Day leans in toward me. He reaches up to touch my face. I can tell it still hurts him to use his fingers, and his nails are dark with dried blood. "You're brilliant," he says. "But you're a fool to stay wish someone like me."I close my eyes at the touch of his hand. "Then we're both fools.

Adrian smiled and clasped my hands, taking a few steps toward me. "And as for who you are, you__e the same beautiful, brave, and ridiculously smart caffeinated fighter you__e been since the day I met you._ Finally, he put __eautiful_ at the top of his list of adjectives. Not that I should have cared.__weet talker,_ I scoffed. __ou didn__ know anything about me the first time we met.___ knew you were beautiful,_ he said. __ just hoped for the rest.

You can make it if you try. Don't give up or quit the fight. If you believe, you will see, you can do it.

I'm ready for another adventure now, take me far away please!Ok one more... But then you have to read to me!

Mine was the twilight and the morning. Mine was a world of rooftops and love songs.

Most writers sow adjectives almost unconsciously into the soil of their prose to make it more lush and pretty, and the sentences become longer and longer as they fill up with stately elms and frisky kittens and hard-bitten detectives and sleepy lagoons. This is adjective-by-habit - a habit you should get rid of. Not every oak has to be gnarled. The adjective exists solely as a decoration is a self-indulgence for the writer and a burden for the reader.