Leslie Ann Down Quotes & Sayings

I drink and smoke and I am two hundred percent fit. — Winston Churchill

Leslie Ann was now modeling a conservative thunderstorm gray business suit/dress with lightning flashes streaking down her legs, and 1G rain splashing her silvery galoshes. — @hg47

Once upon a time I would've leaped at the rare opportunity of curling up with Mom on
the couch. But now it sort of felt like too little too late. I had someone else waiting for
me. — Maggie Stiefvater

For no matter what the world, men who deal in headwear are men to be trusted above any other. — Frank Beddor

My best guess is that my garbled allusion to Ezra Pound in the following must have come from my parents' reading aloud. The Askari fell off the ostrich In the rain Huge sing Goddamn And what became of the ostrich? Huge sing Goddamn — Richard Dawkins

The truth was no. The lie was yes. I settled for something in between. "I don't know. — Khaled Hosseini

There were enough examples, often of a heroic nature, which proved that apathy could be overcome, irritability suppressed. — Viktor E. Frankl

The geographical pilgrimage is the symbolic acting out an inner journey. The inner journey is the interpolation of the meanings and signs of the outer pilgrimage. One can have one without the other. It is best to have both. — Thomas Merton

The next few chapters are going to be about those invisible psychic forces that support and sustain us in our journey toward ourselves. I plan on using terms like muses and angels. Does that make you uncomfortable? If it does, you have my permission to think of angels in the abstract. Consider these forces as being impersonal as gravity. Maybe they are. It's not hard to believe, is it, that a force exists in every grain and seed to make it grow? Or that in every kitten or colt is an instinct that impels it to run and play and learn. Just as Resistance can be thought of as — Steven Pressfield

I keep feeling that there isn't one poem being written by any one of us - or a book or anything like that. The whole life of us writers, the whole product I guess I mean, is the one long poem - a community effort if you will. It's all the same poem. It doesn't belong to any one writer - it's God's poem perhaps. Or God's people's poem. — Anne Sexton

Sometimes we have to kill a little so we can live. — Harper Lee

Honestly, I haven't the time to read contemporary writers. I know this is awful, but in the main it is true. — William Golding

Leslie Ann was now agonizing over a full-length Flame gown that actually appeared to be burning fire covering her lush body: cool blue flames hugging her neck, red-hot flames usually covering her breasts, fluttering orange and yellow fire hips, all down along her white-hot legs to her Bunsen burner tipped high-heel shoes. — @hg47

Leslie-Ann set down her own bucket and watched, marveling, as a quarter of an inch of water covered the bottom.
When she looked away, she saw an older kid. She'd seen him around. But usually he was with Orc and she was too scared of Orc ever to get near him.
She tugged on Howard's wet sleeve. He seemed not to be sharing in the general glee. His face was severe and sad.
"What?" he asked wearily.
"I know something."
"Well, goody for you."
"It's about Albert."
Howard sighed. "I heard. He's dead. Orc's gone and Albert's dead and these idiots are partying like it's Mardi Gras or something."
"I think he might not be dead," Leslie-Ann said.
Howard shook his head, angry at being distracted. He walked away. But then he stopped, turned, and walked back to her. "I know you," he said. "You clean Albert's house."
"Yes. I'm Leslie-Ann."
"What are you telling me about Albert?"
"I saw his eyes open. And he looked at me. — Michael Grant