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Quote by Darynda Jones

“How old are you, anyway?" "How old are you?" "Seventeen." I raise a brow. "Almost. I'll be seventeen in two weeks. You?" Part of me doesn't want to tell her. She'll be horrified. But part of me wants to know what she will do when she knows the truth. "How old do you think I am?" She lifts a slender shoulder. "At first I thought maybe eighteen, but now I'm thinking at least nineteen. Maybe even twenty?" "why's that?" "You seem very ... experienced." I nod. "You're close. Today's my birthday. I'm thirteen.”

Quote by Darynda Jones

Work

Brighter Than the Sun

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Author

Darynda Jones
Darynda Jones

Darynda Jones, born in 1965, is an acclaimed American author known for her unique sense of humor and emotional depth in her novels. Her works have gained widespread attention and praise from readers. more

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“The wind and the grass and something in the sky, sun, or moon, shining on our backs as we run: They are gifts that humans toss away like socks on Christmas morning, because we see them every day and don't think of them as gifts anymore. But new socks are always better than old socks. And the wind and grass and sky, I think, are better seen with new eyes than jaded ones. I hope my eyes will never grow old.”

“Badilisha tabia. Badilisha mazingira ya maisha yako. Haijalishi una umri kiasi gani au wewe ni mwanamke au mwanamume, bado hujachelewa kubadili maisha yako kutoka duni kuwa bora – kuwa na amani, furaha na kuridhika. Kama desturi yako ni kuamka saa 12:00 asubuhi kila siku ili ufike kazini saa 2:00 asubuhi ambao ni muda wa serikali wa kuanza kazi, amka saa 11:30 asubuhi ili ufike kazini saa 1:30 asubuhi – nusu saa kabla ya kuanza kazi. Kama unafanya kazi ya taaluma uliyosomea lakini maisha hayaendi, fikiria kubadili mwelekeo wa maisha ikiwemo taaluma kufikia malengo uliyojiwekea.”

“As his boots walked towards the old station, he felt as though he were hallucinating. Scary apprehension increased the beat of his heart and the sweat upon his forehead was cold. The reality of where he stood created a sinking feeling inside of him. An old man everyone called Uncle Tucker once owned this place. His sole existence behind the counter all of the time, day and night. He could have been a creature out of a fairy tale, with his long white beard and equally long white hair. Merlin. The overalls and the ball cap perched upon his head, along with the half-smoked cigar with an endless burning orb positioned in his mouth. It made him a fixture in time. He wondered if Tucker would still be alive. Tucker with his endless stories of the 1960s, the Vietnam War, and flower children. A man that never left a country thousands of miles away where bicycles filled the capital. A man who never left those fields where killing occurred.”