tiny angels' wings. Angelina accented the freshness of the oyster with a dab of anchovy paste and wasabi on each hors d'oeuvre. She'd loved the Angels since she was a little girl; they were a heavenly mouthful.
This was followed by a Caesar salad topped with hot, batter-dipped, deep-fried smelts. Angelina's father used to crunch his way through the small, silvery fish like French fries. Tonight, Angelina arranged them artfully around mounds of Caesar salad on each plate and ushered them out the door.
For the fifth course, Angelina had prepared a big pot of her Mediterranean Clam Soup the night before, a lighter version of Manhattan clam chowder. The last two courses were Parmesan-Stuffed Poached Calamari over Linguine in Red Sauce, and the piece de resistance, Broiled Flounder with a Coriander Reduction. ~ Brian O'Reilly

(by mother Teresa)....."I was consoling a little girl who was sick and had much pain. I told her, 'You should be happy that God sends you suffering, because your sufferings are a proof that God loves you much. Your sufferings are kisses from Jesus.' 'Then Mother,' answered the little girl, 'please ask Jesus not to kiss me quite so much. ~ Patricia T. Holland

But no, I'm sorry. I can't end there. I haven't yet said everything I want to say. A little girl is at school, out in the playground with her friends, and she sees a flower and says to her friends, just thinking out loud, wondering gently to herself: Do you think flowers have feelings? And for the rest of the day her friends tease her relentlessly, with every new opportunity that arises. Do flowers have feelings, that's so stupid. Right, flowers have feelings. All day and for the rest of the week: stupid flowers have stupid feelings and that little girl feels she is never going to say anything like that ever again. She has already learned that when you open your heart or express genuine, innocent curiosity or wonder about the world, your friends will pounce on the opportunity and use it to hurt you as viciously as possible and there is nothing anyone can do to protect her. It's simple stories like that that really break my heart. ~ Jacob Wren

I love you, you know,' he said conversationally. 'Will you marry me?'
The manner in which he made this abrupt proposal struck her as being so typical of him that a shaky laugh was dragged from her. 'Of all the graceless ways of making me an offer – ! No, no, you are not serious! you cannot be!'
'Of course I'm serious! A pretty hobble I should be in if I weren't, and you accepted my offer! The thing is that it is such a devil of a time since I proposed marriage to a girl that I've forgotten how to set about it. If I ever knew, but I daresay I didn't, for I was always a poor hand at making flowery speeches.' He smiled at her again, a little ruefully. 'That I should love a bright particular star! ~ Georgette Heyer

By Jove, it's great! Walk along the streets on some spring morning. The little women, daintily tripping along, seem to blossom out like flowers. What a delightful, charming sight! The dainty perfume of violet is everywhere. The city is gay, and everybody notices the women. By Jove, how tempting they are in their light, thin dresses, which occasionally give one a glimpse of the delicate pink flesh beneath!

"One saunters along, head up, mind alert, and eyes open. I tell you it's great! You see her in the distance, while still a block away; you already know that she is going to please you at closer quarters. You can recognize her by the flower on her hat, the toss of her head, or her gait. She approaches, and you say to yourself: 'Look out, here she is!' You come closer to her and you devour her with your eyes.

"Is it a young girl running errands for some store, a young woman returning from church, or hastening to see her lover? What do you care? Her well-rounded bosom shows through the thin waist. Oh, if you could only take her in your arms and fondle and kiss her! Her glance may be timid or bold, her hair light or dark. What difference does it make? She brushes against you, and a cold shiver runs down your spine. Ah, how you wish for her all day! How many of these dear creatures have I met this way, and how wildly in love I would have been had I known them more intimately.

"Have you ever noticed that the ones we would love the most distractedly ~ Guy De Maupassant

Always Sami. I was tethered to her somehow. To that scared little girl I'd found on the staircase nearly a year earlier; to the past, when teaching was simpler and I could care about everyday problems, when being relentless meant running two extra laps, not waiting for an MP to search the undercarriage of a bus for bombs before letting students approach it. ~ Tucker Elliot

That little girl was dead and in her place stood a cold-blooded killer. ~ Reyna Pryde

When the girl at the squat got her throat slit, and Jacob got marked, Nix had been in Portland a little under a year. He had just bought a SpongeBob sleeping bag from Goodwill and had started to feel something like safe. But then, a roll or two of dust every other week helped with that. ~ Tara Bray Smith

Max: Okay. One day a little boy is sitting on the floor of his living room, playing with some toy trucks. Voom!He shoots one across the carpet, but it goes too far, to the other side of the sofa. And then miraculously, it shoots right back. Surprised, the little boy peers around the sofa to find a girl around his age with a very attractive bowl cut, building a giant Lego castle. She asks him if he wants to play, before popping one of the Legos in her mouth, informing him that if he's hungry, they are made out of chocolate. And the boy had never felt happy in his whole life. They build the most incredible chocolate castle, with dragons and soldiers and moat made of milk. And then they fell asleep side by side. The boy wakes up in his living room, and even though there is no castle or no little girl, he still feels just as happy. And he knows he will see her again.

Alice: Was that me?

Max: That was you. The first time we met. ~ Lucy Keating

He looks again at the face of the little girl. He wonders where she went, that little firecracker life, that smoldering, spitting, whizgig of a girl. He wonders if he can tell from the expression on her face where she's gone to.
And he smiles because he can.
The angels would want her sure. ~ Alden Bell

And oh, how she pitched herself into things. She would draw pictures all day long for weeks on end, then throw out the pencils and never draw another thing. Then it was embroidery with her, she had to learn it, and she'd make the most beautiful thing, fussing at herself for the least little mistake, then throw down the needles and be done with that forevermore. I never saw a child so changeable. It was as though she was looking for something to which she could give herself, and she never found it. Least ways not while she was a little girl. ~ Anne Rice

At the high school a pretty girl strolled across the parking lot to her black stallion, let her cigarette dangle from her lips while she put on her helmet, adjusted her goggles. Throwing a slender white leg over the side she jacked her little backside up and down a few times, exciting the steed. Now she came down on his back and he squatted, moaning to the soft squeeze of her hand, then at her sudden clutch shot out fast between the press of her knees. Claude looked down at his shoes as they passed, having seen nothing. But he glanced up in time to watch them glide off under the next streetlamp, the gleaming beast appearing almost languid with release, very pleased with himself and with the girl who clung to his back, small and stiff and unsatisfied.
She had been noticed: everywhere along the way the leaning people looked after her as though wondering if the new week had finally begun, then they looked at one another, then back at nothing. ~ Douglas Woolf

But hey, I had the best times during each sprint," I added.

His laugh was soft and possibly a little disappointed. "That's my girl. Running every morning?"

"Every morning and I've been swimming more." I stopped talking when I heard a voice in the background.

All I heard was my dad mumbling, "It's Sal… you wanna talk to her?... Okay… Sal, your mom says hi."

"Tell her I said hi back."

"My daughter says hi… no, she's mine. The other one is yours… Ha! No!... Sal are you mine or your mom's?" he asked me.

"I'm the milkman's."

"I knew it!" He finally laughed with a deep pleased sigh.

I was smiling like a total fool. "I love you too, old man. ~ Mariana Zapata

I didn't make a nuisance of myself, not until the end, anyway, and I never outstayed my welcome, not while there was still a welcome to be outstayed; but I was kind and sincere and thoughtful and devoted and I remembered things about her and I told her she was beautiful and bought her little presents that usually referred to a conversation we had had recently. None of this was an effort, of course, and none of it was done with any sense of calculation: I found it easy to remember things about her, because I didn't think about anything else, and I really did think she was beautiful, and I would not have been able to prevent myself from buying her little presents, and I did not have to feign devotion. There was no effort involved. So when one of Charlie's friends, a girl called Kate, said wistfully one lunchtime that she wished she could find somebody like me, I was surprised and thrilled. Thrilled because Charlie was listening, and it didn't do me any harm, but surprised because all I had done was act out of self-interest.
And yet this was enough, it seemed, to turn me into someone desirable. Weird ~ Nick Hornby

Plus, I know for a fact that Governor Cruel won't allow them to keep us." Pip sneered at her. "You're about to learn a harsh lesson, little girl. You're nothing to him. Just another replaceable whore." He raked a harsh glare over her body. "Probably not even that. I've heard his tastes run more along the line of pretty young boys." She met his glare with one of her own. "You know nothing about him. And if you refer to him again with anything other than the utmost respect in your tone, you won't have to worry about prison or the League. I'll fucking kill you with my own bare hands." Those words had the effect she wanted them to. Everyone sucked their breath in and held it. No one had ever heard her use such language before. It wasn't in her nature. But she was through watching others insult Darling when all he'd ever done was try to help them. Her ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

One day the grandmother presented the little girl with a red velvet riding hood; and as it fitted her very well, she would never wear anything else; and so she was called Little Red Riding Hood. ~ Jacob Grimm

I couldn't take my eyes off the little dark girl and the way, like a queen, she walked around and was even reduced by the sullen bartender to menial tasks such as bringing us drinks and sweeping the back. Of all the girls in there she needed the money most; maybe her mother had come to get money from her for her little infant/ sisters and brothers. It never, never occurred to me just to approach her and give her some money. I have a feeling she would have taken it with a degree of scorn, and scorn from the likes of her made me flinch. In my madness I was actually in love with her for the few hours it all lasted; it was the same unmistakable ache and stab across the mind, the same sighs, the same pain, and above all the same reluctance and fear to approach. Strange that Neal and Frank also failed to approach her; her unimpeachable dignity was the thing that made her poor in a wild old whorehouse, and think of that. At one point I saw Neal leaning like a statue toward her, ready to fly, and befuddlement cross his face as she glanced coolly and imperiously his way and he stopped rubbing his belly and gaped and finally bowed his head. For she was the queen. ~ Jack Kerouac

When I first met you, I thought: There is a girl in a million. She isn't like these other silly little fools who believe everything their mammas tell them and act on it, no matter how they feel. And conceal all their feelings and desires and little heartbreaks behind a lot of sweet words. I thought: Miss O'Hara is a girl of rare spirit. She knows what she wants and she doesn't mind speaking her mind–or throwing vases. ~ Margaret Mitchell

A memory: Isola as a toddler, sugarlump teeth, skin still smelling of milk. Hair that curled without use of an iron and sweet dresses that didn't matter were dirtied. When she was old enough, she demanded the usual suspects at bedtime: The Little Mermaid, Hansel and Gretel, Beauty and the Beast.
Even then, Mother's contempt for non-Pardieu fairytales was obvious.
'Hmph,' she snorted derisively, folding up her knees to perch on Isola's bed. 'Listen to me, Isola. The original Beauty's just an encouragement to young women to accept arranged marriages. What it's really saying to impressionable girls is, "Don't worry if your new husband is decades older than you, or ugly, or horrid. If you're sweet and obedient enough, you might just discover he's a prince in disguise!'

Mother's Most Lasting Advice
'Never be that girl, Isola. Never pick the beast or the wolf on the off-chance he won't devour you. ~ Allyse Near

Rosie hated her curly golden hair. When she was old enough to hold minimal conversations, the itsy-bitsy-cutesycoo sort of grown-ups would pull the soft ringlets gently and tell her what a pretty little girl she was. She would stare at this sort of grown-up and say, "I am not pretty. I am intelligent. And brave." The grown-ups usually thought this was darling, which only made her angry, perhaps partly because she was speaking the truth, although it was tricky to differentiate between "brave" and "foolhardy" at three or four years old. ~ Robin McKinley

He welcomes the chance to do fatherly things with the little girl, and those ten morning minutes with dear little four-year-old Ruby, with her deep soulful eyes, and the wondrous things she sees with them, and her deep soulful voice, and the precious though not entirely memorable things she says with it, and the smell of baby shampoo and breakfast cereal filling the car, that little shimmering capsule of time is like listening to cello music in the morning, or watching birds in a flutter of industry building a nest, it simply reminds you that even if God is dead, or never existed in the first place, there is, nevertheless, something tender at the center of creation, some meaning, some purpose and poetry. ~ Scott Spencer

He came toward us, looking worried. As the birth grew closer, we had both been edgy; Frank irritable and myself terrified, having no idea what might happen between us, with the appearance of Jamie Fraser's child. But when the nurse had taken Brianna from her bassinet and handed her to Frank, with the words "Here's Daddy's little girl," his face had grown blank, and then - looking down at the tiny face, perfect as a rosebud - gone soft with wonder. Within a week, he had been hers, body and soul. ~ Diana Gabaldon

...but that very thought, that she might become his wife, had for some reason entered his head the very first time she sat in his study at a little round table, diligently taking down in shorthand the words he dictated in his muffled voice - and he had been purposely dry and sharp with her that day, so she would not feel the power she had already gained over him, but when, as he dictated to her, he imagined himself kneeling before her beneath the flickering light of a nearly spent candle and kissing her feet, with her unable to leave because she was his wife, and about to blow out the candle so they could plunge into the passionate, exquisite swim, then his voice became hoarse and he shut his eyes to blot out the sight of this little girl, as he purposely tried to picture her to help restrain his imagination, girl students being as untouchable as postulants... ~ Leonid Tsypkin

What does that mean?" Matthias asked. "Goedmedbridge?"
"Good maiden bridge."
"Why is it called that?"
Nina leaned against the doorway and said, "Well, the story is that when a woman found out her husband had fallen in love with a girl from West Stave and planned to leave her, she came to the bridge and, rather than live without him, hurled herself into the canal."
"Over a man with so little honor?"
"You'd never be tempted? All the fruits and flesh of West Stave before you?"
"Would you throw yourself off a bridge for a man who was?"
"I wouldn't throw myself off a bridge for the king of Ravka. ~ Leigh Bardugo

The girl beams at him. "Thank you, sir." Teren places a gentle hand on her head and dismisses her. He watches her scamper away to join the boy.
This is the world he is fighting to protect, from monsters like himself. He looks up at the statues again, certain that the little girl and boy are the gods' way of telling him what he needs to do. It was right of me. I have to be right. He just has to convince Giulietta that he's doing this for the sake of her throne. Because he loves her. ~ Marie Lu

And as for your hair!it's worse than ever.Can't you drench it in water to take those untidy twists and twirls out of it?'
'It only makes it curl more and more whey it gets dry,' said Molly, sudden tears coming into her eyes as a recollection came before her like a picture seen long ago and forgotten for years-a young mother washing and dressing her little girl; placing the half-naked darling on her knee, and twining the wet rings of dark hair fondly round her fingers, and then, in ecstasy of fondness, kissing the little curly head. ~ Elizabeth Gaskell

A little boy was leading his sister up a mountain path and the way was not too easy. "Why, this isn't a path at all," the little girl complained. "It's all rocky and bumpy." And her brother replied, "Sure, the bumps are what you climb on." That's a remarkable piece of philosophy. ~ Warren W. Wiersbe

When I look back over my life it's almost as if there was a plan laid out for me - from the little girl who was so passionate about animals who longed to go to Africa and whose family couldn't afford to put her through college. Everyone laughed at my dreams. I was supposed to be a secretary in Bournemouth. ~ Jane Goodall

When they stopped to pick up Mike, Violet started to get out so she could climb in back with Chelsea, giving Mike's longer legs the front seat, but Jay reached out and caught her wrist.
"What are you doing? I want you to sit with me." His fingers moved to lace through hers as he drew her back inside. "Mike can sit in back."
Violet felt herself blush with satisfaction.
Mike came out of his house and jumped down the porch without ever touching the steps. Behind the darkened curtains, the television flickered.
"Here he comes!" Chelsea squealed, sounding like a little girl as she bounced up and down in the backseat, shaking the entire car. She clapped her hands with excitement.
Violet pulled her seat as far forward as she could to give Mike some extra room. He'd need it if he was going to be confined back there with Chelsea.
"Heeyyy, Mike." Chelsea managed to drawl the two words into several long syllables as Mike slid into the car. The syrupiness of it sounded so foreign oozing from Chelsea's mouth.
"Hey," Mike said back to her. One word, one syllable.
"So I guess it's just the four of us tonight," she purred.
"Really? I thought we were meeting a buncha people."
"Nope. Just us. Everyone else bailed."
Violet smiled to herself as she listened to Chelsea's account, amazed that her words came out sounding so…sincere.
But Violet knew better. And she realized from the look Jay flashed her that he knew too.
Mike, on the o ~ Kimberly Derting

I couldn't believe how into this girl I was, and we'd only been talking for twenty minutes. I was also dressed in gym clothes, because I'd been to the gym earlier. She looked down and saw the rubber bracelet around my wrist.
"Is that an 'I Am Second' bracelet? I have one of those!" she said as she held up her wrist with the band that means, "I am second after Jesus."
"No, this is my own bracelet with my motto, 'Train like a Machine,' on it. Just my little self-motivator. I have some in my car. I'd love to give you one."
"Well, actually, I am about to leave. I have to go work out before my shift," she reminded me.
"You can have this one. Take it off my wrist. This one will be worth more someday because I've been sweating in it," I joked. ~ Noah Galloway

They were all joking about the party at my place when they walked away. As I uncapped my drink, I noticed Michael was hanging back a bit.
"Got something on your mind?" I called out, gesturing at him with my chin.
He was a good player, he worked hard on the field, and I respected him. I got the feeling, though, that I wasn't going to like what he wanted to say. I could tell by the hesitation in his face and body language. He probably disagreed with some of the plays I wanted to try tonight and didn't want to piss me off in fear I would freeze him out on the field.
But I wasn't like that. I left personal shit in the locker room. There was no room for drama in the game.
He walked back over in front of me as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder. "I'm not sure I should say anything."
"Just say it, man. It's cool."
"I saw your girl this morning." He started, and everything in me went cold.
This wasn't about football. This was personal.
"You looking at Rimmel?" I asked, my voice calm and low.
His eyes widened a little, but he shook his head. "No, man. I probably wouldn't have known it was her, but she was wearing your hoodie."
I nodded for him to continue.
"She was in the hall, outside her class," he said, glancing at me.
He needed to get to the fucking point already. I was losing patience.
"That guy Zach was with her. It looked pretty intense."
I jerked upright. "What?" I growled.
What the fu ~ Cambria Hebert

At this Linda gave up. Children might or might not enjoy air-raids actually in progress, but a child who was not thrilled by the idea of them was incomprehensible to her, and she could not imagine having conceived such a being. Useless to waste any more time and breath on this unnatural little girl. ~ Nancy Mitford

Livia wiped her cheeks and eyes, then tucked the tissue into her bouquet instead of giving it back to her sister.
Years later, a little girl would pull that tissue out and ask her mother about it. "The Sobbing Bride" would become one of the girl's favorite tales She would request it from her mother's point of view, then run to have her father tell his version. ~ Debra Anastasia

The marquess lifted his palm to her, a man held in wind-tousled grace, waiting; still as the eye of a tempest was still, inexorable force only momentarily at bay. The heels of his shoes rested at the very, very edge of the rooftop. If the wind changed, if he lost his balance-
Beyond him were only trees and sky, the dark-misted storm sweeping emerald hills up to heaven.
"You are mad," Rue said again, but she found herself moving toward him. His fingers closed over hers; he raised her hand to his mouth and held it there, warming her skin with his.
"I prefer the word dashing.'
She huffed a breath, almost a laugh.
"Oh, and one more thing." Above their locked fingers he granted her a new smile, this one slow and blazingly sensual. "Little brown-haired girl ... I did notice you."
He Turned to smoke.
-Rue & Kit ~ Shana Abe

If Eric had just listened to his heart and not someone else's singing, none of this would have happened.
He had fallen in love with the voiceless red-haired girl. He was just too stupid and obstinate to recognize it. He loved everything about her. Her smile, the way she moved, the way she took delight in everything around her. She was impulsive, unmannered, willing to get dirty, a little strange, and extremely hands-on. And beautiful. So different from all the princesses and ladies his parents had introduced him to. ~ Liz Braswell

I learned to move silently in the background, a dirty, neglected little kid with no voice, no wants, and who made no trouble so as not to call the wrath of the eight or so tweaking adults who lived there down on me. I drifted, faded, and became a listless, ghostlike scavenger who took what she could get. I lived mostly in my head and for a while actually convinced myself that I was a survivor of one of those catastrophic earthquakes or tornadoes I used to see on the Weather Channel,a dazed, bewildered, and emotionless girl picking her way through an endless landscape of foul and stinking rubble to try and come out on the other side. ~ Laura Wiess

I've always been a slow learner in some areas of my life.mostly the areas known as myself. Or maybe I should say 'selves.'because the fact is, I've never, even as a child, felt I'm only one self, only one person. I've always felt I'm quite a few more than one. For example, there's my jokey self, there's my morose and fed-up self,there's my lewd and disgusting self. There's my clever-clogs self, and my fading-violet-who-cant-make-up-her-mind-about-anything self. There's my untidy-clothes-everywhere-all-over-my-room self, and my manically tidy self when I want my room to be minimalist and Zen to the nth degree. There's my confidant, arrogant self and my polite and reasonable and good listener self. There's my self-righteous self and my wickedly bad self, my flaky self and my bsentimental self. There are selfs I like and selfs I don't like.there's my little-girl selfnwhonlikes to play silly games and there's my old-woman self when I'm quite sure I'm eighty and edging towards geriatric.
The self I show in action at any moment depends on where I am, who I'm with, the circumstances of the situation and the mood I'm in. ~ Aidan Chambers