I tried for a decade not to feel anything,” I said. I didn’t wipe away the tear that broke free. He’d already seen me cry. Erwin had seen me in literally every humor except perfectly happy. I had nothing to hide. ”Why are you making this happen?”He leaned in and we opened the space between ourselves once more just so he could kiss the tear away from my cheek. You sonofabitch, I mouthed but did not say.“Are you sure it’s all me?
Her gaze met his. "What do you want more than anything?"Right now, he felt like he could gaze into her green eyes for a century or two. They were amazing, the way they flared with anger, twinkled with humor, or softened with compassion. "I want to be loved, honestly and truly loved, for who I am. And I want to love a woman with all my heart for all my life. I want to ache for her mind, for her body, for her companionship."Her eyes widened. "Oh." (Toni & Ian)
Tell me what you do with the food you eat, and I'll tell you who you are. Some turn their food into fat and manure, some into work and good humor, and others, I'm told, into God. So there must be three sorts of men. I'm not one of the worst, boss, nor yet one of the best. I'm somewhere in between the two. What I eat I turn into work and good humor. That's not too bad, after all!'He looked at me wickedly and started laughing.'As for you, boss,' he said, 'I think you do your level best to turn what you eat into God. But you can't quite manage it, and that torments you. The same thing's happening to you as happened to the crow.''What happened to the crow, Zorba?''Well, you see, he used to walk respectably, properly - well, like a crow. But one day he got it into his head to try and strut about like a pigeon. And from that time on the poor fellow couldn't for the life of him recall his own way of walking. He was all mixed up, don't you see? He just hobbled about.
“[Leo] left a wonderful legacy. He was always involved in every aspect of community. He was wonderfully community-oriented and he raised a family that way. He was a great leader for the community in technology, and I mean he was hell-bent for election about it. He was an excellent administrator, very organized. He saw to it that things got done and a lot of the time, he did it himself. He had a wonderful sense of humor and he was wonderful to work with. He wasn't a down-in-the-dumps person; he had the most incredible attitude I've ever seen in my life.”
Is this Clarissa Fray?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded familiar, though not immediately identifiable.Clary twirled the phone cord nervously around her finger. "Yeees?""Hi, I'm one of the knife-carrying hooligans you met last night in Pandemonium? I"m afraid I made a bad impression and was hoping you'd give me a chance to make it up to-""SIMON!" Clary held the phone away from her ear as he cracked up laughing. "That is so not funny!""Sure it is. You just don't see the humor.""Jerk." Clary sighed, leaning up against the wall.
Those who find no humor in faith are probably those who find the church a refuge for their own black way of looking at life, although I think many of us find the church a refuge for a lot of our personality faults. Those of us, for example, who never learned to dance feel that the church is an ideal place for us if we can find a church that doesn't believe in dancing. Then we can get away with never having learned how to dance. You can carry this in all sorts of directions and see that the church is a refuge for what is really a 'flaw' in your own makeup.
As a result of these news stories, millions of people must have become aware of "niggardly," who otherwise would never have heard it, let alone thought to use it. If this is right, and the word has a new currency, it is probably not the currency I would wish for. The word's new lease of life is probably among manufacturers and retailers of sophomoric humor. I bet that even as I write, some adolescent boys, in the stairwell of some high school somewhere in America, are accusing each other of being niggardly, and sniggering at their own outrageous wit. I bet … Wait a minute. Sniggering? Oh, my God …
If all goes well, we will be back in time for a proper memorial service [for your father], Ben. I promise."Ben looked up, and all the bitterness was gone from his eyes, replaced somehow by both resignation and determination."And if all doesn't go well?" he asked, tightening his grip on Coralee's trusting hand as he led her outside to the driveway.Kira's flawless features morphed into something like a smile, yet wholly without happiness or humor."Then you'll all be meeting up with [your father] soon enough, I expect. Either that, or you shall wish it was so.
F. Scott Fitzgerald believed inserting exclamation points was the literary equivalent of an author laughing at his own jokes, but that's not the case in the modern age; now, the exclamation point signifies creative confusion. All it illustrates is that even the writer can't tell if what they're creating is supposed to be meaningful, frivolous, or cruel. It's an attempt to insert humor where none exists, on the off chance that a potential reader will only be pleased if they suspect they're being entertained. Of course, the reader isn't really sure, either. They just want to know when they're supposed to pretend to be amused.
She couldn’t take her eyes from the dancing flame. No, this was so wrong. Candles should be used for meditation…for romance. Or on a birthday cake at least.So where was the cake? The present? The song? As he stepped closer to her—as the damned flame got way too close—she started singing. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me…” Marcus paused, looking at her in disbelief. See. I knew he didn’t have a sense of humor. “Happy birthday, dear Gabi”—she lifted her head and blew out the candle—“happy birthday to me.