patch Quotes
On occasion we stumble upon what seems to be a truth. Compared to the surrounding blackness, it sparkles and dazzles our eyes. But are these actually truths? Are our eyes really feasting upon light? Or just patches of grey?
I had fun last night," I told Patch, flicking off my chin strap and handing over my helmet. "I'm officially in love with your sheets." "That the only thing you're in love with?""Nope. Your mattress, too."Some smile crept into Patch's eyes. "My bed's an open invitation.
Trust Him in the Deep Waters! ~Jessica R. Patch author of Deep Waters.
Patch leaned back against the booth and arched his eyebrows at me. The gesture said it all: Pay up."You got lucky," I
I tilted my chin up a fraction. "You can't f-force me to stay here." I'd only agreed to come this far because I didn't want to stand out in the downpour, for one, and I had high hopes of finding a phone, for two. "That sounded more like a question than a statement," said Patch. "Then ans-s-swer it."His rogue smile crept out. "It's hard to concentrate on answers with you looking like that."I glanced down at Patch's black shirt, wet and clinging to my body. I brushed past him and shut the bathroom door between us.
This isn't your fight, Patch," I said qu
The biggest surprise-- and it came as a great revalation-- was understanding that whatever happens, no matter how catastrophic or wonderful, it's just another patch. There are times when something special happens: a marriage, graduation, or the birth of a child. There's no denying it's a glorious patch. It might even be a red patch-- the one that pulls the whole quilt together. But I couldn't stop repeating, "It's just another patch.
My mom's coming home soon," I said. "We should go to your place."Patch ran a hand across the shadow of stubble along his jaw. "I have rules about who I take there." I was getting really tired of that answer. "If you showed me, you'd have to kill me?" I guessed, fighting the urge to feel irritated. "Once I'm inside, I can never leave?"Patch studied me a moment. Then he reached into his pocket, twisted a key off his key chain, and slipped it into the front pocket of my pajama top. "Once you've gone inside, you have to keep coming back.
Patches don’t look it, but when attached to your soul they can get pretty heavy. They go over the holes in your soul, like when you patch a sock. When you have a hole in your soul, it’s because you’re hurting from something. I don’t know if you noticed, but that girl had a lot of holes.
I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax." I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me. He was wearing jeans and a snug white tee. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, and his black eyes smiled down at me. Heat that wasn't entirely uncomfortable flushed through my body. "I could make all kinds of pervert jokes right now," I quipped.
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