favorites

I kissed Ryan, and it charged him up like a freaking Duracell.

This love is so deep it cannot be undone.

It wasn't till they were on the bridge that Delly asked RB, "So, Ferris Boyd's your favorite?" She didn't mind, mostly.RB answered so fast, though, she knew he wasn't fibbing. "She's my favorite friend," he told her. "You're my favorite everything.

Growing up, I loved the tale of Peter Rabbit and also books on Pippi Longstocking. Pippi was a girl who had so much fun and was very daring. My sons loved all the Dr. Seuss books

Yes, I am finally a match for Amy. The other morning I woke up next to her, and I studied the back of her skull. I tried to read her thoughts. For once I didn't feel like I was staring into the sun. I'm rising to my wife's level of madness. Because I can feel her changing me again: I was a callow boy, and then a man, good and bad. Now at last I'm the hero. I am the one to root for in the never-ending war story of our marriage. It's a story I can live with. Hell, at this point, I can't imagine my story without Amy. She is my forever antagonist.We are one long frightening climax.

We don't need to have just one favorite. We keep adding favorites. Our favorite book is always the book that speaks most directly to us at a particular stage in our lives. And our lives change. We have other favorites that give us what we most need at that particular time. But we never lose the old favorites. They're always with us. We just sort of accumulate them.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Sports cars from the '50s and '60s are my favorites.

He sits at the table and reads novels, old favorites of his, the words and plots and characters comforting and lived-in and unchanged.

People who LIKE movies have a favorite. People who LOVE movies couldn't possibly choose.

It__ like your whole life you__e been falling toward the earth, until the moment someone catchesyou. And you realize that somehow you__e caught her at the same time. And together, instead offalling, you might be able to fly._ The ghost went to the discarded clipping and stared down at thephoto, riveted. __he__ a beaut, isn__ she?___ure,_ Alex said automatically, although there was nothing of Zoë__ sparkling allure in thephoto, only a hint of resemblance.

What's my favorite part that I've written? That__ like asking me to choose which of my kids is least ugly!

We must plant our dreams in real earth. We must dirty our hands. It's the only way. Whether we dream of planting flower gardens or churches, ever dream needs a place in which to take root and grow. Every dream needs a home.

Two years before our arrival at Maplehurst, we had left the Midwest eager for new jobs, milder weather, and a house of our own with a real backyard. We were unprepared for the enormity of our losses. Good friends. Close-knit community. A meaningful connection with the work of our minds and our hands.There was one lost thing, in particular. It was such a natural part of our prewilderness lives that I only ever recognized it after it was gone. In our northern city, we had lived a seasonal rhythm of summer festivals and winter sledding, spring baseball games and autumn apple picking. Our moments and our months were distinguished by the color of the trees, deep red or spring green, and the color of the lake, sparkling and playful in summer, menacing and dull in winter.These things were the beautiful, sometimes harsh, but always rhythmic backdrop in our days. Time was like music. It had a melody. In the wilderness, the only thing that differentiated one season from the next was my terrible winter asthma. Without time's music, I became aimless and disconnected, like a child's lost balloon.

Never give up hope. All things are working for your good. One day, you'll look back on everything you've been through and thank God for it.