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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "She wasn't sure there was any human left in her"

Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
there was more poetry in her shopping lists than in any of my rhymes
The serpent was in the garden again, but there weren't any apples left in the tree, so I figured things were cool.
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
He was there, and then he wasn't, and with him went those memories
She was never mine. I always shared her.
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
It all burned up in the fire there was nothing left
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief
She always was devious in her beauty
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
Is there any port wine left?
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She was too beautiful to be human
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
I was sure it was her
I was pretty sure that wasn't how slasher films were supposed to end, but you won't see me complaining.
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
There's a sign on the wall. But she wants to be sure. Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
All he left her was alone
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
There has to be a better way to make human beings
She keeps her lies everywhere
I don't like her because she won't like me
she had already found her party
There Is Nothing Left to Lose
There are no specific human research function
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
His ex-wife was so frigid, her clitoris was only the tip of the iceberg.
Despite her station, the quarry was never alone
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
she gave her heart to a falling star
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
Waiter, waiter, there's a fly in my Boiled Human Finger soup.
There is nothing left for me there, except for all that I left behind
There are no three letter .coms left
There are more and better reasons to dislike a human being than race or religion
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
you have ghosts. where are they? are they so deep that the light cannot reach them? is there any such place?
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
I was never any good at maths at school
She thought about giving him her heart
She has the biggest cock of any girl I know
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
Any woman who thinks she is pro-life should ask herself
They had left, but her mascara kept running
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
How precious can human life be? There are six billion people on the planet!
she left a little Java-shaped hole in my heart
There is nothing left to cry about
I can prove that Jesus was both human and divine
The artifact was completely impenetrable to all forms of matter except living human flesh
She knows no truth except her own.
Is there any part of you that really wants this? Or is the pursuit like breathing to you?
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
Are there any scientific alternatives to evolution?
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
If you don't know where you're going, any path will take you there
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Small bits of glitter accidentally left on her eyelashes
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
How come there aren't any recreational suppositories?
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
she lit her thumb on fire
If there is a God, I hate her
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
If there is a wise woman, it is her
She asked me to read her a poem
Laid down on the bed that wasn't her own
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
She always confused her greys with white.
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
There's a girl in New York City who calls herself the human trampoline
Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few
every noder was once a normal human
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
The vacuum she left
What was left after the party
Why aren't there any female Jedi?
human wisdom sure has its moments
She left without saying goodbye
I would have liked thunder when she left
There is some goodness left in the World
the last time I clobbered a human soul it was over a red-nosed girl and a schoolbook in County Derry
making certain he was touching her
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
Her name was Natalie
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
Since I left her
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
I think I fell in love with her right then and right there
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
I don't think I was rude to her, just cold and curt
An ocean away and here he was, seeping into her
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
Where was her angel all those times the sky clouded over
serene. She sips her tea
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
At night, her eyes closed, she would
the way she wears her weary
does she need to touch her own face to know?
Seems I might have stolen the blue part of her rainbow, but all I really did was make it bigger, a way bigger blue
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
All that’s left of her is black print
If I was any good at this, I would be getting paid
wake up and find her still there
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
She Will Have Her Way
I set my sister up with her husband, and all I got was this great dress and a trip to Hawaii
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She practices her speech
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
The portion of her face she allows me to see
Could you be any more of a poseur? 'Changes' was a best-of!
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
there aren't any stars because we haven't created them yet
If Christianity were true, why would there still be any Jews?

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