I'm not your boyfriend!' I snapped, trying to gently move her hands away from my body. 'How can you say that?' Sara asked in horror. 'It's shockingly effortless, ' I replied. 'My vocal chords vibrate, and my mouth and tongue articulate. I can even do it without thinking.' I had to remind myself to stay calm, and sarcasm was the best way to do that. 'When are you going to give me a key to your house so I don't have to knock like some guest?' Sara asked, coming at me again. I backed away. 'How about never? Is never good for you?' Sara, undeterred, said, 'You're the reason I go to therapy on Fridays.' 'The plot thickens!' Gabby exclaimed for comedic relief.
Today's kids have a mind of their own, and they know how to exercise it. Even if I wanted to tell Sara or my son Ibrahim how to lead their lives - which I don't - they would not listen to me. Luckily, Sara chose to complete her studies before pursuing acting. She attended Columbia University and then devoted her attention to Bollywood.
I unlocked the deadbolt and flung the door open, stepping back for Gabby to see exactly who it was. 'Hello, Sara, ' I greeted. A bubble of laughter escaped Gabby before she could contain it. 'Yes, hello ex-girlfriend Sara. And might I add: law-breaker? Who let you out of your cage? Don't you know Joseph has a restraining order against you?
I can't""" Lena repeated. "I can't do it. I can't live without him." Sara gently pulled her hand away from Jared's. She smoothed down the sheet, tucked it in close around his side. She looked at Lena""really looked at her straight in the eye. "Good," Sara told her. "Now you know how it feels.
Acid filled Sara's mouth. It wasn't fair. That's what Sara wanted to say. To scream at the top of her lungs. It just wasn't fair. Lena wasn't strong. She would bend, not break. She would recover from this tragedy the same easy way she recovered from every other tragedy before. Even if she lost Jared, Lena would always know what it felt like to have his child growing inside of her. She could always hold her baby's hand and think of holding Jared's. She could see her child laugh and learn and grow and play sports and do school projects and graduate from college and Lena would always, always remember her husband. She would see Jared in her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. On her deathbed, she would find peace in the knowledge that they had made something beautiful together. That even in death, they would both go on living. 'Sara, ' Faith said. 'What's happening here?' Sara wiped her eyes, angry that she was back in the same dark place she'd started at this morning. 'Why does everything come so damn easy to her?' She struggled to speak. Her throat clenched around every word that wanted to come out of her mouth. 'Everything just opens up, and she always walks through unscathed and-' Sara had to stop for breath. 'It's just so easy for her. She always has it so goddamn easy.
Sara waited a respectful time, knowing there was nothing she could do to ease the woman's pain. Grief was a place, Sara understood, where a person went alone. It was like a room without doors, and what happened in that room, all the anger and the pain you felt, was meant to stay there, nobody's business but yours.
After Sara's accident, so many well-intentioned people had offered her words of hope - that God would heal her, that she would see again - as if that was a given. It was the same hope people had offered Marilyn all those years ago. Story upon story of women who had struggled through infertility and ended up with a child on the other side. 'God is good. It'll happen, ' they had told her. As if God's goodness depended upon whether or not He answered prayers the way people wanted Him to answer. The hard truth was the sometimes He didn't. He hadn't rescued Marilyn from her infertility, and He hadn't rescued Sara from her blindness. But that didn't negate His goodness. It just meant that He had different plans.
We're married. We are one now. There's no running away. We have to deal with things together and figure them out, and that's the greatest gift. I'm in it. People ask me, 'How do you maintain a relationship?' I don't know, but all I do know is that I chose Sara to be the one, and when I choose something, that's all that matters, and I'm totally in.
Perhaps I have not really a good temper at all, but if you have everything you want and everyone is kind to you, how can you help but be good-tempered? Perhaps I'm a HIDEOUS child, and no one will ever know, just beecause I never have any trials. (Sara Crewe, A Little Princess)
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Yes, she is." He looks at me, his face carved in pain. "She is dying, Sara. She will die, either tonight or tomorrow or maybe a year from now if we're really lucky. You heard what Dr. Chance said. Arsenic's not a cure. It just postpones what's coming." My eyes fill up with tears. "But I love her," I say, because that is reason enough.
What the hell?' Ian asked, holding his hands over the front of his Christmas briefs. Sara had ordered them from the Internet, and he'd worn them to please her. Too bad there hadn't been enough time for the underwear to meet with an unfortunate accident. A lot could be blamed on a washing machine.
I just hope I'm around long enough to see it through.' Sara said, looking uncertain. 'All of us wonder that, at some point or another, ' Arch replied cryptically. 'It's your destiny, and all of fate is aligning to see it come to pass. This next thirty days won't be easy. Hell is sending out its best fighters, and I'm sending out one of mine. I have faith that he will see you through.
[Like her friends Faith Hill and Martina McBride, Sara says she never sleeps. No time for pedicures and manicures, either.] Women are multi-taskers, ... Craig can only do one thing at a time. If he tends to the kids, that's all he does ... whereas I hold the baby in my lap and do a radio interview.
She felt him tremble with the force of his need. He spoke just beneath her ear, his voice thick with tormented pleasure. "You have to leave, Sara ... because I want to hold you like this until your skin melts into mine. I want you in my bed, the smell of you on my sheets, your hair spread across my pillow. I want to take your innocence. God! I want to ruin you for anyone else.
The academic and writer Sara Ahmed has written brilliantly about the idea of the feminist killjoy, and why it should be embraced - because feminism isn't about making everyone around the table feel comfortable. It's about being disruptive, challenging, and changing the terms of the debate, so that, over time, almost certainly with discomfort and backlash, everyone becomes freer.
They say that dogs may dream, and when Topsy was old, his feet would move in his sleep. With his eyes closed he would often make a noise that sounded quite human, as if greeting someone in his dreams. At first it seemed that he believed Sara would return, but as the years went by I understood that his loyalty asked for no reward, and that love comes in unexpected forms. His wish was small, as hers had been -- merely to be beside her. As for me, I already knew I would never get what I wanted.
They say that dogs may dream, and when Topsy was old, his feet would move in his sleep. With his eyes closed he would often make a noise that sounded quite human, as if greeting someone in his dreams. At first it seemed that he believed Sara would return, but as the years went by I understood that his loyalty asked for no reward, and that love comes in unexpected forms. His wish was small, as hers had been - merely to be beside her. As for me, I already knew I would never get what I wanted.
You bring fresh eyes, Matt. For us, something crazy may happen, and we all say 'Oh my' at the time, but the next week some new crazy thing happens that wipes the memory clean. And we go on to the next. La-di-da. I guess we just forgot about that other incident until now." - spoken by Sara, the missionary doctor, to Matt. (from The Sacrament of the Goddess, 2014)
In the plenitude of their relationship, Florentina Ariza asked himself which of the two was love: the turbulent bed or the peaceful Sunday afternoons, and Sara Noriega calmed him with the simple argument that love was everything they did naked. She said, 'Spiritual love from the waist up and physical love from the waist down.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Story of a Girl By:Sara Zarr Lexile:760 SRC:12 pts. Personal Issues Choice of getting a job to move out Major Choice In Process of making it happen It effects her bother his girlfriend and their baby, because they will move out with her too. Sometimes we need to take choices that will make your life easier and also others.
Sara Creasy is a new writer to watch, and Song of Scarabaeus is a novel to read and enjoy. . . . The biological speculation rings with truth and possibility, the terraforming-gone-wrong creates an environment of delicious creepiness, and Creasy's imaginatively-constructed universe draws the reader in, to follow Edie and Finn's quest for freedom.
Vonda N. McIntyre
He stripped to his trunks, then dove into the pool. We all watched as he broke the surface and climbed from the water, his muscles slick and wet, his green eyes glowing in the half light of the glass ceiling. I heard Natalie and Sara both sigh, and Harry murmur that it almost made him want to go gay. Coby stretched out on a chaise beside me and asked, 'So you still sorry you moved here?
Imagine, [Kriezler] said, that you enter a large, somewhat crumbling hall that echoes with the sounds of people mumbling and talking repetitively to themselves. All around you these people fall into prostrate positions, some of them weeping. Where are you? Sara's answer was immediate: in an asylum. Perhaps, Kreizler answered, but you could also be in a church. In the one place the behavior would be considered mad; in the other, not only sane, but as respectable as any human activity can be.
The storm long past, the night sky was beset with stars. Pointing upward, I asked her to pick a point of light and stay with it. Standing up, I eased Sara to her feet. Whispering into her ear, I asked, 'Have you ever stood under a star... and felt the earth move under your feet?' - The Judas Syndrome
I kid the Republicans, with love. I feel bad for them. They got nobody for next time. Who are they gonna run? Sara Palin, reading off her hand. Did you see that? You saw this? She wrote tax cuts on her hand. A Republican so stupid she has to be reminded of the one thing- Tax cuts! This is like if you saw the coyote's paw and it said Road Runner.
Then we're just sitting there, staring at each other. Which has been happening a lot lately. It's like whatever wall there was between us, however she was holding herself back from me... all of that pretense is gone. 'And when you find a soul mate, ' Sara says, 'it's undeniable. You have to be together.' 'That's my philosophy.' I look back at her. 'You have to go with the flow.' 'Exactly. I think the universe guides you to make the right choices.' 'Do you believe in fate?' 'I guess, but... it's more about creating the life you want so you can make that fate a reality. You know?
I've got to be kind of careful because I've had good advice: "Don't sell yourself too short." I have to not be too available to everything that comes along. I've always been a people pleaser and now I'm upping the ante in terms of price so I can be more selective. I really enjoyed working on three tracks on Sara Groves' [parenthood-focused] album Station Wagon. I love playing on those songs and I love the heart in that album.
Sara Blair's Harlem Crossroads is an important addition to the body of literature that currently exists about Harlem. It brilliantly illuminates the complex relationship between photographic representation and race, and adds new insight into the ways in which this one black community has figured in both the critical and public imaginations. Harlem Crossroads is a tour de force.
Never did she find anything so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment. The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to manage. "It makes me feel as if something had hit me," Sara had told Ermengarde once in confidence. "And as if I want to hit back. I have to remember things quickly to keep from saying something ill-tempered.
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Never did she find anything so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment. The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to manage. "It makes me feel as if something had hit me, " Sara had told Ermengarde once in confidence. "And as if I want to hit back. I have to remember things quickly to keep from saying something ill-tempered.
Frances Hodgson Burnett
It was more than physical attraction; it was the broken thing inside him she loved most of all, the unreachable place where he kept his sadness. Because that was the thing about Peter Jaxon that nobody knew but her, because she loved him like she did: how terribly sad he was. And not just in the day-to-day, the ordinary sadness everyone carried for the things and people they had lost; his was something more. If she could find this sadness, Sara believed, and take it from him, then he would love her in return.
Sara is the kind of artist I could listen to every day for the rest of my life and, honestly, never grow tired of. The other day there was something hanging over our house? -? just heaviness? -? and I went over and put on 'Conversations,' and it totally changed the atmosphere in the room. Her music welcomes Jesus into a room without it seeming forced or contrived. There's such a sweet brokenness and honesty in her music that makes you want to live like that and see the Christ-ward life like she does.
Still, I kept writing. I had no guarantee that I would someday win awards for writing. Heavens, the only person during that time who seemed to think I could write something worth publishing was my loyal husband. But I always remembered the professor from graduate school who urged me to write and who recommended me for that first writing assignment in 1964. When I protested to Sara Little that I didn't want to add another mediocre writer to the world, she gently reminded me that if I didn't dare mediocrity, I would never write anything at all.
Sara Scherr and Jeff McNeely have given us a thoughtful, sensible book about a topic of great importance to the world. There is no food security, no poverty reduction, no environmental sustainability without transforming our agricultural practices. The book ?presents well documented cases of best practices from all over the world. It should be required reading for all concerned with agriculture, the environment, food security or just the future of our children.
I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat," she mused. "Nobody likes you. People jump and run away and scream out: 'Oh, a horrid rat!' I shouldn't like people to scream and jump and say: 'Oh, a horrid Sara!' the moment they saw me, and set traps for me, and pretend they were dinner. It's so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said: 'Wouldn't you rather be a sparrow?
Frances Hodgson Burnett
I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat, ' she mused. 'Nobody likes you. People jump and run away and scream out: 'Oh, a horrid rat!' I shouldn't like people to scream and jump and say: 'Oh, a horrid Sara!' the moment they saw me, and set traps for me, and pretend they were dinner. It's so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said: 'Wouldn't you rather be a sparrow?
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Derek's breath touched Sara's throat in unsteady urges. "Sometimes, " he whispered, "I'm so close to you... and I'm still not close enough. I want to share your breath... every beat of your heart." He cradled her head in both his hands, his mouth hot on her neck. "Sometimes, " he murmured, "I want to punish you a little." "Why?" "For making me want you until I ache with it. For the way I wake at night just to watch you sleeping." His face was intense and passionate above her, his green eyes sharp in their brightness. "I want you more each time I'm with you. It's a fever that never leaves me. I can't be alone without wondering where you are, when I can have you again." His lips possessed hers in a kiss that was both savage and tender, and she opened to him eagerly.
Susan... it wasn't a good name, was it? It wasn't a truly bad name, it wasn't like poor Iodine in the fourth form, or Nigella, a name which meant "oops, we wanted a boy." But it was dull. Susan. Sue. Good old Sue. It was a name that made sandwiches, kept its head in difficult circumstances, and could reliably look after other people's children. It was a name used by no queens or goddesses anywhere. And you couldn't do much even with the spelling. You could turn it into Suzi, and it sounded as though you danced on tables for a living. You could put in a Z and a couple of Ns and an E, but it still looked like a name with extensions built on. It was as bad as Sara, a name that cried out for a prosthetic H.