To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.
I love Guns N’ Roses. Reminds me of the last time I tried to pick flowers from my neighbor’s garden.
I want to try making things right because picking up the pieces is way better than leaving them the way they are.
Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.
Ambulances were cool. “You just want to fondle my extraneous body parts,†I said to the EMT as I picked up a silver gadget that looked disturbingly like an alien orifice probe, broke it, then promptly put it back, hoping it wouldn’t leave someone’s life hanging in the balance because the EMT couldn’t alien-probe his orifices.
Sometimes love will pick you up by the short hairs...and jerk the heck out of you.
Here," Myrnin said, his voice still gentle and low. "Amelie said you had to work. No one said you had to work alone." He picked up the next part and slotted it in, took the screwdriver from Claire's numbed fingers, and fastened it with a couple of deft, fast movements. "I'll be your hands." She wanted to cry, because it was so sweet, but it wouldn't do any good.
The true trophy hunter is a self-disciplined perfectionist seeking a single animal, the ancient patriarch well past his prime that is often an outcast from his own kind... If successful, he will enshrine the trophy in a place of honor. This is a more noble and fitting end than dying on some lost and lonely ledge where the scavengers will pick his bones, and his magnificent horns will weather away and be lost forever.
The notion of picking one time of year to be decent to other people is obscene because it's actually validating the notion of being miserable wretches the rest of the year.
When nobody will look at you, you can stare a hole in them. Picking out all the little details you'd never stare long enough to get if she'd ever just return your gaze, this, this is your revenge.