Ana Iris once asked me if I loved him and I told her about the lights in my old home in the… — Junot Diaz Copy Share Image
The world has different owners at sunrise... Even your own garden does not belong to you. Rabbits and blackbirds have the lawns;… — Anne Morrow Lindbergh Copy Share Image
You have the older generation like Iris Murdoch and Angus Wilson who are not as old as Graham Greene, but still are… — William Golding Copy Share Image
Tiny gold sparks flared in his irises. "You're in my rooms in my bathtub naked and you're still mouthing off." Did he… — Ilona Andrews Copy Share Image
The grass he walked through was new and a sweet smell clung to his clothes. There was blue dye on his hands… — Alice Hoffman Copy Share Image
People in my hometown seldom called me piao liang, [beautiful] because my smaller eyes were a far cry from the wide irises… — Liu Wen Copy Share Image
I have had more than half a century of such happiness. A great deal of worry and sorrow, too, but never a… — Mary McLeod Bethune Copy Share Image
I Must warn you, Iris, that I'm not a believer. And though I'm sure that the revelations of other men must be… — Gore Vidal Copy Share Image
In a swamp, as in meditation, you begin to glimpse how elusive, how inherently insubstantial, how fleeting our thoughts are, our identities.… — Barbara Hurd Copy Share Image
Frank stared at her. "But you throw Ding Dongs at monsters." Iris looked horrified. "Oh, they're not Ding Dongs." She rummaged under… — Rick Riordan Copy Share Image
Iris Krasnow has managed to demystify the workings of long-term marriages by confirming the mysterious uniqueness of each one. The secret, she… — Suzanne Braun Levine Copy Share Image
Tod's eyes widened and his irises swirled in tight twists of blue. "Well, I don't see that I have much of a… — Rachel Vincent Copy Share Image
There are no green thumbs or black thumbs. There are only gardeners and non-gardeners. Gardeners are the ones who ruin after ruin… — Henry Mitchell Copy Share Image
Twisting and wiring and stringing starching and curling, delicately painting spots and shadings on scraps of silk until what had been nothing… — Melanie McGrath Copy Share Image
He has an armload of irises and daisies and tulips and he presents them to me. I didn't know what kind of… — Carrie Jones Copy Share Image
“Then we had the irises, rising beautiful and cool on their tall stalks, like blown glass, like pastel water momentarily frozen in… — Margaret Atwood Copy Share Image
He stepped toward her, and her heart just ached from it. His face was so handsome, and so dear, and so perfectly… — Julia Quinn Copy Share Image