I winked and locked my arm in Carter's, and we stood there, watching Dean stroll away."You know the guy's never gonna give up," Carter nudged me, letting out a sigh."We'd have really pretty babies, huh?""Yup. They'd be rad little Brangelinas, running around tearing the place up.""Yeah, you're right. My rejection is such a disservice to the world...

Hey Kate, you coming to our show Friday night?" He leaned in close and touched my shoulder. "The guys would love to see you there.""Yes. Yes, the guys would indeed." Carter rolled his eyes and smirked. I held back my grin, well aware that he was laughing inwardly at the same thing I was. When Dean spoke of 'the guys,' he mostly meant himself. With a body like a Ken doll and hair like Meredith's McDreamy, I couldn't figure out for the life of me what he wanted with me.

When he smoked marijuana he tended to masterbate a great deal.

Maybe she knew some day it would become my job. My job to complete the melody she had begun.

I want to confess. I thought that her story was comprised of scenes. I thought the tragedy could be glamorous and her grief could be undone by a sunnier future. I thought we could pinpoint dramatic events on a time line and call it a life.But I was wrong.

When you live in LA and work in the movies, you experience the collapse of some of that fantasy. You know that the eyes glow like that because of lights placed at a specific angle, and you see the actresses up close and, yes, they are beautiful, but they are human size and imperfect like the rest of us.

It's funny how one life-changing event could make you forget what happiness felt like.

Kyle must have seen my panic, because when I looked up at him again, his jacket and shirt were off and he was handing me his shirt. The sight of him with no shirt on hit me. Holy hell, what was he doing?

Uh, got into a fight with the kitchen or something?” he asked, smirking. I ran my hands through my hair and felt remains of the fruit as I did and cringed. Well, this must be attractive. I motioned for him to come into the living room and shut the door behind him.“Something like that,” I replied coolly. He walked past me and went to the kitchen, probably to get a better look. “Well, I see you won. The fruit won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Maybe the apples. Those look like they need some more killing.

There is a flaw to your plan.” A sly grin crept onto his face once again. My eyebrow arched at him questioningly.“I live across the street,” he told me; and, without another word, he turned around toward his house. Then I realized what he’d meant. I’d told my problems to a stranger I would probably see again.

I was about to sit down when Kyle’s hand wrapped around my left wrist lightly and pulled up my arm. The suddenness of his touch was startling. I looked at him, confused, and saw fire in his eyes—raw anger I didn’t understand. His eyes looked up at me and penetrated mine.

There is a flaw to your plan.” A sly grin crept onto his face once again. My eyebrow arched at him questioningly. “I live across the street,” he told me; and, without another word, he turned around toward his house and I realized what he meant. I told my problems to a stranger that I would probably see again.

But love is this really powerful thing that everyone's got if they'd just learn how to accept it. I mean, come on. If it's something we all have to give, and if it's something we all want, doesn't that mean there's exactly enough to go around?

People who fall in love can fall out of it.

It seems to me that you might create any sort of character in a novel and there would be at least one person in the world just like him. We humans are simply incapable of imagining non-human actions or behavior. It's the writer's fault if we don't believe in his characters as human beings.

Honey, you worry too much. Nothing is going to happen, I mean come on, you’re in the house of Mr. Hausefalle, the guru of home security! You’re probably safer over there than here."- House Trap, ch. 4: A Grave Mistake.

There is sometimes a fine line between a cop and a criminal. What drives their personality may be the same, and they have simply chosen different roles and professions to call their own."Dr. ML Rapier PhD, Clinical Psychologist.

The novelist is required to create the illusion of a whole world with believable people in it, and the chief difference between the novelist who is an orthodox Christian and the novelist who is merely a naturalist is that the Christian novelist lives in a larger universe. He believes that the natural world contains the supernatural. And this doesn't mean that his obligation to portray the natural is less; it means it is greater.

Vronsky meanwhile, in spite of the complete fulfilment of what he had so long desired, was not completely happy. He soon felt that the realization of his longing gave him only one grain of the mountain of bliss he had anticipated. That realization showed him the eternal error men make by imagining that happiness consists in the gratification of their wishes. When first he united his life with hers and donned civilian clothes, he felt the delight of freedom in general, such as he had not before known, and also the freedom of love—he was contented then, but not for long. Soon he felt rising in his soul a desire for desires—boredom. Involuntarily he began to snatch at every passing caprice, mistaking it for a desire and a purpose.

Your poetry--it doesn't deserve to be locked away, hidden from the rest of the world. And neither do you.

I like to think I’ve written something worth reading when I cry the tears of the characters.

It's sad that bad things have to happen in order for us to stop and look around.