I Scowled Defensively. "my Conversations Don't Usually

Friends Are The Support Bras Of Life.

There Is No Peace In Poverty

I Realized I Wasn't Going To Find A Man Until I Was Willing To Expose Myself To Possible Harm, To Assume The Risks Of Rejection And Betrayal And Heartbreak That Came Along With Caring About Someone. Someday, I Promised Myself, I Would Be Ready For That Kind Of Risk.

And You're Not The Kind Of Girl I Want." Surely He Couldn't Mean The Fact That I Was Mexican. From What I Knew Of Hardy, There Wasn't A Bit Of Prejudice In Him. He Never Used Racist Words, Never Looked Down On Someone For Things They Couldn't Help. "what Kind Do You Want?" I Asked With Difficulty. "someone I Can Leave Without Looking Back.

She Heard The Trace Of Fear In His Voice. The Fear That A Small Boy Must Have Felt When Every Woman He Loved Had Disappeared From His Life, Swept Away By A Merciless Fever. She Didn’t Know How To Reassure Him, Or How To Console His Long-ago Grief.