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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "she was tougher than I gave her credit for"

She always was devious in her beauty
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
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 gave her heart to a falling star
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
She was never mine. I always shared her.
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
there was more poetry in her shopping lists than in any of my rhymes
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
She was locked in time
She Will Have Her Way
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
She was pain and pleasure all at once, wrapped up in needles and Ramones T-shirts
She always was all tea and oranges that came all the way from China
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
All he left her was alone
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
Jessica, too tall but still lovely, was not sure she would or should drop the whale
He was an ant on an ill-defined mission. She was the trapdoor spider of love.
She is and was
She dreamt she was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty field
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
The flowers smiled, but she was gone
"He was a terrible man," she sobbed, between bites of alimony
she was just the dry smell of gasoline
She was coming out as he was going in.
She was free
someday, when she will think back upon the time when she was as yet undishonored
She was so pleased to learn that she was right
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
His ex-wife was so frigid, her clitoris was only the tip of the iceberg.
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
She knows no truth except her own.
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
She flies with her own wings
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
She was very beautiful. Y'know?
The Abridged Edition: She was to one side, he was to the other, an untested bridge between them
Existentialism is that girlfriend who cheated on you. Postmodernism is who she was with.
She probably thought your first language was English; your real first language was Joyce
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
She was like a candle in the wind: unreliable
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
She was watching me and I didn’t know it.
She was so tall, and I was so in love
She was feminine in the most displaced sense I had ever seen, a known quality refracted through stained glass windows.
She was the cutest necromancer I ever did see
She had become a mutton for punishment and he was a wolf
He stretched out his arms but she was not there
I was sure it was her
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
I don't remember what her name was so let's call her Doris
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
Where was her angel all those times the sky clouded over
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
the way she wears her weary
At night, her eyes closed, she would
serene. She sips her tea
I don't like her because she won't like me
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
she lit her thumb on fire
She asked me to read her a poem
That was what her hunger was like: mesmerizing, directed, floating like a public secret just under the cloud cover.
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
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
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She thought about giving him her heart
piano outside in the snow. and she was spinning
I gave her two daisies. This is how I met your mother.
She was steady
notes I never gave her
She was a Surrealist Woman, She was like a Figure in a Dream
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
He gave her a daisy
When she was bad
She was cilantro, jalapeño, habanero. She was the hot plate you must not touch.
The House on the Island Where She Was Born
She was the seed of a strange tomorrow
He dreamt he was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty bed
She moved so easily all I could think of was sunlight
I said I was sorry. Then she looked at me.
My purity was little stickers I willingly gave away in exchange for hearts
Outside the train station she was the only person wearing an Orange raincoat and a look of surprise
I was tired. It was late. She was Russian.
She's smarter than me but she's also more quiet, therefore she has no personality which makes me feel better
she gave herself that holocaust haircut. cinnamon colored clippings cover the motel bedspread like sprinkles.
She was too beautiful to be human
It was the tree that gave him away.
There never was a body that gave the undertaker a tip
Because, perhaps she was cold
She wore a bit more makeup than he generally liked
The girl didn't know if she was loved until he said yes.
She may be pretty and have more money than me but she doesn't write songs about you.
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
All that was left of her was a damp handkerchief
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
Her name was Natalie
I don't think I was rude to her, just cold and curt
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
An ocean away and here he was, seeping into her
She Gave Sweet Love To Me
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
The portion of her face she allows me to see
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
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 is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
I set my sister up with her husband, and all I got was this great dress and a trip to Hawaii
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
does she need to touch her own face to know?
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
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
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
She practices her speech
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.
Despite her station, the quarry was never alone
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
Her hair was seaweed and the Pacific wind sang
That week with her was like drinking bubbles
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
she had already found her party
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
My friend is dating someone who likes him far more than he likes her
She keeps her lies everywhere
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
She always confused her greys with white.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
To a girl who thought she was moving away
She was thinking of a boy in California who had a couch and a job
What the hell was she thinking?
For a lawyer she was surprisingly like a child. Sometimes.
Fast-talking career gal who thought she was one of the boys
She was buttery. She was asking for it. She was delicious. Let's all give in.
making certain he was touching her
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom

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