orbitaldiamonds: painting of dragon and books ([ a ] dragon and books)
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Dollanganger Series: If There Be Thorns
by V. C. Andrews

p.92 I sighed, got up, brushed off my knees, my hands. Time to visit Apple. On my way over I got distracted by the white wall, which needed more texture. Picking up a stone, I began to pound on the wall in oder to chip off more of the white stucco. Gosh, what if this wall went on forever? It might even end up in China, keeping out the Mongol hordes. Wonder what Mongols were? Apes? Yeah, sounded like apes--mean kind of big apes that ate people who were in the throes of something. Would be nice to be as huge as King Kong so I could step on things I hated.
     I'd step on teachers first, schools next--and step over churches. Malcolm respected God, and I didn't want to make God mad with me. I'd pluck the stars from the sky and stick them on my fingers for diamond rings, like my grandmother's. I'd wear the moon for my cap. I'd leave the sun alone because it might burn my hand--but if I picked up the Empire State Building I could use it as a bat and sat that sun right out of our universe! Then everything would go black as tar. There'd be no daytime and only forever night. Black was like being blind, or dead.
orbitaldiamonds: painting of dragon and books ([ a ] dragon and books)
[personal profile] orbitaldiamonds

Midnight Flight
by V. C. Andrews

p.8 She was as tall as I was, about five feet ten or so, and she was wearing a dark blue uniform jacket with brass buttons and a pair of blue slacks. I thought she wasn't much more than nineteen or twenty years old. She was wide in the hips and small on top with narrow shoulders, making it look like two different bodies had been slapped together when God was busy attending to other matters.

p.25 Her voice echoed off the cement walls and then died as if her words were smashed to bits, the letters splattered and then raining down to the dank concrete floor.

p.209 I couldn't imagine anything more lonely thanto die among strangers, to have no one who was more than just professionally interested in what was happening to you. You would know that when it was over, they would shake their heads and most likely within the same hour, maybe the same minute, return to their normal, daily lives. Some who witnessed your passing might not even remember to mention it to anyone afterward. You were, after all, just a statistic.


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Heather's Library

March 2010

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