Angel Hench > Recent Status Updates

She only ever seemed to bring out the worst in men. They either wanted to control her, touch her, dominate her, silence her, correct her or tell her what to do.

Wasn't that the very definition of life? Constant adaptations bright about by a series of never-ending mistakes?

When a girl was racing toward her twelfth birthday, life was confusing enough without the communication of parallel worlds.

...her silhouette was something to behold. She gave good shadow, always had.

"How's he looking? We haven't been able to get a clear shot of him. The last pictures we had of him, he wasn't doing so good."

"He's probably still having a little trouble dating."

Benn would put a bullet in his head, should of become necessary. Like Lisander Royster himself, Benn had always followed orders. His soul was safe.

What we humans think of as our minds, it's all electricity. All our thoughts, desires and funniest jokes, they're just lightning bolts, bouncing around inside a bag of meat.

So many times, Dai told himself he was a fool. And yet he stayed. There was no release from love, anyhow. There was only learning how to live with the hurt.

Well, feel this, why don't you? Feel how it feels to have a bed to sleep in and somebody there not worrying you to death about what you got to do each day to deserve it. Feel how that feels. And if that don't get it, feel how it feels to be a coloredwoman roaming the roads with anything God made liable to jump on you. Feel that.

World news didn't resonate. A good story was one you had to whisper for fear that the very person you were shit-talking could be lurking just around the next corner.

what was the difference between a hack and a spell? Both were a precise flow of words in a secret language known only to the initiated, to manipulate a reality that was inviolate only to those content to accept it as such.

There was a public outcry, but it was lost in a flood of competing outcries. People had begun taking so much issue with scythes, each one seemed lost within the shadow of another. One hundred points of darkness, and no one could agree which one to rally around.

A successful lie is not fueled by the liar; it is fueled by the willingness of the listener to believe. You can't expose a lie without first shattering the will to believe it. That is why leading people to truth is so much more effective than merely telling them.

I trailed after her, feeling like a cross between Alice and Gulliver and a stray cat.

Let that be a lesson to you: if you are too good and too quiet for too long, it will cost you. It will always cost you, in the end.

Novels are untrustworthy advisers. They aren't concerned with rationality or sobriety; they peddle in tragedy and suspense, in chaos and rule breaking, in madness and heartache, and they will steer you toward such things with all the guile of a piper luring rats into a river.

Because you trust your house, right? It's your house. It protects you from the world and, even more important, all the people out there. It sees you naked every day. It knows your sins. It's the only place where you are your true self. So when that gets corrupted, when that becomes haunted, that's terrifying.

Where else was I wrong? It was the same question I had asked myself when I'd finally sloughed off Christianity. Where else was I fundamentally wrong about life and the universe and how everything worked? Is life a cycle of us realizing how stupid we are over and over again until we die.

His expression made me think of old-timey illustrations of god: severely paternal, bestowing the kind of love that weighs and measures before it find you worthy.

Having stopped attending any sort of church as soon as I understood that praying often got in the way of doing. (26)

He wished himself back with his own people, where cruelty was secret, violence was hidden, and good manners were more important than crime.

It was a stretch to call those people lucky, as it usually meant they were the sole survivors of their family group, and it couldn't feel lucky to be the last person left to mourn your loved ones.

(474) not finding Reg to tell of request, "it wasn't meant to be hurtful. We just didn't want to have to decide."

Yellow car in the closet tossed away by Min and Evie, not knowing the significance it once held

I don't care how good a friend you are, he answered, the beauty of marriage is that it's private. A jewel. A wife ought never talk about her husband. And certainly not about his family. Talk tarnishes.

There is no story until we're dead, and then our children tell it. We are just living. Your mother was living. Stop looking for what's not there. Nothing happened-life happened. Reality is not a story.

The absence of fear in international faces as described by Reg Pauling (writer/photographer)