A strong woman knows how to keep her life in line. With tears in her eyes, she still manages to say, Nah, I’m fine.

Your situation does not embarrass God because He has solution.

Don’t let haters get me off my grind. Keep my head up, I know I’ll be fine. Keep fighting until I get there. When I’m

No doors. No top. No Problem.

Forget about your worries because everything will turn out fine.

Everything is going to be fine in the end. If it’s not fine it’s not the end.

Saying she doesn’t mind being alone…that she’s alright… There isn’t a person alive who’d really feel that way!

MR. JONSTONE IS A FINE MAN!
Don’t be silly. He’s an obvious sadist, I said.

Is it okay for me to have my own life now, father, now that I’m not “special” anymore?

I set off the fireworks. ‘Cause she said she needed to go and I didn’t know where. She said she was fine to drive, and I believed her, and I let her go. So it’s all my fault, so kick me out, just kick me out. Kick me out, please.

Nothing is fine, but when I’m with you everything is fine.

I’m a big believer in everything meant to be. If it didn’t work out then, it’s fine.

I sat back down on the couch, between my mom and my dad, and my dad put his arm around me, and we stayed there like that, quiet on the couch together, for a long time, until it seemed okay to turn on the TV, and then we ate artichoke dip for dinner and watched the History Channel, and as going-away parties go, it certainly could have been worse.

“You’re fine,” Takumi said as he jogged back towards me. “Let’s get out of here before we’re killed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I can’t get up. I have suffered a mild concussion.”
Lara ran out and sat down next to me.
“Are you OK?”
“I am concussed,” I said.
Takumi sat down with me and looked me in the eye. “Do you know what happened to you?”
“The beast got me.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“I’m on a triple-and-a-half date.”
“You’re fine,” Takumi said. “Let’s go.”
And then I leaned forward and threw up on Lara’s pants.

“I’m fine, Mom. I think — if it’s okay with you, I think I might stay here for Thanksgiving. A lot of my friends are staying” — lie — “and I have a lot of work to do” — double lie. “I had no idea how hard the classes would be, Mom” — truth.

“It wasn’t a big deal. I got out fine.”
“You could have died.” And I could have, I suppose. But I didn’t.

I often regret that I have spoken; never that I have been silent.

“It’s fine,” I repeated. And whatever. It was fine. It had to be.

Your plans are fine, as long as you realize God has the right to change them.

She taught me everything I knew about crawfish and kissing and pink wine and poetry. She made me different.
I lit a cigarette and spit into the creek. “You can’t just make me different and then leave,” I said out loud to her. “Because I was fine before, Alaska. I was fine with just me and last words and school friends, and you can’t just make me different and then die.”

What if it should be God’s plan to people the world with better and finer material?

To make a fine gentleman, several trades are required, but chiefly a barber.

Do not meddle with people and just mind your own business, you are better off that way, boy.

Mind your own business and stay the hell out of mine and we will just be fine, you and I both.

All women are created equal, but only the finest drive a Jeep.