girls

Most girls recently out of finishing school are like soufflés: puffed up, not very substantial inside, and prone to collapsing at the slightest provocation.

I'll walk as fast as I want, and I will take breaks whenever I feel like it. There is no one to follow, no one to keep up with. There's just me and this one beautiful day, this one moment, right here, now.

From a book you can learn the theory but it takes practise to learn how to live life.

But, do you know, once you get used to it's rather cute. I mean, if a girl looks alright to start with, she still looks alright with her head smooth.

Does he ever eat cotton candy for breakfast?"He stepped around the counter to face us, lowered his gaze, and took a sip from the black mug in his hands."No," I said. "He's very much like the Big Bad Wolf. He eats little girls for breakfast."He spoke from behind the cup, his voice deep and as smooth as butterscotch. "She's wrong. I eat big girls for breakfast.

Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Some are made of witchcraft and wolf and a little bit of vice.

Oh no, was I to be one of those girls who gets attacked by a jealous girlfriend?

While other girls were blurry, displaying cracks or, at the very least, seams _ ripped jeans, coffee-stained T-shirts, hair that poufed up in the rain _ Sophia always looked sharp, clear, as if the resolution had been turned up on a microscope and angled straight at her, as if the money had formed a kind of shrink wrap that kept her protected from the normal destruction of the everyday.

There is no need to lose weight for some one because only those ask you to lose some weight who can not afford your likeings

Guys who fuck a lot of women are happy motherfuckers but, girls who fuck a lot of guys are miserable.

Her hair curled around her shoulders, long and loose, held back with glinting clips, in one those magical ways girls have of making their hair look like it is supposed to be up, but also sort of falling down.

The girl. Was that who I was? I was the girl just like they were the boys. Was that how we were going to address each other for the entirety of this year? How family-feeling.

I could tell he was becoming sulky, as boys and men do when they're caught bluffing. And I ignored him, as girls and women do when they catch them out.

Waited for my brother and didn't talk to anybody and nobody talked to her, because she'd always been one of those quiet, semi-retarded girls who you couldn't talk to without being dragged into a whirlpool of dumb stories.

Girls who are on top of things must have three hundred ways of responding to tired thirty-five-year-old divorced men.

Girls with their legs crossed, girls with their legs not crossed, girls with terrific legs, girls with lousy legs, girls that looked like swell girls, girls that looked like they'd be bitches if you knew them... You figured most of them would probably marry dopey guys. Guys that always talk about how many miles they get to a gallon in their goddam cars. Guys that get sore and childish as hell if you beat them at golf, or even just some stupid game like ping-pong. Guys that are very mean. Guys that never read books. Guys that are very boring.

This is the gift of focus, or wilful denial, and it is something boys are particularly good at. Girls__t least where I grew up__end to be more emotionally balanced and sane, and therefore find the kind of all-excluding concentration you need to care about dinosaurs, taxonomy, philately and geopolitical schemes a bit worrying and sad. Girls can grasp the bigger picture (i.e., it might be better not to destroy the world over this), where boys have a perfect grip on the fine print (i.e., this insidious idea is antithetical to our existence and cannot be allowed to flourish alongside our peace-loving, free society). Note carefully how it is probably better to let the girls deal with weapons of mass destruction.

Madison sparkled like the words on her oversized chest. There was glitter embedded in her eye shadow, in her lip gloss, in her nail polish, hanging from her ears in shoulder grazing hoops, dangling from her wrists in blingy bracelets. If the lights went out in the hallway, she could light it up like a human disco ball.