Ghafla Co Quotes & Sayings

My choices that terrible morning had been prompted by love. What others had chosen had been prompted by hate. The effects of our choices had spilled onto each other. They always did. — Susan Meissner

The listeners got some such insights into their past lives, as one gets into the darker parts of the woods, when a stray gleam of sunshine finds its way down to the roots of the trees. — James F. Cooper

Writing is capturing life, recording the human condition, and trying to glean meaning from it. — Joni M. Fisher

Shelley, you think she'll take me back?" Alex asks her, his hair dangerously close to her fingers. She doesn't pull his hair . . . just pats his head gently. I feel the tears running down my cheeks at full speed.
"Yeah!" Shelley yells with a goofy, gummy grin. She looks happier and more content than she's been in a long time. Both of my favorite people are with me right here; what more could I ask for? — Simone Elkeles

Every moment of every single day is filled with delight, if you but take the time to notice. — Greg Souchester

I struggled against God. Not as many do. But still I did, in my own way. I didn't doubt his being. I doubted his ways. I doubted that his ways were better than my ways. — Karen Swallow Prior

Don't get me wrong, I like to laugh, but I also want a relationship to mean something, you know?" I nod. I do know - better than most people, maybe, because Tobias and I aren't really the joking type. "Besides," she says, "not every friendship turns into a romance. I haven't tried to kiss you yet." I laugh. "True." "Where have you been lately?" Christina says. She wiggles her eyebrows. "With Four? Doing a little . . . addition? Multiplication?" I cover my face with my hands. "That was the worst joke I've ever heard." "Don't dodge the question." "No 'addition' for us," I say. "Not yet, anyway. — Veronica Roth

We are all imperfect creatures, love. I don't want perfect. I just want you. — Kristen Callihan

Passing through the orchard, Mr. Clutter proceeded along beside the river, which was shallow here and strewn with islands - midstream beaches of soft sand, to which, on Sundays gone by, hot-weather Sabbaths when Bonnie had still "felt up to things," picnic baskets had been carted, family afternoons whiled away waiting for a twitch at the end of a fishline. — Truman Capote

Maybe sometimes you have to tell a story crossways, because to tell it straight would ongly [sic] mean that it go straight by the person's ears who it intend for. For consider the words of Jesus when the blessed Savior go up on the mountain him did decide to speak in parables. He never just tell them that all of them was heathens, and that not a one of them could reach Heaven without him. Instead he talk bout hard ground and soft ground and ground that was full of macka and thorns; . . . him talk bout a lost sheep who finally make him way home. And maybe it afterwards, when you gather all of these crossway stories, and you put them together, that you finally see a line had been running through all of them. Sometimes you have to tell a story the way you dream a dream, and everyone know that dreams don't walk straight." (251) — Kei Miller