Cute Friendship Quotes

Once she was gone, I knelt next to Annabeth and felt her forehead. She was still burning up. "You're cute when you're worried," she muttered. "Your eyebrows get all scrunched together." "You are not going to die while I owe you a favor," I said. "Why did you take that knife?" "You would've done the same for me." It was true. I guess we both knew it. Still, I felt like somebody was poking my heart with a cold metal rod.

You have fallen into the homoerotic queer girl friendship. It’s all cute at first, and then you catch feelings, and it’s impossible to tell if the joke flirting is actual flirting and if the platonic cuddling is romantic cuddling, and next thing you know, three years have gone by, and you’re obsessed with her, and you haven’t done anything about it because you’re too terrified to fuck up the friendship by guessing it wrong, so instead you send each other horny plausible deniability love letters until you’re both dead.

Some people you want to get to know and some people you want to know you....For whatever reason, there are people that you want to tell your weird, secret thoughts to. You want to show them your pimples and tell them about your braces. You want them to love you because of those things, not in spite of them. 'Some people make you want to be known,'" (p. 302)

Behind every meet-cute is an emotional origin story, one that answers a deeper question. Not “How did you two meet?” but “Why did you become so deeply embedded in each other’s lives?

Juliette,” he says. “Yes?” I can hear him breathing. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For being my friend.” I turn around then. Press close to him, my nose grazing his neck. “I will always be here if you need me,” I say, the darkness catching and hushing my voice. “Please remember that. Always remember that.

So, we're not enemies anymore?" She said. "I never said I wanted to be, believe me. When I saw you sitting in your own, eating lunch, all I wanted to do was fool around and make you smile." He shot her a shy glance.

Well, if you can accept that I’m a great big geeky fangirl, then I guess I can accept that you’re a skeptic and a realist.

It's hard to find someone like me; 98% smart; 52% cute; 100% sweet. So don't lose me

But Ocean was all the traditionally pleasant things a girl might like about a guy, which made his friendliness dangerous to me. I might’ve been an angry teenager, but I wasn’t also blind. I wasn’t magically immune to cute guys, and it had not escaped my notice that Ocean was a superlative kind of good-looking. He dressed nicely. He smelled pleasant. He was very polite. But he and I seemed to come from worlds so diametrically opposed that I knew better than to allow his friendship in my life.

I need a friend and you seemed nicest. I think you and I can have more fun than those fake people on the other side.

She was supportive, didn’t pry or expect anything from me, and sensed when I needed my space. If she were a guy, I’d probably date her. Or, if I were a lesbian. And if she were a lesbian. I guess we’d both have to be lesbians for that to work. Regardless, she made a pretty great friend.

Our choice to show up at weddings as a family unit wasn’t just a cute stunt. It was an extension of our political beliefs that friendship is a relationship that’s equal in importance to romantic and family bonds.

His smiles were hard won, but when they came, they were well worth it. They lit up his face like summer sunshine. The rest of the time, and far more frequently, he seemed lost in winter. And when he laughed, he was a different person.

You smart girls are always the last to figure these things out. Why would a guy like me ask you out if all I wanted was friendship? You may be cute, but you’re not too observant.” “Huh?” I said again. I understood the words coming out of his mouth, but the meaning behind them was a mystery. It was like he was intentionally trying to confuse me. Leaning

I met Grahm there as well . . . One day, I walked in, and my table was taken. Now, the old me would've just sat somewhere else. But that was my table, and my friendship with Larel had made me bold. Plus, he was really, really cute.

Kenji goes suddenly still. At the creak of the door Kenji’s eyebrows shoot up; a soft click and his eyes widen; a muted rustle of movement and suddenly the barrel of a gun is pressed against the back of his head. Kenji stares at me, his lips making no sound as he mouths the word psychopath over and over again. The psychopath in question winks at me from where he’s standing, smiling like he couldn’t possibly be holding a gun to the head of our mutual friend. I manage to suppress a laugh. “Go on,” Warner says, still smiling. “Please tell me exactly how she’s failed you as a leader.” “Hey—“ Kenji’s arms fly up in mock surrender. “I never said she failed at anything, okay? And you are clearly over-react—“ Warner knocks Kenji on the side of the head with the weapon. “Idiot.” Kenji spins around. Yanks the gun out of Warner’s hand. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? I thought we were cool.” “We were,” Warner says icily. “Until you touched my hair.” “You asked me to give you a haircut—“ “I said nothing of the sort! I asked you to trim the edges!” “And that’s what I did.” “This,” Warner says, spinning around so I might inspect the damage, “is not trimming the edges, you incompetent moron—“ I gasp. The back of Warner’s head is a jagged mess of uneven hair; entire chunks have been buzzed off. Kenji cringes as he looks over his handiwork. Clears his throat. “Well,” he says, shoving his hand in his pockets. “I mean—whatever, man, beauty is subjective—“ Warner aims another gun at him. “Hey!” Kenji shouts. “I am not here for this abusive relationship, okay?” He points to Warner. “I did not sign up for this shit!” Warner glares at him and Kenji retreats, backing out of the room before Warner has another chance to react; and then, just as I let out a sign of relief, Kenji pops his head back into the doorway and says “I think the cut looks cute, actually” and Warner slams the door in his face.

I let myself relax into the moment, into friendship. 'Now what about my hairpin?' He grins and hands it over. I smooth my thumb over the silver bird, then use it to pull back his hair, instead of mine. As my fingers skim over his neck, threading through the silk of his locks, he shudders from something I do not think is cold. I am suddenly too aware of the physicality of him, his long legs and the curve of his mouth, the hollow of his throat and the sharp point of his ears, where earrings once hung. Of the hairs hanging loose from my pin, falling across one light brown horn to rest on his cheekbone. When his eyes meet mine, desire, as keen as any blade, bends the air between us. The moment slows. I want to bite his lip. To feel the heat of his skin. To slide my hands beneath his armour and trace the map of his scars.

empathy is not a reflex that makes us sympathetic to everyone we lay eyes upon. It can be switched on and off, or thrown into reverse, by our construal of the relationship we have with a person. Its head is turned by cuteness, good looks, kinship, friendship, similarity, and communal solidarity.

Being friends with Brad again is weird. Not bad weird. Just... you know when you were a little kid and you went to a birthday party and ate five times the amount of sugar your parents allowed, and you felt dangerously high? It's that kind of weird. And something in me is tense as if I'm waiting for the crash.

What was that? Valentine's Day? Her heart gave a little skip at the thought, she had never spent it in a romantic way before, usually the day meant sending and receiving cute Cupid cards and heart shaped sugar candies, but it was all in a platonic celebration of friendship. This time, it would not be like that, it would be ... special.

The social codes are different, distinctly preppy, fraternity-sorority, hip, flip, fast-and-cute, nauseating, and artificial. I have no doubt that the majority of these people are interesting, likeable, intelligent people. Unfortunately, they've been taught not to show it. The problem lies in socializing. When these people socialize, they don a common "mask." They talk a certain way (hip, flip) act a certain way, do certain things, all of which have been defined as socially acceptable. By acting in such a way, one makes "friends." With time, friends use their masks less and less, and a true, deep friendship results.

Imagine you were asked in a maths paper at junior school, 'Which would you prefer, a shilling or two sixpences?' and you answered, 'Two sixpences,' because thinking of the two tiny silver coins jingling together in your pocket made you feel good and you loved those cute little sixpences. But when the test paper was returned you saw a big red cross through your answer, and that night your mother explained to you that it was a trick question, two sixpences and a shilling were worth the same amount – which you knew, but you'd still prefer two sixpences. It wasn't that you were stupid, you just saw things from a different angle. Sixpences had character, shillings didn't. And you felt richer with two sixpences because there were two coins, not just one. But despite all these explanations, you were still wrong and you kept getting tripped up by these trick questions over and over again, in exams, in relationships, friendships, jobs and interviews. In fact, these misreadings of situations happened so often that you started to view the world as a tricksy and untruthful place. Then you noticed that the people who saw the tricks behind the questions were popular and always at the top of the class. Baffled by life and its unseen rules, you began to doubt everything around you. You felt you had to approach all of life as a trick, just to get it right a few times.

Just like that, we started to see each other most mornings, which meant we quickly went from two guys who liked each other and kept saying they wanted to hang out to actual full-blown bros. This of course meant that every woman who knew us...was falling over herself to label our relationship a 'bromance.' That's a term that was coined in the nineties by the skateboarding magazine -Big Brother- to describe skaters who spent a ton of time together, but it has morphed into a gentle insult for any guys who dare to get too close. It's not as condescending as 'bros,' and it doesn't cut quite as wrong as being shouted down with 'gaaay.' No, the bromance lived in the category of the oh-aren't-you-cute pat on the head.

And then there was the illogical art of female friendship itself, the way it seemed to demand an ability to both keep and reveal secrets using precise timing. Whenever she moved to a new town, girls would take her aside at Sunday school and breathlessly confide their crushes on certain boys. She listened to these confessions, faithfully promising she would never tell. And she didn’t. Which was all wrong because it turned out she was supposed to tell. Her job as confidante was to break that confidence by telling Boy X that Girl Y thought he was cute, thus initiating a chain reaction of interest between the two parties. “Why don’t you just tell him yourself?” she’d say to these would-be friends. “He’s right there.” The girls would draw back in horror.

The Monday before we left on our trip, I wrote a note to Bonnie Clarke, Patrick’s teacher, telling her Patrick would be missing school on Friday, November 8. I said only that we would be visiting friends in Washington. While Patrick waited in the car-pool line, Mrs. Clarke had asked him whom he was going to see, expecting him to name cousins or other relatives. He had replied, “My mom and I are going to visit Diana.” When I arrived, Mrs. Clarke said, “This is so cute. You won’t believe what Patrick just told me. He said you two were going to see Diana. It couldn’t possibly be true!” Patrick and I both thought Mrs. Clarke was an exceptional teacher, but I was a little miffed that she would think he was fibbing. While I normally never talked about Diana, I couldn’t let it pass. I explained, “Patrick never lies. We are, in fact, going to visit Diana. She was his nanny while we lived in London.” Mrs. Clarke apologized quickly and exclaimed, “Oh! So you’re that American family. I had no idea.

I was certainly not the best mother. That goes without saying. I didn’t set out to be a bad mother, however. It just happened. As it was, being a bad mother was child’s play compared to being a good mother, which was an incessant struggle, a lose-lose situation 24 hours a day; long after the kids were in bed the torment of what I did or didn’t do during those hours we were trapped together would scourge my soul. Why did I allow Grace to make Mia cry? Why did I snap at Mia to stop just to silence the noise? Why did I sneak to a quiet place, whenever I could? Why did I rush the days—will them to hurry by—so I could be alone? Other mothers took their children to museums, the gardens, the beach. I kept mine indoors, as much as I could, so we wouldn’t cause a scene. I lie awake at night wondering: what if I never have a chance to make it up to Mia? What if I’m never able to show her the kind of mother I always longed to be? The kind who played endless hours of hide-and-seek, who gossiped side by side on their daughters’ beds about which boys in the junior high were cute. I always envisioned a friendship between my daughters and me. I imagined shopping together and sharing secrets, rather than the formal, obligatory relationship that now exists between myself and Grace and Mia. I list in my head all the things that I would tell Mia if I could. That I chose the name Mia for my great-grandmother, Amelia, vetoing James’s alternative: Abigail. That the Christmas she turned four, James stayed up until 3:00 a.m. assembling the dollhouse of her dreams. That even though her memories of her father are filled with nothing but malaise, there were split seconds of goodness: James teaching her how to swim, James helping her prepare for a fourth-grade spelling test. That I mourn each and every time I turned down an extra book before bed, desperate now for just five more minutes of laughing at Harry the Dirty Dog. That I go to the bookstore and purchase a copy after unsuccessfully ransacking the basement for the one that used to be hers. That I sit on the floor of her old bedroom and read it again and again and again. That I love her. That I’m sorry. Colin

BEST FRIENDS SHOULD BE TOGETHER We’ll get a pair of those half-heart necklaces so every ask n’ point reminds us we are one glued duo. We’ll send real letters like our grandparents did, handwritten in smart cursive curls. We’ll extend cell plans and chat through favorite shows like a commentary track just for each other. We’ll get our braces off on the same day, chew whole packs of gum. We’ll nab some serious studs but tell each other everything. Double-date at a roadside diner exactly halfway between our homes. Cry on shoulders when our boys fail us. We’ll room together at State, cover the walls floor-to-ceiling with incense posters of pop dweebs gone wry. See how beer feels. Be those funny cute girls everybody’s got an eye on. We’ll have a secret code for hot boys in passing. A secret dog named Freshman Fifteen we’ll have to hide in the rafters during inspection. Follow some jam band one summer, grooving on lawns, refusing drugs usually. Get tattoos that only spell something when we stand together. I’ll be maid of honor in your wedding and you’ll be co-maid with my sister but only cause she’d disown me if I didn’t let her. We’ll start a store selling just what we like. We’ll name our firstborn daughters after one another, and if our husbands don’t like it, tough. Lifespans being what they are, we’ll be there for each other when our men have passed, and all the friends who come to visit our assisted living condo will be dazzled by what fun we still have together. We’ll be the kind of besties who make outsiders wonder if they’ve ever known true friendship, but we won’t even notice how sad it makes them and they won’t bring it up because you and I will be so caught up in the fun, us marveling at how not-good it never was.

The other problem with empathy is that it is too parochial to serve as a force for a universal consideration of people’s interests. Mirror neurons notwithstanding, empathy is not a reflex that makes us sympathetic to everyone we lay eyes upon. It can be switched on and off, or thrown into reverse, by our construal of the relationship we have with a person. Its head is turned by cuteness, good looks, kinship, friendship, similarity, and communal solidarity. Though empathy can be spread outward by taking other people’s perspectives, the increments are small, Batson warns, and they may be ephemeral.71 To hope that the human empathy gradient can be flattened so much that strangers would mean as much to us as family and friends is utopian in the worst 20th-century sense, requiring an unattainable and dubiously desirable quashing of human nature.72 Nor is it necessary. The ideal of the expanding circle does not mean that we must feel the pain of everyone else on earth. No one has the time or energy, and trying to spread our empathy that thinly would be an invitation to emotional burnout and compassion fatigue.73 The Old Testament tells us to love our neighbors, the New Testament to love our enemies. The moral rationale seems to be: Love your neighbors and enemies; that way you won’t kill them. But frankly, I don’t love my neighbors, to say nothing of my enemies. Better, then, is the following ideal: Don’t kill your neighbors or enemies, even if you don’t love them. What really has expanded is not so much a circle of empathy as a circle of rights—a commitment that other living things, no matter how distant or dissimilar, be safe from harm and exploitation. Empathy has surely been historically important in setting off epiphanies of concern for members of overlooked groups. But the epiphanies are not enough. For empathy to matter, it must goad changes in policies and norms that determine how the people in those groups are treated. At these critical moments, a newfound sensitivity to the human costs of a practice may tip the decisions of elites and the conventional wisdom of the masses. But as we shall see in the section on reason, abstract moral argumentation is also necessary to overcome the built-in strictures on empathy. The ultimate goal should be policies and norms that become second nature and render empathy unnecessary. Empathy, like love, is in fact not all you need. SELF-CONTROL

She’s treated you with disdain and relentless cruelty as a friend throughout your whole friendship, Lottie, so how do you think she believes she can treat you in business?

Andrei always thought there was a fundamental eeriness to names. If a name had an adorable ring to it, like Bonnie or Milo, it was cute to say and hard to be angry at a Bonnie for long. People treated others the way their names sounded. If someone’s name was common, people would mostly see neutral characters—shy, kind, or good-natured. If one’s name was unusual, people had lazier associations and treated them as either a spectacle or an artist. If their name was a title commanding presence, the world’s reaction to them, however subtle, would naturally endow them with a confidence as easily handed to them as their name.

You're not my girlfriend. You're my person." I knew right away what he meant. I thought he was cute and he though ti was cute but was different than it was when people have crushes. With Leo I'd fallen into another kind of like. I couldn't wait to tell him stuff and I loved hearing him laugh at my jokes and I loved laughing at his jokes. He made me feel like I had a spot in the world. It felt as if Leo and I could like each other all our lives. So I hugged him. He was my person too.

If you are limiting your experiences of intimacy only to containers labeled sex and romance, you are entirely missing out. ⁠ ⁠ Love your friends with wild abandon. Cultivate life partnerships with humans you’ll never know sexually. Dive deep into a love affair that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with being swept off your feet or the myth of happily ever after. ⁠ ⁠ Open your eyes, your mind, and your heart to the possibility that the deep intimacy you crave does not get delivered by a rom-com meet cute. ⁠ ⁠ Challenge the notion that your friendships can—and possibly should—hold the highest position in your personal hierarchy of devotion. ⁠ ⁠ Consider the myriad ways you can be met, held, and known outside of our cultural obsession with romantic fairy tales. ⁠ ⁠ The real hunger of your skin, your heart, and your soul, can be answered in so many different ways. If you only look for this level of connection inside of sexual and romantic love, you are missing so many beautiful possibilities. ⁠ Seek your people with intention. ⁠When you find them, invite them in, hold them close, and offer them your whole heart. ⁠ Rewrite the rule book. Reimagine all the ways you can fill your cup of longing.⁠ Open yourself to platonic intimacy.

C. S. Lewis rightly said, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.

For her part, Amy Kev's Waffles with a passionate ferocity that she felt a little bit guilty about not being able to feel, most of the time, for humans. It probably helped that he was constantly doing cute shit and couldn't speak.

Sorry about that. For years, my sister has labored under the impression that she’s funny. My father and I have humored her in this.” Rylann waved this off. “No apology necessary. She’s just protective of you. That’s what siblings do—at least, I assume it is.” “No brothers or sisters for you?” Kyle asked. Rylann shook her head. “My parents had me when they were older. I asked for a sister every birthday until I was thirteen, but it wasn’t in the cards.” She shrugged. “But at least I have Rae.” “When did you two meet?” “College. We were in the same sorority pledge class. Rae is…” Rylann cocked her head, trying to remember. “What’s that phrase men always use when describing their best friend? The thing about the hooker and the hotel room.” “If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, he’d be the first person I’d call. A truer test of male friendship there could not be.” Rylann smiled. “That’s cute. And a little scary, actually, that all you men have planned ahead for such an occasion.” She waved her hand. “Well, there you go. If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, Rae would be the first person I’d call.” Kyle rested his arms on the table and leaned in closer. “Counselor, you’re so by the book, the first person you’d call if you woke up next to a dead hooker would be the FBI.” “Actually, I’d call the cops. Most homicides aren’t federal crimes, so the FBI wouldn’t have jurisdiction.” Kyle laughed. He reached out and tucked back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You really are a law geek.” At the same moment, they both realized what he was doing. They froze, eyes locked, his hand practically cupping the side of her cheek. Then they heard someone clearing her throat. Rylann and Kyle turned and saw Jordan standing at their table. “Wine, anyone?” With her blue eyes dancing, she set two glasses in front of them. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves now.” Rylann watched as Jordan strolled off. “I think you’re going to have some explaining to do after I leave,” she whispered to Kyle. “Oh, without a doubt, she’s going to be all up in my business over this.

Anime-isms” like tsunderes, wind blowing up skirts to expose panties, POWER OF FRIENDSHIP, dedicating your life to someone you met 3mins ago, etc aren’t funny or cute to me at all.

Reed: "I owe you big-time, Ronnie." Ronnie: "You've been my best friend since kindergarten, Reed. I owe you big-time." That's the kind of friend she is.

Love isn't about saying cute things and being praised all the time. It's right after a long argument that drains the life out of both of you, and getting over it the next day.

Amaris keeps texting me pictures of him. She took him to the record shop. She says he’s really into Pink Floyd.” He laughs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I mean, who doesn’t love The Wall?” “I always thought he was a Yellow Submarine kind of frog.

You and I, friend Less-el-lee,” said that same farmer, clapping the Squire on the shoulder. “We shall come to see if I have built you a house and an enclosure worthy of this paragon among pigs! Come! Come! And if you do not like it, then I shall slay myself in grief!

Sometimes I can be thoughtless. And I like to tease. But you can depend upon me.

And you’re cute when you get all flustered.” She narrowed her eyes at him and put one hand on her hip. “I have no idea how Louise allowed you to survive childhood.” “It’s because I’m younger and he was always bigger.” Louise came around the side of the truck. “We’re going to borrow your four-wheeler, if you don’t mind.” “Of course.” It wasn’t really hers. Not like she paid for it or anything. But Palmer always referred to it as hers, and so did Louise. And like just now, Louise asked before she hopped on it. “Hi, Tella,” Ames said when she saw Tella’s head poke around the pickup. Even though they were baling hay, Tella still wore the hockey jersey she loved. “Hi, Aunt Ames.” “Okay, Tella. Let’s run down to the house, so we can get back and work a little longer.” “Can I drive?” Louise looked back at Ames with raised brows. “Sure, if your mom says it’s okay.” Tella grinned. “It should be. She let me drive Uncle Palmer’s pickup out here.” “By yourself?” Tella nodded. “Wow. Make sure you wear your seatbelt just in case the wheels fall off.” “Hey.” Palmer put on a mock-hurt expression and wrapped an arm around Ames’s head like he was going to put her in a headlock. “That wasn’t nice. I don’t say mean things like that about your car.” The four-wheeler started, and the motor faded slowly into the distance. Palmer’s arm loosened and dropped to her shoulders. The weight of it there felt good and right. She straightened in his embrace. Maybe they’d never bale hay together again. She looked up into his clear, blue eyes. Eyes that held no guile. Just genuine honesty. And admiration. “You’re beautiful. With or without sunburned cheeks.” His arm tightened. What had simply been his arm around her shoulder became Palmer hugging her. Still maybe in line with friendship, but so close to more. She wanted more. But she wanted his friendship, too. Could she have both? Their kiss hadn’t made anything awkward. She tossed her head, moving closer until they were touching. “That

She hovered beside Kirsty and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Fluffy nuzzled against her human friend, too. Then they did the same to Rachel. “Thank you both for helping me find Fluffy,” Elodie said. “You’re wonderful.

...You always have her, but if you need an ear, I got two, just for you, alright? We aren’t alone anymore.” - Seth Varkees

Dan Dilco- Liv calls him her ‘Dildo’ because he became her new sex toy over the weekend and for now… instead of that. She gives him that pet name, there have been a lot of pet names, that is how we all keep track of them all too. She has one of those also like most of us girls, nevertheless, she’s more cover than me, in not hiding it in a Pringles can. Anyway, this one came about because it rhymes with his last name. I guess she thinks that’s cute. He’s the last one on the list to pick up today, I’m sure next week or maybe tomorrow for all I know it will be someone new, but as for now, he’s the one that is all horned-up for her as she is for him. It won’t last… I think she randomly started making out with him at the bonfire, they have hooked up at least ten times, senses Friday. I don’t think Liv knows what she wants. I think she is too Bi or Bi-curious or something to choose. It seems after they become a dating couple it ends as fast as it starts. I don’t think she’s that hard to get along with, high maintenance maybe, but she’s a sweet girl overall, with a loving and trusting person. Liv already asked me to go out with her… Um- I like her, yet not in that way. I have been there, done that kind of a thing, I have kissed her, yet I never thought about it going anywhere. I don’t want to end a good friendship. Plus, I only want the forbidden boy named Ray!

He’s so cute!” I heard her gush. “Don’t you think he’s the best-looking boy in our grade?” They all took turns at guessing who he liked. That was until one of the girls, I couldn’t tell who, shushed the others and mentioned Ali by name. They assumed she—meaning me—was asleep but didn’t want “her” to wake up and hear them talking about Jake. I smiled against my pillow. It had been obvious to everyone that Jake preferred Ali and possibly liked her, well me. It was all so confusing. Maybe it would be best if I told him outright that he’d been hanging out with me instead of Ali. At least we could start our friendship off properly, and he’d see that he really preferred me over her. I was sure Ali wouldn’t mind, she didn’t like him that way anyway.

Back then, I would never have thought- this was an option with me. I did what I believed was right, and I am happy. With all of the choices, but will I be able to finish school? Is being seventeen too young to be a mom? What is it like to be a mother? Why doesn’t the hellhole cover this in their health class? They just give you ways to prevent, yet not how to be a mother, who is supposed to teach this? I remember bringing her home for the first time, we made a nursery for her in my room, and we had a white bassinet for her. She keeps me tending to her nonstop, on the weekends he and I stayed together, maybe someday soon we can get our place. Her first bath was in the farm sink, and his mom got her all kinds of cute things to where it was hard to choose what to put on her. She always looked so adorable. A real-life baby doll. (People talking) Nevaeh- Talk is cheap… in all honesty, most people just need to mind their own business, I think. Either somebody wants to kick the shit out of you, or steal your joy. Stop making judgments about us! It all comes down to the fact that they need to feel needed. Just stop bothering me, go get what you need, and fight for it as I did, stop trying to take it away from me. Besides, keep this in mind as you are doing it- ‘Do to others, as you would want them to do to you.’ Why do you ask? Just because you might end up worse, off in what you are doing, than what you are seeing, and saying about others. ‘Just remember when you point a finger at someone three fingers are pointing back at you.’ Just like you can always tell when someone is on the dark side. They have to dance around the fires of destruction and torment, the flame within their eyes sparkles as you look at them, as they are children of the night and immorality. Let's just say the sisters finally got their turn, for trying to kill my baby Jaylynn with her small pillow in my own home, in my room they stood over her one night. When hope was the only one home, and we were out for the first time all night without her. Hope caught and fought with all of them before they got the job done. Baby Jaylynn is still alive, yet it is a wonder that she is.

Sometimes people jump through hoops to make you laugh, I think that cute little feeling is called friendship.

The Unicorn Adventures: An Unpredictable

And then something truly miraculous happened to her in life. Two hands planted themselves hard and strong on her hips. She turned and saw a girl. A bright and shining, shooting star of a girl.

FROM MY TARZAN BOOK I'm pretty sure my brothers and sisters said I was a cute baby. About a school fight: "I won because I wasn't the first to cry" Us Cameron kids were great sandbox farmers. Like all farmers we loved rain. After a big rain, we raked the sandpile clean, then decided where each of our new farms would be." Being a shepherd in the Christmas pageant was nerve-wracking. The hardest part was controlling ourselves from bursting out laughing. Funny thing about a boy's life. It is not the words we remember; what we remember is the friendship, rapport, and camaraderie of just being together for a brief time.