Our Unscripted Story Quotes

“Love, to be real, must cost, it must hurt, it must empty us of self. – Mother Teresa”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning. – Paulo Coelho”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“We come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly. –Sam Keen”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“Life was too sweet to think about the sour.”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“You look just like your mama. She loved you so much and you’ll never know her. You’ll never know how she would braid your hair in all those little braids, or how she would rub your back when you weren’t feeling well. You won’t remember that her hair always smelled like lilacs and when she smiled she brightened up a room. She sang when she baked, and talked to the flowers in the garden as she tended them. She liked to walk in the rain and dance in the streets. She was in labor for forty-three hours, but it only took ten minutes to push you into the world.” He touched her round cheek, swiping his thumb over her soft skin. “When you were ready, there was no stopping you. You won’t remember that you were the center of both of our worlds, but you are. You are loved, baby girl.”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“My wish for you is to sing when you bake, to talk to the flowers, to walk in the rain, dance in the streets, to love until it hurts, and most of all to live every day like it’s your last.”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“get to their mama’s milk. They called him piglet five, but he thought of himself as Peter. He had dreams to father hundreds of piglets, to live his life slopping around in the mud and to die fat and happy. Life had other plans. They came at night…” “Miss Owens!” And the story was just getting good. “It’s a fetal pig. It was never born.”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“Miss Owens, why do we dissect fetal pigs?” Up close his comb over seemed to defy gravity. How much hairspray did he use? He cleared his throat, I quickly replied, “Because of the similarities to humans.” “Yes. Now, before we cut we study the specimen. What can you tell me about this pig, Miss Owens?” What could I tell him about the pig? Seriously? He was little, pink and soon to be removed of all his organs. It was a dismal fate, so I created a better one. “He was the smallest in his litter. His brothers and sisters climbed over him to”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“He knew my name. Of course he did, it was shouted often enough in biology class.”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“Class was almost over, thankfully. Right before the bell rang a girl entered the classroom, the same chick that had cornered Greyson in the hall that first day. She hadn't really, but I rewrote that scene to one I liked better. Mr. Price had already retired to his desk. He looked exhausted.

"Alexis Owens?" I was focused on the pink paper in her hand. My flyer. This couldn't be good.

"Yes."

She turned the paper over. It was the LOST CAT flyer. I chuckled then realized the chick looked about ready to cry. Didn't she know you couldn't believe everything you read on a bulletin board?

"Did anyone claim him?"

Before I could answer her, her focus shifted to Greyson. My jaw might have dropped, but his chick did not walk into our class with a bogus flyer just to get a look at Greyson? By the way she was licking her lips, yes, she had. I had to give it to her; she was bold.

I glanced over at the object of her obsession only to find he was looking at me. That sweet burn moved down my spine in the most pleasant way. Maybe she wasn't so crazy walking in here to get a look at him. If I wasn't such a coward, I'd take the opportunity to talk to him but I was glued to my seat.

I watched every move he made. I wasn't much better than the chick. He headed for the door, but as he passed the girl he said, "I claimed him. Cat is a delicacy in Ireland."

Those pale eyes glanced back at me and he winked before he walked from class.”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story

“Now, before we cut we study the specimen. What can you tell me about this pig, Miss Owens?"

What could I tell him about the pig? Seriously? He was little, pink and soon to be removed of all his organs. It was a dismal fate, so I created a better one. "He was the smallest in his litter. His brothers and sisters climbed over him to get to their mama's milk. They called him piglet five, but he thought of himself as Peter. He had dreams to father hundreds of piglets, to live his life slopping around in the mud and to die fat and happy. Life had other plans. They came at night ..."

"Miss Owens!"

And the story was just getting good.

"It's a fetal pig. It was never born."

"I know, but it seems wrong to dissect him without at least giving him a story. I mean we could raise a glass for his sacrifice, but you're not allowed to serve alcohol to minors." I leaned closer and added, "But I won't tell if you won't"

What the hell was wrong with me? Did one slip slowly into madness or did it happen fast?”
― L.A. Fiore, Our Unscripted Story