Elizabeth Langston Quotes

Obviously, genies worked out in their off-hours. He looked so good it was distracting.

We could’ve been a still photo, the kind from a booth at the mall where two dollars went in and a strip of three shots came out. Our image wasn’t the first shot, the one that was always frantic and unfocused. It wasn’t the second shot either--laughing and silly. No, this was the final image--the serious shot--where the couple realized they wanted a good picture to remember the moment by and couldn’t afford to screw the last one up.

I knew a sudden shyness. There was a look on his face, a stillness to his body that had never been there before. Though I couldn’t give the emotion a name, I felt it, too. We had something special. Something hard to define. Something past friendship.“I must go now,” I said and rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, marveling at its velvet skin. “Thank you for the book.”He drew me into his embrace and sighed. “Thank you for the stars.

I loved her in ways I understood, full of physical aches and the need to be near her whenever I could. But I also loved her in ways that were unfamiliar, with an intensity that made me willing to attempt the impossible.

What is the verdict?”“There is always hope.” His face softened. “However, it’s unlikely your brain damage will improve.”He’d given me the answer I’d expected and dreaded.I shut my eyes and sagged into the pillows. I’d braced myself for this result, but I’d wanted a miracle so badly that it was painful to hear the truth.Sunlight pressed in on me, trying to cheer me up. I would resist a moment longer. This room, the quilt, my closed eyes—they formed a serene barrier against the world, although it wasn’t clear to me if I wanted to keep the scary stuff out or the scared me in.

Friend. Before Mark, I’d known its definition. Now I knew its meaning.

His arm slid around my shoulders and drew me to him. It was odd, sitting there under the veil of darkness, watching the neighborhood settle down. Lamps burned in windows. TVs flickered. A few houses down, the rhythmic thud of a basketball on concrete and muffled laughter alerted us to the only other people outside on this glorious fall night.“This is a perfect date,” I said.He tensed. “You’d call it a date?”“Sure. You wouldn’t?”He looked down at me, his eyes glittering in the faint light. “I thought American girls liked more formality in a date.”“More money is what you mean.” I smiled. “It’s a date. Don’t argue with me.”“I never do.

May I kiss you?”Finally. “Yes.”He smiled as he threaded his fingers through my hair. Carefully, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead.His mouth was warm and gentle against my skin, but it wasn’t enough. “Please tell me that wasn’t what you meant.”He laughed softly. “There’s more.” He kissed my cheek, my jaw, and hovered a fraction above my mouth.I ached for his kiss, and when the waiting stretched too long, I closed the distance.He took over, which was just as well, because I forgot where I was or the time or my name. The only thing in the world was his mouth. That kiss. Us.