Rob Thurman
Rob Thurman
Robyn Thurman, writing under the name Rob Thurman, is a New York Times Best Selling American novelist. To date, she has written three series and two short stories, totaling 11 books, and has been published in the US, UK, Germany, and Japan...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
CountryUnited States of America
cake either-or
They don't have to choose either/or. They can have their cake and mutilate it too.
fall hands wind
Fall leaves are brilliant with gold and red. You can cup them in your hand and wonder at them, be amazed at their uniqueness and glory. But eventually they are gone, brown, crumbling, scattered on the wind. But the tree remains. The tree is what is important. The tree lives on. That was a difficult knowledge to bear, and an even more difficult life to live. Of course, being the leaf wasn't exactly desirable either.
hands elderly broken
Niko caught my hand and slapped it lightly down on the bar. “Pistol whipping elderly women isn’t precisely our mission statement, Cal.” I hadn’t been going to pistol-whip her. Yell at her a little more, then pick her up and toss her out into the street. Some risk of a broken hip there, but that wasn’t pistol-whipping… unless she tried to come back in.
mines
All of his life had been about making sure I kept mine.
funny-things have-faith faster
Funny thing about faith ... it goes a lot faster than it comes.
spoons littles
You're the little spoon, aren't you?
snap-judgment toilets diapers
Snap judgments? I'd gotten over those about the time I was toilet trained. Swore off diapers and faith in the human experience all in one week.
airplane one-day television
At least that's what his note said, along with a scathing reminder that dishes didn't wash themselves and the fungus in the bathroom was one day away from evolving into sentient life. I folded the note into an airplane and sailed it across the room. It ended up perched jauntily on top of the ancient television. It looked good there and I left it as a tribute to freedom-loving fungi everywhere.
dancing vision littles
What're you still doing up? You know all good little ninjas should be in bed, visions of homicidal sugarplums dancing in their heads.
giving-up believe kids
Most kids don't believe in fairy tales very long. Once they hit six or seven they put away "Cinderella" and her shoe fetish, "The Three Little Pigs" with their violation of building codes, "Miss Muffet" and her well‐shaped tuffet—all forgotten or discounted.And maybe that's the way it has to be. To survive in the world, you have to give up the fantasies, the make‐believe.
wall sea rivers
Every inner touch, every one of its fingerprints on my brain, burned like acid. It shredded the walls of my soul like tissue paper, it clawed its way into my very center, I couldn’t tell anymore where it began and I ended. It poured into me like a river into the sea, mixing, melding, until we were one. One. For better or worse. Until death do us part.
no-trust ifs
If there is no trust, there is nothing. Trust is all.
mother liars oasis
All I cared was that she had never lied. She was honest in a world just the opposite, and a cool oasis in my life. She was who she said she was, and everything Sophia, my mother, the pathologically manipulative liar, had never been.
world this-world blanket
We all have our security blankets in this world. Some are just sharper than others.