A dove carries peace on its wings.
— Anthony T.HincksThank fucking God. Christ, sorry about praying with “fucking.” Shit! Sorry about saying “Christ!” Shut up, Dove. God hates you.
— Debra AnastasiaI refuse to be put in a cage that gleams golden for many, but bronze for me. I would much rather be a dove in the sky, flying out into the open, into the sky, into the beyond.
— Mekiah JohnsonPeace of Man'Greet each man with words of loveAnd peace,And a dove will be placedOn an olive tree.Leave a man with feelingsOf betrayalOr envy,And a dove gets shotOff the olive tree.Greet each man with peace,And leave each man with love.Ask yourself -One more enemy,Or one more dove?Always choose love.It's time for everybody toSpeak love.Let's fill the trees with doves,And spread the leaves of love.So,Always addAnd never subtractAnother peace of manFrom the olive tree.
— Suzy KassemOh God. We’re talking about me being naked, in the shower with cooter cream. Please world, end. Kill me. “I know it’s not soap. I just… if it’s scented… I can’t do scented. Flowers and stuff like that. Fruit-flavored soaps make… things… burnish.” She could tell from the peeks at his face Mr. Fitzwell had never stepped foot in bath and lotion store, wanting to try the array of fun fragrances. Nor had he purchased Peppermint Candy shower gel, foamed up his nether regions, and felt like he had dipped them in lava. Dove crossed and uncrossed her legs at the memory. Mr. Fitzwell seemed concerned. “Okay, just a heads-up. It’s definitely not good to put any fruits or plant life near your genitals.” He made a V with his hands and formed his own pretend vagina in front of his pants. Dove covered her eyes and tried to defend herself because now she could hear the sickly older woman beating her supporters with a purse. Dove’s mumbling got louder with her embarrassment. “I don’t put weird things down… there. Just make sure that the cream’s vagina-scented. Just plain. For vaginas.” She kept her eyes on the counter.
— Debra AnastasiaHe stopped, finally, and smiled. “Honestly? With this thing I think I could get my jerk-off muscles so well-developed that I could rub out a spooge with one pump! If that’s not worth $19.95, I don’t know what is.
— Debra AnastasiaGet me your manager.” Dove held her head high and tried to seem older and more self-assured. The teenager barely registered her request. “Do it now. My friend here is about to crap his pants. Do you want to smell it?” Dove slapped her hands down on the counter, snapping the life into the girl. “Do you want to smell his shit?
— Debra AnastasiaThat’s sweet. Nice of you.” Johnson put his hands in his pockets. Dove couldn’t help but wonder if he was massaging a sore bag of testicles. Dove looked around, and Johnson shuffled his feet. It seemed neither knew what to say, but she hoped neither wanted to part ways either. Johnson’s default was always medical. “How’s your infection?” Die. Die. Kill me. “It’s… cleared up… nicely.” Dove twisted her hand into her hair.
— Debra AnastasiaWolves and Doves mate for life. I hope in the next life I am one of the two.
— Amanda MosherKilling in the name of religion defines someone who is ignorant and actually void of religion. God does not condone terror. To kill innocent people to make a political statement is like shooting a dove to say hunting is wrong.
— Suzy Kassem