choose now," he spat, his eyes practically shooing sparks. "me or him." gosh,Fang, you romantic fool," i said sarcastically."howw incredibly sexist pig of you.

Is it important to be right or is it important to do what's right? That's one of the hardest lessons to learn.

I love you, i love your smile your snarl your grin, your face when your sleeping.I love your hair streaming behind you as we fly, with the sunlight making it shine, if it doesn't have too much mud or blood in it, I love seeing your wings spreading out, white and brown and tan and speckled, and the tiny downy feathers right at the top of your shoulders. I love your eyes, whether they're cold or calculating or suspicious or laughing or warm, like when you look at me.

I love to tell stories. It's a delight for me.

The weird, weird thing about devastating loss is that life actually goes on. When you're faced with a tragedy, a loss so huge that you have no idea how you can live through it, somehow, the world keeps turning, the seconds keep ticking.

And Max, I've put some scraps in a bowl for your dog," Mom said. "It's on the floor, by the back door." The flock and I went still. Uh-oh, I thought. Total stomped up to me, his glare accusing. "A bowl on the floor!" he seethed. "Why don't you just chain me to a stake in the yard and throw me a bone!

Is dere anysing special about you? Anysing vorth saving?" Besides my fashion sense? I play a mean harmonica.