Best 15 quotes of Alysha Speer on MyQuotes

And though I was currently living a fairy tale, some part of my soul knew that happiness couldn't last forever. I didn't deserve a happily ever after, and there weren't many other cards to play when that was the truth.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. The soft melody of his lips was calming. I closed my eyes. I could smell his human skin, his human breath, his human hair, and for the first time, I would give anything to be human too.

I choose to write because it's perfect for me. It's an escape, a place I can go to hide. It's a friend, when I feel out casted from everyone else. It's a journal, when the only story I can tell is my own. It's a book, when I need to be somewhere else. It's control, when I feel so out of control. It's healing, when everything seems pretty messed up. And it's fun, when life is just flat-out boring.

I did not ask for consciousness, yet it came to me. And I had to know. Once again, I crawled away from my bed and pushed the computer cord back into the socket. It took three minutes. I quickly identified myself and put in my password. Then it thought. I wanted to bounce impatiently, but I couldn’t make myself move. At last, I found the internet, and I typed in a name, on the company page, under my account. I searched ‘images’. And there, on the screen in front of me, was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and spilling over as I stared back at the smiling face. It couldn’t be him. It was. Derek Erickson. And I was going to kill him.

I felt like some part of my soul was ripped out and put under a microscope for criticizing.

I stood behind the man’s chair, my blade at his throat. “Why do you do it?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t answer. “Kill people, and blow up buildings, and sell drugs?” It was what they all did. Committed crimes. That was why I killed them. “You’re a criminal, a terrorist, a danger. And I have been asked to take you out.” I told him. I was legend now, yet he asked the same question all the others did. “What is your name?” My sensitive ears tuned out the slit as my sword cut his neck. I walked around the chair to see his face. I watched as his eyes–slowly at first–changed from blue to milky white. His skin went pale. And as I heard him take his last breath, I ducked in so my lips hovered at his ear, and whispered, “My name, is Sharden.

I was not weak; I did not cry. But it hurt me, more in a kind of refreshing, thrilling way, than a kind of pain that would cripple me and send me away crying. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, and my teeth bit into my lips, my knees were locked, but I could not faint.

Laugh, even when you feel too sick or too worn out or tired. Smile, even when you're trying not to cry and the tears are blurring your vision. Sing, even when people stare at you and tell you your voice is crappy. Trust, even when your heart begs you not to. Twirl, even when your mind makes no sense of what you see. Frolick, even when you are made fun of. Kiss, even when others are watching. Sleep, even when you're afraid of what the dreams might bring. Run, even when it feels like you can't run any more. And, always, remember, even when the memories pinch your heart. Because the pain of all your experience is what makes you the person you are now. And without your experience---you are an empty page, a blank notebook, a missing lyric. What makes you brave is your willingness to live through your terrible life and hold your head up high the next day. So don't live life in fear. Because you are stronger now, after all the crap has happened, than you ever were back before it started.

Only write a story that only you can write.

So many thoughts ran through my head. Most of them contained the same, simply three words so often strung together that it was too much a classic cheese or cliche to say it, but they still had meaning, no matter how many times they had been repeated.

The end is soon...I feel it. If you're close, run away, far, hide, do whatever you can. Who knows if we'll be safe.

There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said. So much has happened; so little has changed. We have so many words prepared; so many words are too hard to actually say. A few days have passed; this pain has been here for years. We don't know where to go from here; our future has always been in our minds. Moments of peace with those who constantly argue; fights with those that usually bring peace. There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said.

There was something behind the softness that intertwined our fingers together—love? It felt different from two days ago. All I could think about was his smooth hand, wrapped in mine. It was more than affection—but I wasn’t sure how much more, or if that would ever change.

Time to go run the calories away, do away with all the numbers stalking you, throw out the bad habits and excess weight.

When a poet settled down to write a poem, could he foresee the lines he would write? Did his head constantly spin with riddles and rhymes and was his only job to put them down? What if he couldn’t get them to make sense, and no one, not even the person he cared for most, could have pleasure in reading it? What would he do?