The TypeEveryone needs a place. It shouldn't be inside of someone else. -Richard SikenIf you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,you can let them look at you. But do not mistake eyes for hands.Or windows.Or mirrors.Let them see what a woman looks like.They may not have ever seen one before.If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,you can let them touch you.Sometimes it is not you they are reaching for.Sometimes it is a bottle. A door. A sandwich. A Pulitzer. Another woman.But their hands found you first. Do not mistake yourself for a guardian.Or a muse. Or a promise. Or a victim. Or a snack.You are a woman. Skin and bones. Veins and nerves. Hair and sweat.You are not made of metaphors. Not apologies. Not excuses.If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,you can let them hold you.All day they practice keeping their bodies upright--even after all this evolving, it still feels unnatural, still strains the muscles,holds firm the arms and spine. Only some men will want to learnwhat it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,admit they do not have the answersthey thought they would have by now;some men will want to hold you like The Answer.You are not The Answer.You are not the problem. You are not the poemor the punchline or the riddle or the joke.Woman. If you grow up the type men want to love,You can let them love you.Being loved is not the same thing as loving.When you fall in love, it is discovering the oceanafter years of puddle jumping. It is realizing you have hands.It is reaching for the tightrope when the crowds have all gone home.Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of womanmen will hurt. If he leaves you with a car alarm heart, you learn to sing along.It is hard to stop loving the ocean. Even after it has left you gasping, salty.Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still callmistakes when you tuck them in at night. And know this:Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.Let the statues crumble.You have always been the place.You are a woman who can build it yourself.You were born to build.
Sarah Kay
Those who love their dream of a Christian community more than they love the Christian community itself become destroyers of that Christian community even though their personal intentions may be ever so honest, earnest and sacrificial. God hates this wishful dreaming because it makes the dreamer proud and pretentious. Those who dream of this idolized community demand that it be fulfilled by God, by others and by themselves. They enter the community of Christians with their demands set up by their own law and judge one another and God accordingly. It is not we who build. Christ builds the church. Whoever is mindful to build the church is surely well on the way to destroying it, for he will build a temple to idols without wishing or knowing it. We must confess he builds. We must proclaim, he builds. We must pray to him and he will build. We do not know his plan. We cannot see whether he is building or pulling down. It may be that the times which by human standards are the times of collapse are for him the great times of construction. It may be that the times which from a human point are great times for the church are times when it's pulled down. It is a great comfort which Jesus gives to his church. You confess, preach, bear witness to me and I alone will build where it pleases me. Do not meddle in what is not your providence. Do what is given to you and do it well and you will have done enough.... Live together in the forgiveness of your sins. Forgive each other every day from the bottom of your hearts.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Yeah, I get it; you're a vampire, she said. Creepy. And okay, a little hot, I admit. You don't mean that. Come on. I still like you, you know, even if you... crave plasma. Michael blinked and looked at her as if he had never seen her before.You what?Like. You. Eve enunciated slowly, as if Michael might not know the words. Idiot. I always have. What, you didn't know? Eve sounded cool and grown-up about it, but Claire saw the hectic color in her cheeks, under the makeup. How clueless are you? Does it come with the fangs? I guess I... I just thought... Hell. I just didn't think... You're kind of intimidating, you know. I am intimidating? Me? I run like a rabbit from trouble, mostly, Eve said.It's all show and makeup. You're the one who's intimidating. I mean, come on. All that talent and you look... Well, you know how you look. How do I look? He sounded fascinated now and he'd actually moved a little closer to Eve on the couch. She laughed. Oh come on. You're a total model-babe. You're kidding.You don't think you are?He shook his head. Then you're kind of an idiot, Glass. Smart, but and idiot. Eve crossed her arms.So? What exactly do you think about me, except that I’m intimidating?I think you’re…you’re…ah, interesting? Michael was amazingly bad at this, Claire thought, but then he saved it by looking away and continuing. I think you’re beautiful. And really, really strange.Eve smiled and looked down and that looked like a real blush, under the rice powder. Thanks for that, she said, I never thought you knew I existed, or if you did, that you thought I was anything but Shane’s bratty freak friend.Well, to be fair, you are Shane’s bratty freak friend.Hey!You can be bratty and beautiful, Michael said. I think it’s interesting.
Rachel Caine
He is a demon, Clarissa, said Valentine, still in the same soft voice. A demon with a man’s face. I know how deceptive such monsters can be. Remember, I spared him once myself.Monster? echoed Clary. She thought of Luke, Luke pushing her on the swings when she was five years old, higher, always higher; Luke at her graduation from middle school, camera clicking away like a proud father’s; Luke sorting through each box of books as it arrived at his store, looking for anything she might like and putting it aside. Luke lifting her up to pull apples down from the trees near his farmhouse. Luke, whose place as her father this man was trying to take. Luke isn’t a monster, she said in a voice that matched Valentine’s, steel for steel. Or a murderer. You are.Clary! It was Jace.Clary ignored him. Her eyes were fixed on her father’s cold black ones. You murdered your wife’s parents, not in battle but in cold blood, she said. And I bet you murdered Michael Wayland and his little boy, too. Threw their bones in with my grandparents’ so that my mother would think you and Jace were dead. Put your necklace around Michael Wayland’s neck before you burned him so everyone would think those bones were yours. After all your talk about the untainted blood of the Clave — you didn’t care at all about their blood or their innocence when you killed them, did you? Slaughtering old people and children in cold blood, that’s monstrous.
Cassandra Clare