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What a mess devotion was.
Humans were strange, Six-Thirty thought, the way they constantly battled dirt in their aboveground world, but after death willingly entombed themselves in it.
one who went along because she, like so many other women, assumed that downgrading someone of her own sex would somehow lift her in the estimation of her male superiors.
Like most stupid people, Mr. Sloane wasn’t smart enough to know just how stupid he was.
Every day she found parenthood like taking a test for which she had not studied.
When she was in labor and in horrific pain, convinced the baby was snatching her internal organs like suitcases as if to ensure she’d have plenty to wear on the outside, she screamed so violently the bed frame shook.
On the other hand, wasn’t that the very definition of life? Constant adaptations brought about by a series of never-ending mistakes? Yes, and she should know.
nice kids, like nice adults, were rare.
“Professionally anxious. Like a well-mannered person, but on edge.”
why not rely on a fable or fairy tale? Aren’t they just as valid a vehicle for teaching morality? Except maybe better? Because no one has to pretend to believe that the fables and tales are true?”
God was big on burdens, and He made sure everyone got one.
Were most men like Phil? In Walter’s opinion, no. But did most men do anything about men like Phil, himself included? No.
“Sure as death and taxes.” “Everyone dies,” Mad pointed out. “But not everyone pays their taxes.”
The boys home wasn’t really a school in the same way a prison isn’t really a place to rehabilitate—no
There it was again. Adults and their on-again, off-again relationship with the truth.
