It made me think of my mother, when she made her pie crusts. She'd prick little holes all over the place. So it can breath, she said. I was just breathing. I closed my eyes, anticipating each cut, feeling that wash of relief when it was done.
Jodi PicoultAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: May 19, 1966
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...But what has any of the three, or any mixture of the three, to do with that unnameable something, desire for which pierces us like a rapier at the smell of a bonfire, the sound of wild ducks flying overhead, the title of The Well at the World's End, the opening lines of Kubla Khan, the morning cobwebs in late summer, or the noise of falling waves?
C. S. Lewis
I love you," she whispered. Richard pulled her tight against him. His fingers traced a trail down the bumps of her spine."I feel so frustrated that there aren't any better words than "I love you," he said. "It doesn't seem enough for the way I feel about you. I'm sorry there aren't any better words to tell you."They are words enough for me."Then, I love you, Kahlan. A thousand times, a million times, I love you. Forever.
Terry Goodkind
