Seawing Ocs Quotes & Sayings

No one has really seen me in years." Blake looked at the sky. "Sometimes I wonder how they know I don't have a home. I try to dress decently." He waved a hand at his jeans and army jacket. "I think it just seeps out of me. I'm not the same as everyone else." He shook his head, pulling himself out of his despair, and looked at Livia again. "But when you saw me for the first time, you actually saw me. You saw me, and then you smiled like I was just the same as everyone else on that platform. — Debra Anastasia

An author is like an incompetent bricklayer - doesn't use mortar and keeps rearranging the bricks until someone tells him to stop. — Chris Everheart

I don't want to be here when my latest work of accidental art is discovered. — Becca Fitzpatrick

And all my ethical reasoning crumbles to ash in the sheer fact of his presence. Because together, even in darkness, we light up a room; because the clotted guilt inside me breaks up and disperses before a surge of stupid happiness; because I love him, and I know I cannot leave him, am incapable of leaving him, unless he asks me to go. And he has not asked me. And that is the miracle which I live with, every day. — Anna Lyndsey

I love you. The words are always right there on the tip of my naughty tongue. I swallow them back like I need to and say something much more practical instead. "Have you ever been acquainted with your prostate? — Sarina Bowen

You never oughta drink water when it ain't running, — John Steinbeck

At the very least they teach us that God does not always answer our prayers, even when we offer those prayers in faith at times of real and pressing need. They also teach us that while God may not answer our prayers as we pray them, God does not abandon us. More than that, these accounts tell us that God works through the situations from which we have not been delivered as we asked. — Adam Hamilton

You know the real me," she said, stopping to peer up at him. "More than anyone else. — Nicholas Sparks

Thankfully you tune the strings of your moldering lyre to a moderated, to a passably joyful, nay, to an even delighted psalm of thanksgiving and with it bore your quiet, flabby and slightly stupefied half-and-half god of contentment; and in the thick warm air of a contented boredom and very welcome painlessness the nodding mandarin of a half-and-half god and the nodding middle-aged gentleman who sings his muffled psalm look as like each other as two peas. — Hermann Hesse