girls

Some girls feel they are like boys, They play rough, they like a lot of noise.

He was a kind of éminence grise, a political leader, in a clandestine movement. Everyone knows there are girls who go for that kind of thing. There are girls who go for Huysmanists, for that matter. I once met a girl -- a pretty, attractive girl -- who told me she fantasized about Jean-François Copé. It took me several days to get over it. Really, with girls today, all bets are off.

Young girls are told you have to be the delicate princess. Hermione taught them that you can be the warrior.

To tell the truth, girls are no longer the way they used to be. They play gangsters, nowadays, just like boys. They organize rackets. They plan holdups and practice karate. They will rape defenseless adolescents. They wear pants... Life has become impossible.

This one had come to me, though, picked me out. I thought she was trouble from the start. I don't read minds and I can't see the future, but call it instinct or experience, something was prickling my spine.You could call it something else, if you wanted: adolescence, hormones, lust. Being seventeen. That doesn't go away, however long you practice."Hullo," I said politely, warily.She was long and slim and very neatly put together, dark hair tumbling over denim, old worn black jacket and jeans that somehow hadn't faded into grey. They probably didn't dare. Right from the start I saw a focus in her, a determination that must go all the way through, like the writing in a stick of Brighton rock. In another world, another lifetime, I thought she'd have raven-feathers in her hair, a bear's tooth on a thong about her. She'd be the village shaman, talking to spirits, and even the headman would be afraid of her, a little...Seventeen, I told you. She was devastating to me, she was sitting at my table, and I couldn't afford her. Not for a minute.If I'd stood up, if I'd left, if I'd run away...Nah. She would just have come after me. Faster, fitter, and on longer legs. What chance did I ever have?

i dream nights and girls like tigers,claws and teeth on both.

Life was like that when you were fifteen and knobby-kneed and you only had a handful of choices. Your world was small and cruel and narrow-minded and breathtaking.

But some boys like boys more -And some girls make other girls hearts soar!

Speaking of my things, you weren't actually using that darling little study were you?" sheasked sweetly.Her mate's eyes narrowed. "Why?""Because I am commandeering it for my closet.""Closet? My study is over three hundred square feet." His shocked expression was adorable."Good point. Do you use the library as well?"He stared unblinking. "Yes, actually I do.""Oh well. I'll need to call in a contractor to remodel the study into functional wardrobe.

A dormitory was a hopeless idea. Whoever thought of encasing two hundred girls in a concrete box?

Boys, at war, so far away, will naturally droop, both in body and mind, from lack of a particular girl__ snuggling and cuddling.

Girls get under each other's skin. We get too close, too attached, too crazy, and then we can't let go. Our claws sink too deep. When we separate, we tear each other apart.

...he called after her as shedisappeared down the path, a pretty girl in a hurry...

Once young girls used to play with baby dolls, seeing themselves in the role of the nurturing mother; now they can be seen playing with Barbie dolls, seeing themselves in the place of the doll. And of course, the doll is both pretty and stacked. The pressure is on and stays on.

I'm an autistic girl. I have many years to grow. I'm going to rock my life. Just watch me shine

There was something familiar but strange about her - Snow White with a suntan. Cinderella in biker boots. Tough and delicate and magical and real all at once.

She was around ten minutes late, as a matter of fact. I didn't give a damn, though. All that crap they have in cartoons in the Saturday Evening Post and all, showing guys on street corners looking sore as hell because their dates are late - that's bunk. If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she's late? Nobody.

Lions and tigers and pissed-off girls, oh my.