Jessica Gadziala Quotes

Find a man who buys the half-dilapidated fixer-upper and not the guy who buys the brand new model. The guy who can see potential and is willing to roll up his sleeves and get to work and make it the best it can possible be, who will love discovering all the hidden gems hidden inside, all the history, all the layers, that's the kind of man you want to settle down with; not the guy who only sees the pretty, the perfect. Because one day, that pretty and perfect will need work. And he won't want to do that. He will just move on to the newer and prettier.

Dying of tetanus might be preferable to spending any more time in your company...

Very few people know loyalty anymore." "Do you?" I asked, needing for my own piece of mind to know. "Did I maybe start flirting with Shelly when I was still dating Meg in high school? Yeah, I did. I was sixteen and stupid as fuck. But I grew up. I watched countless families get torn apart by infidelity. I have had to comfort dozens of crying women in my office when I handed them the pictures they paid me to take. And I've gotten to witness the awful thing that happens when they stop crying." "What's that?" "They make up their minds to never let themselves get hurt like that again. See, cheating doesn't just screw up that one relationship, it tends to screw up every single one later because the person gets bitter or scared or distrusting. It's a sad fucking thing to see. And it's not something I am ever willing to do to a woman." He paused and I let those words sink in.

I hope one day, darling, that you will know the touch of a man who loves you. I pray you will know how wonderful that is. How rare and beautiful. How godly. Even if it isn't within the union of marriage. It isn't wrong. Nothing is more right.

Oh, the virgin fetish, always going strong. Every man wants to be the first, the only; maybe because they thought if the girl had no reference to compare him to, then they wouldn't know he was completely and utterly unsatisfying.

Hey, princess," he called, making me stop on the bottom step of the porch. "I give it two weeks." I shouldn't have turned around. I knew it was a bad idea. But I couldn't stop myself. "Two weeks for what?" He smiled, shaking his head and I knew I was in for it. "Until I fuck you up and down the road and through the floor.

starting the day I turned twenty-one, every month, I had a case of scotch sent to my father. I knew he wouldn't want fuck-all to do with anything from me, but I also knew he could never refuse the booze. So maybe I helped kill the bastard.

The perfection of that silent moment was somehow better than a million mouthfulls promising forever.

Every woman is a hallway full of locked doors under different names: past, future, hopes, fears, lust, and love. Some men come with keys. Some men come with lick picks. Byron St. James comes with a chainsaw.

You are acting as though there is a choice in who you love. It doesn't really work that way. You love who you love."

"Now you're being ridiculous. Of course love is a choice."

"Being in a relationship with someone is a choice. Loving them isn't. There are plenty of people divorced today who still love one another. And there are a bunch of people out there who love someone with everything they have, but choose not to be with them because they're addicts or they're unreliable, or they cheated. The choosing to be with someone or not part, that is a choice. But who you end up falling for, that is completely out of your control.

He had even brought drinks for us. Lemonade. Because we were eleven.

It means I'm in love with you, Luce," she said, shocking the shit out of me enough to completely shut up my swirling thoughts. "So of course I accept you. Sad, dark and twisted," she went on, shrugging. "Scars and all. I love it all, Luce.

But what was done was done. And she just had to move on from that. Avoid him whenever possible. When she did have to face him, she would make sure she kept a good three feet between them at all times. Or three yards. Or miles.

had made Cory, Adam, and I collect when we were kids that she glazed

I wondered how many rounds dear old dad was in before his body finally gave up. I wondered if it was the scotch I sent him that finally did him in. That would be a beautiful kind of karma.

I get so much as a whiff of you not doing what you should be doing to get her through this, I have no problem stepping back in. She deserves someone who will treat her right." "I feel you," I said, nodding. Maybe a lesser man would have been pissed. He had outright just declared that if I slipped up, he planned on stealing my woman out from under me. But, that being said, no woman could be stolen if she was being treated right.

- Shut up and listen to me. I'm Janie from Hailstorm and I need you to get your head out of your fucking ass for two minutes and listen to the plan...
So then she told him and me and, apparently, Lo because I was pretty sure no one in that car knew what the plan was until Jstorm laid it out for us.

Women don't trade pussy for kindness," he started. "Thinking you're owed something for not being an asshole, makes you an asshole. She ain't a bitch 'cause she doesn't want your dick, but you sure as fuck are a dick for calling her a bitch just because she has some standards that you obviously don't meet.

They could get under the surface and sink in and lay hooks and you weren't even aware they were doing it. Until one day, you needed or they needed to pull away. And the hooks got pulled, taking a healthy chunk of you with them, leaving you missing pieces that had been whole before. It

Just because I'm old, doesn't mean I have to dress like I am none too patiently waiting for death.

The waking up was the worst. That slow, growing realization that you lived through it. That you were awake to go through it again. That your body was stronger than you thought. That there was so much more to be endured.

He had showed me some of his damage. And he was ashamed of that. Little did he know, I wasn't someone who could judge. So what if he had anger issues? I had ripping myself open issues. And alcohol issues. And daddy issues. And brother issues. And grandmother issues. I was the Long Island iced tea of damage: everything but iced tea included.

I leaned down, grabbing his face and pulling it to mine, letting myself kiss him with every failed hope, lost dream, every frustrated moment of low self-esteem, every hidden, dark, secret, shameful thing. I kissed him like therapy. Like I could pour it all into him and finally be free.

A strong person like you doesn't have break downs. They have moments. You're having one.

I'm just going ahead and say what everyone else here is thinking.
This has got to be the weirdest fucking wedding that has ever happened.

What?" Eric said, leaning closer and kissing her cheek. "Never had a man pay for dinner before?"
"I usually try to pay."
"Of course you do," he said, his tone somehow both teasing and kind.
"Well... society being what it is... when a man pays for a meal he generally expects more than a thank you."
"Boys," he said, his voice a bit disgusted. "expect more than a thank you. A man is just happy to spend a few hours in your company.

I don't give a flying fuck what all the fairy tales say, what families always say. Love is not unconditional. And it never should be. Everyone should know that there is only so much they can get away with before you wash your hands of their shit. No one gets a free pass just because they have the same blood in their veins. When you wouldn't tolerate a stranger doing something, you shouldn't tolerate a family member doing it.

No, I'm not going to listen. I am going to take the rest of your clothes off and bury my face in your pussy until you are screaming so loud you forget all about being in this pissy ass mood.

But, yes, I'm hungry." "Well, there's an Olive Garden next door." My face twisted up. "An olive garden? Like... we go and pick olives? I mean, I'm going to need more sustenance than that. What's so funny?

Aw, angel," he said, shaking his head as he looked around. "I get you now."

He got me? What the heck was that supposed to mean? "What?"

"You know, my grandmother is a big gardener," he said, tucking the flat of cat food under one arm and running his hand over the back of my sofa.

"That's wonderful. Now get out of my apartment."

"She's won awards 'round here for her roses," he went on his weird speech. His attention suddenly turned back toward me, pinning me into place. "She used to tell me that the prettiest roses have the biggest thorns. It's a defense mechanism. So," he said, coming closer toward me and running his finger across the side of my jaw, "I get you, Amelia Alvarado.

When you decide to find that shriveled little heart of yours and inflate it back to an acceptable human-size, then we can talk.

Jasper felt the sadness then. A strong sensation of being pulled underwater, of being helpless to do anything but sink. Further into the despair. Until it completely surrounded you. Until every breath you took was just swallowing more pain. Until you were in so deep that there wasn't any hope of ever breaking the surface again.

as if my father was a sainted human being, like he was up in Heaven getting fitted for his shiny halo and downy wings. The man was the biggest piece of shit I had ever met in my life. And

Survivor' meant nothing but breath in your lungs. I didn't become a survivor. I became a badass bitch. That was the choice I made.

So when you guys get married and she squeezes out a litter of brats for you, you're going to have to come up with a better meet-cute than that. I don't think the kids will want to hear that you held mommy's hair while she puked up pills. I'm no expert but I could see that scarring a kid. You know, maybe pep it up. You two locked eyes at a Blockbuster video and you were fucking done for. Then they'll ask what the fuck a Blockbuster is and you can move on to other subjects."

"Frate," Edison said, brows raised like he thought the man was out of his fucking mind. Which he was, so it was a valid thought. "Who the fuck did you trade your balls into for the information about what a meet-cute is? First fucking Cyrus with his Michael Bublé, now this fuck with his rom-com comments? We're a sad excuse for bikers at this point.

Sometimes love didn't spring up on you in a moment of blinding clarity. Sometimes it crept up on you on a Tuesday night while you were standing at the sink doing dishes, the feeling settling into your soul in a way that made it too heavy to ignore anymore.

Aw babygirl, tell me you want to get stabbed somewhere naughty," he

I lived through this, I needed to find a new fuckin' job. Janitor. Used car salesman. Guinea pig trainer.

But please refrain from torturing me with your asinine male chauvinistic ramblings first. Having tits doesn't negate having a fucking brain, you idiot.

I refuse to get any more scars from loving edges sharp enough to cut me.

I browsed casually, lulled with the smell of novels: paper and glue and magic, mingled with the scent of freshly brewing coffee and the faintest trace of brownies. It was practically narcotic.

I can see you're jealous of Millie's love for me," he teased, his smile charming enough to make a nun reconsider her vows, "but you can't blame her. I've always had a way with a pussy.

Apparently Lo- badass lady boss of fucking Hailstorm who had just negotiated a deal that saved two people I cared about after neutralizing an entire gang and watching a man be murdered, without even a blink- was a fucking romantic.
Go fucking figure.

Now there were plenty of words to describe the kind of rippling muscle perfection that greeted me. Jacked. Ripped. Built. Drool-worthy. Man candy. God damn! But the most appropriate seemed to be: holy fucking shit.

Like... other than wanting in her pants?" "Just met her," I hedged. "When the fuck has that ever mattered? It is or it ain't. Don't need a fuckin' year to suss out a connection. That shit takes minutes.

If you put a frog into a pot of boiling water, the fucker will jump right back out. It knows it's wrong, it hurts, it will kill him. But if you put him in a pot and slowly raise it up to boiling, he'll stay. That's what abuse is like. You might not even notice it's happening at first. You'd brush it off as him having a bad day, you pissing him off. But then it starts getting worse in small ways until you're in so deep and you're so hot and your skin is peeling and you don't know if you even remember you can jump anymore. That doesn't make you weak. You got out of that shit, baby. That makes you stronger, a lot stronger, I think, than you even realize.

And I guess, at the end of the day, when you fall in love with a bad boy, you can't really be mad when they end up doing bad things to you.

I want pussy," I said, looking down at her, "I go get some pussy. I don't stare at it through a fuckin' computer screen. I get my fingers and cock inside a real one. And maybe, if it's real sweet, I'll get my tongue in it too.

There was a familiar singsong ding from the front of the house and, not a half a second later, my mother called from the kitchen. "Oh, honey, can you get that? I have my hands full."

Of bullshit.

Utter bullshit.