A Quote by Jodi Picoult

When she smiles, it feels like the first warm day of March-- after an eternity of snow, when you suddenly remember how summer feels on the backs of your bare calves & in the part of your hair.
I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl, From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl, I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl, But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl, It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child, It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a while She holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her hand I’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.
For many women, how our hair looks and feels is an everyday part of our lives, whether we always want it to be or not. And ultimately, feeling good about yourself is good for your life and who you are. So if having the best hair you can have means you feel better about your day, then go get that hair. And don't feel guilty about it!
After the first day of practice, there's not one guy who's playing at 100 percent or who feels great. Sometimes, getting up in the morning and brushing your teeth is the hardest part of the day - it just hurts.
At first, it feels as if she has vanished forever, and all traces are destroyed. But later, when the pain of loss doesn't overwhelm all your other feelings, every time you think of her, or hear her voice in your head, or remember a happy time together, you realize she's still a part of you and will never be totally gone.
I like how my body feels when I'm in shape; I love how it feels after I work out each day. Fitting in the clothes I like to wear comfortably and living a healthy lifestyle is important to me.
You know how on Christmas day, the day feels different, even if you're just sitting in your chair waiting for your girlfriend to put her face on and you haven't even started any of the festivities yet, the day still feels different. The electrons are fatter and pushier.
Patience and rest are key. Knowing how your body feels. You're the only person that knows how your body feels. The way of going about it is expressing it to your trainers and your coaches so you won't damage anything else.
She believes in love and romance. She believes her life is one day going to be transformed into something wonderful and exciting. She has hopes and fears and worries, just like anyone. Sometimes she feels frightened. Sometimes she feels unloved. Sometimes she feels she will never gain approval from those people who are most important to her. But she’s brave and good-hearted and faces her life head-on.
I remember the first time I saw you. Your hair was in two braids instead of one. And I remember when you... you sang in the music assembly and the teacher said... "Who knows The Valley Song?" and your hand shot straight up. After that, I... I watched you going home every day...
Once again your mind explodes with a searing pain. A floodgate of memories bursts wide. Yet it is her face that keeps haunting you. Always her face. Who is she? Then things begin to crystallize. You remember your funeral. Begging and pleading for someone to release you from the darkness. You're not dead. You can't be. Then you feel her presence. Warm, caring, soothing. But somewhere deep inside she feels empty now. She has no reason. No meaning. No soul. But your soul lives. While her's is dying.
In London the day after Christmas (Boxing Day), it began to snow: my first snow in England. For five years, I had been tactfully asking, 'Do you ever have snow at all?' as I steeled myself to the six months of wet, tepid gray that make up an English winter. 'Ooo, I do remember snow,' was the usual reply, 'when I were a lad.'
Sunlight feels warm and rough against your skin like a kiss on the cheek from your dad.
Hyams Beach is said to be the whitest in the world; walking on it is like wading through warm powdery snow - so clean it squeaks beneath your bare toes.
In many ways, September feels like the busiest time of the year: The kids go back to school, work piles up after the summer's dog days, and Thanksgiving is suddenly upon us.
A good poet feels what his community feels. Like if you stub your toe, the rest of your body hurts.
Do not, on a rainy day, ask your child what he feels like doing, because I assure you that what he feels like doing, you won't feel like watching.
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