A Quote by Jerry Spinelli

Whos love do you cherrish more? Hers or theirs? when you deside that, it's all downhill from there. — © Jerry Spinelli
Whos love do you cherrish more? Hers or theirs? when you deside that, it's all downhill from there.
Sometimes even when the book is over I dont know whos good and whos bad. Its really more interesting, I think, to write about gray characters than it is to write about black and white.
Things are going downhill with you!' he said to himself, and laughed about it, and as he was saying it, he happened to glance at the river, and he also saw the river going downhill, always moving on downhill, and singing and being happy through it all.
And again there are no words. Words exist that can, used by a poet, achieve a dim monochrome of the body's love, but beyond that they fail clumsily. My love flowed out to her, hers back to me. Mine stroked and soothed. Hers caressed. The distance - and the difference - between us dwindled and vanished. We could meet, mingle, and blend. Neither one of us existed any more; for a time there was a single being that was both. There was escape from the solitary cell; a brief symbiosis, sharing all the word.
I hold the world speed record downhill, in a Rover. I think it was 17 kilometers per hour, downhill.
I started off at the high level, in the slick magazines, but they didn't use my name, they used house names. Anyway, then I went downhill to the pulps, then downhill further to the comics.
The goddess Artemis had a twin brother, Apollo, the many-faceted god of the Sun. He was her male counterpart: his domain was the city, hers the wilderness; his was the sun, hers the moon; his the domesticated flocks, hers the wild, untamed animals; he was the god of music, she was the inspiration for round dances on the mountains.
The God that can only love something like this man. And from then on it was all downhill.
There are two marriages, then, in every marital union, his and hers. And his ... is better than hers.
Elizabeth’s entire body started to tremble as his lips began descending to hers. and she sought to forestall what her heart knew was inevitable by reasoning with him. “A gently bred Englishwoman,” she shakily quoted Lucinda’s lecture. “feels nothing stronger than affection. We do not fall in love.” His warm lips covered hers. “I’m a Scot,” he murmured huskily. “We do.
I love just being passionate about something rather than just caring about the money or whos in the movie.
In an ideal world, you would have his-and-hers bathrooms and his-and-hers dressing rooms, complete with a single bed where the Mrs. need not be woken up when there's a 7 o'clock flight to catch.
I don't like ordinary girls. But a girl who would kill a guy to make him hers and then kiss his still-warm lips... a girl like Oscar Wilde's Salome They drive me crazy. Like Kiyohime turning into a snake to chase her man or the grocery girl Oshichi who set fire to a building just to see hers one more time. I want to be loved like that be obsessed over be hated.
I love the nostalgic feel of the '80s and, oh, I love Winona Ryder so much. I was such a huge fan of hers growing up, so breathing the same air as her was an honor for sure.
It's hard to forget someone whos given so much to remember.
If a man hasn't what's necessary to make a woman love him, it's his fault, not hers.
...the thrill of being surrounded by something wondrous and fantastical, only magnified and focused directly at her. The feel of his skin against hers reverberates across her entire body, though his fingers remain entwined in hers.
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