Favorite lines you've written

[Jennasis]

"I've been in a lot of fights in my life, and never once did I ever say to myself if only I'd had a middle-aged nun to help me out..."

 

[Wayne K]

After lunch we had group. Encounter groups were the place where we let off steam. If someone pissed you off, when the person screaming is done, you proceed to scream at the person you want to scream at. That person usually begins screaming at you until you’re both done, at which time someone else begins screaming at you, that person, or someone else. If no one screams at anyone else fast enough, you can begin screaming at someone else altogether. It was loud.

Ahhh, good times

 

[ccv707]

They called him Ishmael. He had run from the rest of the world, a world that had no understanding or love or need of him. He had run to the sea a man of knowledge. Quickly forgotten. A poet, perhaps. Perhaps not even himself, but someone great, a man whom the world would remember at some point, think back to and miss quite fondly and wish that he had never gone away in the first…then he begins fading into the shadows cast by the lot, falling, even, from the bow to a place much darker where he could gaze both left and right and see into and through the eyes of the others, those with whom he spent those days and nights on the salty, bobbing ocean waters.

He was misunderstood, this man who asked to be called by a name of his own choosing, and it was only his own eyes and mouth, his thoughts, the letters and words that formed from them, that could show him to the world. So he had run to the only place where he could show himself, but there, too, he fell into the shadows of the world, a world on the wooden boards of a ship’s deck. Then, were the views he had of everyone else, perhaps, only his view of them, and not actually them at all? From where had they all run? From what? Had they, too, faded into the shadows of a time and place that had no love for them? But, then, where was the love supposed to come from, and who was meant to give it? For them, only the world of their ship deck had strength enough to warm them, if only in the sounds of their own voices asking to be called--

That was where I stopped writing. It’d been seven months. No, eight. All that time gone by, and there wasn’t another word. I sat at the desk, pencil in my fingers, squeezing it and retracing the letters that came before, thinking. At first, I thought walking through the woods in the park would help, make the movements in my hand come back. It always had before. I liked seeing the squirrels and birds talking back and forth, running or flapping from branch to branch, and smelling the air blow through the wet leaves and the bark. Sometimes I left the trail. The woods seemed to get bigger the farther I walked from the way back. At the center was little pond, and the air was colder. I tried going when no one else was, so I could sit there and listen to the sounds, voices of a world that, in some way, was older there, at the heart of the woods where I was as far away from all the rest of it as I could’ve been.

The first few paragraphs of my latest short story.

 

[Shadow_Ferret]

The zombies kept up a constant moaning and groaning which reminded me, interestingly enough, of an illicit, underground strip club I attended once, purely for research, of course.

 

[IrishWristwatch]

[FONT=&quot]Wrote this for a short story, thought it summed it all up perfectly

It was scary to think about how he could be so sad for so long. He had expected in the 40 years of his life he would have figured more things out, maybe even just what he wanted with his life. But now the sudden knowledge was like a flash of sun on the snow, blinding all his senses.[/FONT]

 

[Carpinttas]

here is one of my favourite parts, you can read it at my blog:

“Hey, wait up! We should discuss some tactics first. I fight midrange using my longsword.” He lifted his hand to show the weapon. “What about you?”
Her brown eyes slowly turned to him and she simply said, “I kill them.[FONT=&quot]”[/FONT]

 

[milly]

wrote this tonight:

A damn notebook. On the seat next to me, page after page of her foolishness. Probably unicorns and stemless flowers, hearts with arrows through them. That her parents had read it, that my name appeared in it, well, it made me curious. But curious is different than willing.

 

[VP_Benni]

“When’s she going to come over during the summer then?” I asked.
“She actually wanted to sleep on your floor.” He said slowly. “If it’s okay with you, that is.”
I took a moment to process that. “You mean she wants to live in my room?”
Jay nodded.
“You mean like all the time? Twenty four hours a day?”

I laugh at her disbelief...
~Amber~

 

[AuburnAssassin]

"Is there a uniform or dress code?" Gina Starr asks. She recently graduated from my school. She's a year older than me but she considers high school years akin to dog years, having a ratio of one to four in terms of maturity. I wonder why a pseudo-twenty-one year old can't be bothered to read the section cryptically entitled "Dress Code".

 

[Octopuddle]

For some reason I really like this. Just for a tiny bit of context: It's the middle of the night.

~~

He yanked the quilt back over his head with finality, and a muffled but firm, "Goodnight!" was barely audible.
"But how could someone know something that even the people who do know don't officially know so didn't tell anyone so there's no way anyone not in the know could possibly know?"
He pulled the quilt down and stared at me. "Do you seriously expect me to detangle that and answer it?"

~~

 

[AllHorsesPost]

From my new WIP:

As always, she looked at the drum with both longing and loathing. Longing for all the truths it could tell her, and loathing for the price the power behind the drum would charge for the revelation of those truths. She remembered what her grandmother had told her so long ago in the little adobe house in Taos Pueblo.

"For the little truths, the Trickster God will be happy with a minor pain for payment. A drop of blood will usually solve the problem of a lost lamb or a straying foal. The larger the truth, the higher the price and it is that price that a Sandcaster must always be willing to pay. And don’t think it will always be your own blood and pain that will be the required payment – very often it could be pain and blood from one you love. Remember that, Granddaughter. You have a great gift, but with great gifts there always come great pain. That is the way of the world. The Trickster God is fickle, and has no real cares for the problems of men."

 

[Devil Ledbetter]

She's a little down and out in Detroit.

On my Mr. Salty's wages I could afford a sturdy appliance box on Dequinder, maybe.

 

[VP_Benni]

Oh wow, I wrote this almost two years ago...
Cracks me up every time I read it.
(Btw "the Pack" is a group of girls that basically stalk Skeeter, who is eavesdropping)

Pack member #3: Maddie is so lucky; I would like totally do almost anything for a boyfriend like Skeeter.
Pack members all nod in agreement. I feel blood rushing to my cheeks, and feel thankful that none of the girls that were talking about me could actually see my face at the moment.
Pack member #2: Me too. I wonder how she got him to like her so fast. It was only about three weeks after they met that they started going out.
Pack member #1: We’ll find someone like Skeeter soon enough. I hope he’ll be exactly like him in every way, only taller.
Pack members nod in agreement. I look down at my feet for two seconds, trying not to think about my height.

 

[maestrowork]

I think this captures the mood of this scene perfectly...

The sight of the gate astounded him. He had not expected to see it, still intact and erect by the dirt road, every iron rod exactly where it had been, where it should be. The wild weeds patching the road to his father's house reminded him of time wasted. A lifetime ago. The distant fields were awash with a thick verdant hue, and a sea of grass rippled in a haze of the sultry breeze. The trees looked grand and untamed, layers upon layers of foliage and shadows waving at him like old friends. Beyond those emerald crowns and down the narrow road lay the fortress of his past.

 

[VidaOfMars]

"Defeated, he laid down, or more fell down onto, the bed. It was hard.. It was cold, too. He missed his home. He missed his mother. He even missed the pasta she made Wednesday nights, though it was never good quality. The pasta was still better than that one slice of bread.
His lip quivered, but he told himself he would not cry. It wasn’t good to break apart in this kind of situation. He needed to stay strong.
Although.. That was the first night he ended up crying himself to sleep. He had never been a strong boy. "

I really like this. It's tragically funny. :3

 

[VidaOfMars]

"So, that was it. The metal.. It must deflect his abilities and make the room entirely deadening.
Well.. That was just great. Sarcasm implied."

This part too~ :3

 

[PoppysInARow]

Found this in an old short sstory and I really like it:

Love is fickle that way. A bloody bitchy mistress, if you ask me. And yet, I know deep down I couldn’t bear to date you again. Because if I was to love you, things wouldn’t be the same. After so many years apart I think we’ve forgotten how to be together. We’ve forgotten how to love each other.

All I remember how to do is want with such an insatiable appetite that all other things in life become meaningless.

 

[Jadedinsc]

From a short, less-than-four-hundred-words little ficlet I wrote the other day. Also, the first bit of writing for 2011 (because life got a little overwhelming and busy). I just happened to like the silliness of it.

Stacy was my Queen of Hearts. It wasn’t in that “Off with your head” way, and I don’t think she was legitimately insane, but she was a little eccentric. I gave her that nickname after I caught her one Valentine’s Day with a bottle of pink nail polish painting the petals of the white roses I bought her. When I asked her why, she rolled her eyes and told me that any idiot could see they were the wrong color.

“Roses from lovers should be pink or red, especially on Valentine’s Day,” she said in her best Teach The Dumb Boyfriend voice. “I prefer red, but red nail polish makes me look like a tramp so I went with the closest color to red I had which just happens to be,” she paused to turn the bottle upside down to read the sticker on the bottom, “Pink Strawberry Passion.”

 

[GeorgiePenn]

Love reading all of these! Thought I'd share one of my own...

“The point is, he would do it for Exie.” Grant said. “Even if the odds were against him. Because Exie is someone he cares about, and when someone you care about is hurt you find yourself doing things you never thought you could do before.”

 

[perfectisafault]

From my new YA project:

She flashed a grin at me that injected into my veins a kind of warmth and companionship I’d once known and so sorely missed.

 

[PoppysInARow]

From my new WIP:

Dahlia grabbed Vetis’s hand with her free one and the three disappeared back out into the late night. They found a booth in some twenty-four hour restaurant and ate bacon and eggs and pancakes until Seth felt ready to puke. They talked about meaningless things without revealing a single truth about themselves and Seth wondered if this was what it was like to have friends.

 

[francist44]

Recently added to my novel Poisoned Reign - scene is the day after a battle

“Sir, you don’t need to be out here. Digging graves is not a task for an officer.”
Frencore’s shovel becomes still and his eyes close. “I helped lead these men to their deaths. It is more my task than yours.”

 

[Fairies wear bOOts:)]

She held herself high, whereby from the tilt of her brow and the twinkle in her eye the girl seemed to laugh down upon everything, and the world below the buckles of her tinted grey boots.

 

[jenga]

"Tastes like there's a party in my mouth and everyone threw up."

 

[Detri Redmond]

My sig ...don't know if I got it from somewhere else but it just came to me.