Mary Lou suddenly realizes that Mack calls the temperature number because he is afraid to talk on the telephone, and by listening to a recording, he doesn’t have to reply. It’s his way of pretending that he’s involved. He wants it to snow so he won’t have to go outside. He is afraid of what might happen. But it occurs to her that what he must really be afraid of is women. Then Mary Lou feels so sick and heavy with her power over him that she wants to cry. She sees the way her husband is standing there in a frozen pose. Mack looks as though he could stand there all night with the telephone receiver against his ear. Bobbie Ann Mason
If you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything.
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Marilyn Monroe
Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) Me plus you. (Imma tell you one time) One time. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>When I met ya girl my heart when knock (knock knock) Now them butterflies in my stomach...
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Justin Bieber
Stop trying to be less of who you are. Let this time in your life cut you open and drain all of the things that are holding you back.
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Jennifer Elisabeth
I can do this… I can start over. I can save my own life and I’m never going to be alone as long as I have stars to wish on and people to still love.
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Jennifer Elisabeth
Not knowing you can't do something, is sometimes all it takes to do it.
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Ally Carter
More Quotes By Bobbie Ann Mason
Mary Lou suddenly realizes that Mack calls the temperature number because he is afraid to talk on the telephone, and by listening to a recording, he doesn’t have to reply. It’s his way of pretending that he’s involved. He wants it to snow so he...
One day I was counting the cats and I absent-mindedly counted myself.
Working with food was fraught with anxiety when I was a girl. Like all farmers, we were at the mercy of the weather, and we lived in fear of crop failure.
When I was growing up on our 53-acre dairy farm, we were obsessed with food; it was the center of our lives. We planted it, grew it, harvested it, peeled it, cooked it, served it, consumed it - endlessly, day after day, season after season.
It was a romantic dream to be a writer. It seemed like a calling.
