Penny Reid Quotes

I was asked if I'd had a chance to spend any time gambling since we'd arrived. I wanted to respond that life was a gamble, and we were all losers.

Kaboom."
"Kaboom?" I parroted.
Greg made a mushroom cloud motion with his hands, his grin widening. "Big kaboom."
"Big kaboom? Is that the technical term?" Both Greg and I turned our attention back to the screen, finding Sandra's face filling the window. "See, this is why I won't let you play with Alex, Greg. He likes to blow things up figuratively, and you like to blow things up literally," she chided.
Alex was still smiling as he gently pushed her out of the way, "I like to blow things up literally, too."
"All men do." She sounded exasperated.

"Kaboom?" I parroted.
Greg made a" title="Penny Reid Quotes: Kaboom."
"Kaboom?" I parroted.
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Did you really just say 'by the mighty power of Thor'?" "I'm trying to cuss less.

But then, out of nowhere, Cletus said, "I guess we're going to have to practice."

"Pardon me?"

"Practice kissing. Like what you did with Billy."

I reeled back as my head whipped to the side, our eyes colliding. I couldn't believe my ears. "You think . . . you want me to practice kissing with Billy?"

"No. No. Absolutely not." Again, Cletus's gaze flickered over me. "I mean you and me. I'll help you practice."

The heart flip returned, but this time it was more forceful than before. And it brought some friends - the tummy cartwheel, the throat cinch, and the chest ache.

What. The. Hell . . .?

You're wicked smart. And cool. And drama free, which is a huge deal. Drama free is at the top of my list these days. You can be intimidating."
"Me? But I'm a Hufflepuff.

We all did a lot of staring that day.
The point that struck me as most interesting about our collective staring was the objects at which people stared.
Jethro stared out the window. Billy stared at the fireplace. Cletus stared at the front door. Beau stared at the kitchen table. Duane stared at the refrigerator. Roscoe stared at Momma's sewing desk.
I sat in my recliner and stared at the spot where the hospital bed had been.

His eyes always seemed to be a shade of up-to-no-good blue.

We don't believe in false pleasantries around these parts, nor do we kick a fella when he's down. So I'll just say, bless your heart, and leave it at that.

Watch out, knitters have balls....

There is boring. There is sensational. There is mediocre. There is lazy. There is good. There is evil. People do implausible things all the time, and they run the gamut of moderately weird to truly extraordinary. But there is no normal. The world is an unbelievable place full of unbelievable people doing unbelievable things.

Because if it's possible to have a partner who gives all of themselves without reservation, who looks forward to working and sacrificing for me just as I look forward to doing the same for her, who can't help but love ferociously, brutally, and unconditionally - and even perhaps without reason or sound judgment - that's what I want. Because that's how I plan to love in return.

If it's within your power to give another person great joy at little or no expense to yourself - or even at great expense - then you should, especially when you love that person.

Unable to meet his steady gaze, I shifted my attention to the stream and cursed myself for being a terrible liar. Actually, allow me to clarify that: I'm great at lying to myself. I'm super crummy at lying to others.

If I were a function, you would be my asymptote. I always tend toward you.

Be beautiful for yourself, Janie. And only if you want to. If a man is worthy of you, he'll see more beauty in who you are than in what you look like.

Just because I'm a reporter doesn't mean I don't get to have an opinion about people."
"And your opinion of me is?"
"Very low."
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Is it my hair?"
I flinched back, automatically checking out his hair. "No. There's nothing wrong with your hair."
"You don't like Star Wars?" He gestured to his shirt. "You're a Trekkie? You should know, I'm an equal opportunity space drama aficionado, whether it be BattleSTAR Galactica, STAR Trek, or STAR - "
"I get it, you like science fiction."
"Ah ha!" He lifted his index finger between us.
"Ah ha, what?"
"You're a fantasy reader, aren't you? That's what's going on. What's your favorite TV show? Buffy the Vampire Slayer, right?"
I lifted an eyebrow and crossed my arms, disliking that he'd guessed correctly. "What I read and watch isn't the central issue."
"Have you received your Hogwarts letter?" he asked, and his tone was so serious, I almost mistook it for a real question

Only if you stop using the F-word like you get paid royalties every time you say it.

You make me want to be less of an asshole.

What was one more debit of mortification when my balance sheet was already in the red

And, by the way, thank you for drugging me with Ketamine in Nigeria. He now thinks I'm a recreational drug user." "You're . . . welcome?

You're going to bend, and so am I. We're going to compromise, negotiate, and distract each other. Being together means our priorities are going to change. That's what happens when you make space for another person. Comfort zones will be stretched.

Repo stared at me, waiting for me to continue. When I didn't, he frowned. "That's it?"

"That's it."

He shook his head slowly. "No. That's not it. You've got something up your sleeve. You always do."

I clutched my chest as though the accusation wounded me. "Uncle Repo!" and then I added with a respectful head tilt and mock sincerity, ". . . I'm flattered."

He smirked, squinting and turning for the door. "I'll see what I can do.

Meanwhile, I was holding on to my composure by sheer force of will. But when we ended the call I was likely going to dismember Greg's favorite boxer briefs and hide his cell phone charger.

Just because you don't feel calm, doesn't mean you can't be calm.

Because the world could be unpleasant and overwhelming. A demanding place full of uncertainties and expectations and fears. I was coming to realize retreating, hiding from the world on occasion, was not a bad thing to do, as long as I didn't do it too often or because I was afraid of living my life

His features, shaping into something resembling dumbfounded astonishment, were cast in a warm glow from a shaded nearby lamp.
He looked earnestly surprised and a little boyish. Smash, smash, smash.
His mesmerizing eyes narrowed as they looked over my now completely covered form, the only skin showing was that of my face and hands. If I'd been thinking clearly and sober I might have felt ridiculous; instead, as I was most definitely not thinking clearly and was most definitely not sober, I was cursing myself for leaving my gloves in Chicago and I was looking for my glasses.
He shifted on his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and studied me with open and growing amusement; Are you going somewhere?

She was a damn good kisser, maybe the best I'd ever had the immense pleasure of kissing. It helped that her lips were like pillows and she tasted sweet. Not like strawberries or peaches. Sunshine and sweet - her own brand of it. Plus there was desperation in the kiss, an understated but raw passion I couldn't recall ever experiencing before.
Or maybe that had been me. Maybe I'd been the passionate, desperate one. No matter. Either way, she'd stolen my breath, robbed me of thought and sense. She was a master thief, and I loved her for it.

If I told you I love you now
How many seconds would it take
How long would you allow
All that I am to break
I turn away
Before you can see
How badly I need you to stay
With me

Cletus's famous sausage is famous." Cletus's

I love the fire most because of what it leaves behind ...
Ash. It leaves behind ash.

I tried to shrug, but I'm sure
it looked like a minor seizure.

Touching her now, after her gratifyingly loud and spectacularly animated release, calmed me even as it stoked a frenzied fire of need. I wanted to touch her everywhere. And for always. What

I'm glad your father doesn't like you."

"Pardon?" I'd been in the process of lifting my hamburger when she'd spoken. Now I held it suspended, halfway to my mouth, certain I'd misheard her.

She took a bite of pancake, chewed, swallowed a gulp of water and repeated, "I'm glad your father doesn't like you."

"And why is that?"

"He sounds like a tool. If he liked you, I would think there's something wrong with you."

I gave her a sideways look."That . . . sorta makes sense

Over the last several days, I'd done a fair amount of practiced focusing on my present state of "lesness" - homelessness, joblessness and relationshiplessness. Less was not more. Less was an unstable, uncomfortable place to be.

You're going to wear that?" Jackson lifted his chin, indicating my outfit. I glanced down at myself. Seeing nothing wrong with my blue jeans, hiking boots, and long-sleeved purple Henley with the top four buttons undone. I returned Jackson's scowl with a frown. "And what's wrong with what I'm wearing?" "Your shirt is half undone, your boobs are busting out, and those jeans are awfully tight." I crossed my arms under my chest and glared at my brother. "Are you calling me fat?" "No. I'm saying that outfit doesn't leave much to the imagination. I don't want that Winston boy getting ideas." Meanwhile, I wanted Duane to get lots of ideas.

He didn't miss a beat. "Is this an interview?"
"Yes."
"What job am I applying for?"
"The job of my dance and life partner - figuratively, literally, horizontally, vertically, and hopefully, laterally. And, depending on how flexible you are, diagonally.

You infect me, body and soul, with primitive thoughts of claiming and conquering. I do not know who I am when I touch you. I am no longer civilized, I am blood and heat and lust. I barely recognize myself.

I have these big feelings for you and they make me clumsy. When I couldn't do anything with them, it made me sad. Everything about what I feel for you is new to me.

And how he'd asked me to expand on the seamless intercourse between government bodies, they all gasped.

He didn't save us ; haven't you been listening?" Elizabeth held an icepack to her chin where she'd been hit by an meaty elbow . "Fiona stabbed one of them with a Susan Bates needle, Marie was wielding a tequila bottle, Sandra pistol-whipped the other, and I shot the third."
"Where were Janie and Kat?" Ashley looked from me to Kat.
"Hiding behind the couch like sane people!" Kat said before anyone else could speak.

Nothing screams lady-mind-porn like a hot, shirtless, sexy man doing dishes after giving her a reason to be exhausted.

My previous outlook could be summed up as follows: Life is shit. Math makes sense. Fictional characters are superior to real people because real people are equal parts pitiful and predictable.

Me want Martin flavored cookie! Me want cookie now!!

I love you wildly, madly, completely, Fiona Archer," he growled, then groaned on a broken breath. "I love you always.

Apathy between family members makes the blood they share turn to water.

It's ok to be gifted at using people if you're using them for good.

I was planning to sort my comic books based on level of second wave feminist influence." "As opposed to first wave?" "Yes, well, Susan B. Anthony laid the foundation for those who have come after. It's all really interrelated but she didn't have direct influence over late twentieth century comics.

I could settle down here in Gangrene Valley. I could learn how to do woman's work. We could have all the babies. Side note, I hope they get his beard and my forearms.

I know I just provide the mode of travel for these trips, and this is none of my business,

His gaze was impossibly kind as he said, Then, daughter dear, call me Dad.

Greg's grin returned and I was happy to see it. "See? No vanity. You've lost the ability to care about bullshit that doesn't matter. You're a star, the center of a solar system, with no desire for the planets, asteroids, and moons caught in your gravitational field." "Who wants creepy planets anyway? Planets are amoebas, circling mindlessly in the vacuum of space. They're star stalkers of the worst sort." He continued to look at me like I was a treasure. "Planets are creepy, when you put it like that.

He's the man equivalent of a gun to the head, except without the fear for my life aspect.

Then, I reached for my sandwich and took a bite. It wasn't the same as biting a person, but the chewing helped.

I always struggled with opening single-serving items such as bags of M&M's or condoms.

if you're not just a little bit afraid of letting down one or both of your parents, then you must've had shitty parents. I'm not talking about paralyzing fear - paralyzing fear also means shitty parents - I'm talking about a sliver of worry, a shard of concern. Take my parents, for example. I couldn't care less what my pop thought. He was a shitty parent.

I thought about our make-out sessions. I compared them to the best sex I'd had thus far, and Alex won, probably because, with Alex, everything took hours. He was a savorer, a relisher. He took his time, used my body to experiment, determined that every inch must be tasted - every inch but the very center.
You know, the best inch.

Everything could be reasoned away or made to look silly with enough rational scrutiny. Faith, love, hope, lust, anger, sadness, compassion - everything.

Something I think we forget, living in the time we do, is that generations before us didn't have the luxury of healthy relationships

His pasty, white wang. Gross.

Apparently, hope is for hipsters because hope failed me.

As a child psychiatrist, I knew too much about the statistics of foster care - less than one percent graduate college with a bachelor's degree, more than fifty percent of foster kids end up homeless after reaching eighteen, and most are dead by twenty-six.

I've never been a fan of funerals for more than the obvious reasons. Of the emotions, mourning in particular feels like something that should be sacred and intensely private.

I shook my head, feeling like a natural disaster on mute.

Nothing is more frustrating than being attracted to someone who is a complete jerk – except for maybe also caring about that person despite continued abuses. I was such an idiot.

I returned to my pillow and comforter, both of which I loved; they smelled like lavender, and were so cozy, poems should be written about their epic cozy wonder. I snuggled against their softness and willed away the touch of anxiety I felt about my mom's strange behavior.

Go then." I shrugged. "And if you lock yourself out of your car don't call me. I won't be answering my cell phone.

There is just something about women who spend hours and hours knitting a sweater with mind-blowingly expensive yarn, when they could just buy a sweater for a fraction of the price - not to mention the time saved doing so - that lends itself to acceptance and patience for the human condition.

Life is alphabet soup, Elizabeth. Eat that soup." ***

Being with you . . ." he began, drawing my eyes back to his face. His were dazed, unfocused, like he was looking within and without. "Being with me?" I prompted after almost a minute, curious, a bubble of something reluctantly hopeful expanding in my chest. So of course, a joke slipped out. "Is as the prophesy foretold?" Abram's gaze sharpened on mine. He smiled, a real smile. His left dimple making its first appearance, stealing my breath before his words could. "It's living artistry, Mona." Abram's gaze turned cherishing, earnest. "Being with you is like living in a song.

Maybe the answer is: Don't be an asshole, think before you open your trap, take responsibility for your words. Meaning, apologize when you're wrong and correct yourself moving forward - and don't constantly look for reasons to be offended and police well-meaning people's words. We want folks to talk to each other, right? Not just hang out with like-minded people all the time. Everyone is ignorant about something, and everyone is offended by something. If people can't have a calm, respectful dialogue without being hurt by ignorance, or without offending with insensitivity, then what the hell are we supposed to do? Surround ourselves with robots who don't challenge our ideas?" I

You give me offense, and I take it. I take offense to the fact that you would stand here and belittle Simone's beliefs and her work to correct what she feels are grave wrongs when you take no action to fight for your beliefs. It is one thing to compare or even belittle sacred truths when both parties are working toward rectifying wrongs. But it is quite another to rail against a person who is doing something when you do nothing.

I suppose if the relationship is between two people who are keeping score, then you are right - there will be a winner and a loser. However, if no one is keeping score, then no one loses.

I can't get two words out of her, and here you are, turning down what she's offering for free," he lamented flatly. "What did you do, anyway? Save her cat?"

"No. That was Jess," Duane mumbled.

That made me laugh. "Jess was eight, Duane. Eight. All I did was climb a tree and get her cat." And she's yours now in any case.

"That's right!" Hank snapped his fingers then pointed at Duane. "I forgot about that. Didn't Jess have a thing for Beau before you two hooked up?"

"We didn't hookup, Hank," Duane bit back.

Hank lifted a hand, palm out, as though he surrendered. "Fine. Before you twopledged your troth. Is that better?"

Duane grumbled something I didn't catch, then shrugged. "Yeah. So what? The past is in the past." My brother glowered at me as he said this.

"Oh good Lord, Duane. What was I supposed to do? Not get the damn cat? You didn't even like her then. You used to call her freckles, remember that?"

"I still call her freckles."

"No you don't, you call her princess," I said, not about to lose an opportunity to correct my brother about his recent domestication, mostly because I was envious of it.

Hank pointed at me with his beer. "So, let me get this straight. You saved Jess's cat when she was eight, and she had a thing for you after that?" Before I could decide how to answer, he turned to Duane. "And you're okay with that?"

"Hank, let me tell you something

Why do you love it? I had a sense that I would enjoy her answer. I knew it would be unexpected and unique. Everything about her was unexpected and unique. She was my bright light of eccentricity in a very predictable and ordinary world. She made everything new and interesting or funny.

"So, passive-aggressive is how you're going to play this?"
"Well, it's either that or aggressive-aggressive. And I'd prefer not to be arrested for domestic violence today. Maybe tomorrow.

I'd once overheard my daddy tell my momma that the six Winston boys had inherited their father's ability to charm snakes, the IRS, and women.

You should have me there as your representative to make sure he doesn't try to zap you with his sexy ray."
"Zap me with his sexy ray?"
"You know what I'm talking about. I barely saw him and I'm feeling the effects. He's like an ... electromagnetic pulse of sexy or something. So does his friend, Eric. They shouldn't be allowed in public."
"That's not how electromagnets work."
"Whatever. You get my point.

So, just to be clear, it was good. It was all very good . I liked what happened ... earlier. My pants liked it too. But, as much as my pants want to get this party started, I'm very new to all of this. I emphasized all of this by waving my hands over my pelvis then waving them in the direction of his entire body.

Come self-sufficient. Come powerful. Or come weak and uncertain. Just come to me. And stay. Trust that you are precisely the right piece, because you are the missing piece - in my life and of my heart.

Don't you think everyone deserves a chance?"
"A chance?"
"Yes, a chance."
"What – what kind of chance?" ...
"Yes. Everyone deserves a chance."
He gave me one of his barely there smiles, just a hint of a smile, and licked his lips, "Then I want my chance.

I turned, feeling steady but somewhat dazed, and looked from the hand, now on my elbow, up the strong arm, around the curve of the bulky shoulder, and over the angular jaw and chin, until my eyes met the breath-hijacking sight of Sir Handsome McHotpants's piercing blue eyes. I cringed.

Dance with me."
Blinking, first at his offered palm and then at his features, I asked, "Why?"
Not immediately replying, he reached for me, pulled me to my feet, and slid an arm around my waist. I allowed him to hold my body against his, fit our hands together, and sway to the lovely music. Begrudgingly, I admitted to myself he had great rhythm. Someone had taught him to dance.
Jehtro dipped his mouth to my ear, his beard tickling my neck as he finally whispered an answer to my question, "Because you want me to hold you, but you don't know how to ask.

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That was also weird. Everything was weird."
"Stop using the word weird. You do your vocabulary no justice.

I will fucking ruin you, do you hear me? You are nothing! Nothing!

I sighed, tired of his irrelevant presence. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be sure to file that info right between fuck this and fuck that.

I never cross-pollinate fantasy and reality.

I'm . . . concerned. You appear to be upset. What's wrong?" His voice gentled and his eyes searched mine. "What's happened? And what can I do to help?"

I crossed my arms because my stupid heart was fluttering again. He caught me off guard. I was not at all prepared for Cletus Winston's concern.

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to bring y'all muffins. Can't I bring y'all muffins?"

He was scrutinizing me again. "No. Something's off. Is it Jackson James? Do I need to maim him? Because I will. I could give him leprosy, you know. Armadillos are carriers."

My mouth fell open and a bubble of laughter emerged unchecked. "Cletus Winston, you will do no such thing."

"Sheriff's deputy or not. Just say the word. It might improve him, actually."

"You are terrible." I laughed, even though he was terrible, and I felt terrible laughing at such a terrible joke.

At least, I hope it's a joke

I was drunk at five in the afternoon.

Luckily, we were in Las Vegas. I contemplated the fact that being drunk in Las Vegas was like being sober everywhere else in the world. So... normal.

He lied," she said. "There is no way for us to seize bitcoins. Well, there is no current way for the federal government to seize bitcoins at will; in order to do that we'd need one of the creators of the currency." She paused and watched me very closely for a reaction.

This was all still gibberish to me. This was something out of a science fiction novel, or a Stephen King movie with Tom Cruise where Tom Cruise has to run someplace from some people - because that's what Tom Cruise does, he runs while looking concerned and futuristic.

Therefore, I decided to look surprised and thoughtful.

"Yes." She nodded; she believed I was following her train of thought. I wasn't following her train because mine had derailed on thoughts of a running Tom Cruise…weird little man.

However, the more stressful my situation is, the less I think about it, or anything related to it. At present , I thought about how the elevators were like mechanical horses, and I wondered if anyone loved them or named them.

You know those French impressionists; all they did was fornicate, drink absinthe, and play dominoes.

Pretending Tina Patterson was Jessica James was like pretending tofu was steak.

His confession felt like finding out my cat - Sir Edmund Hillary, named after the first man to climb Mt Everest - could talk and wanted to give me a tongue bath. At best, Sir Hillary was indifferent to my existence. At worst, he may have been plotting my demise. He was an audacious Calico psychopath, always pushing his litterbox from its place beside the toilet in the bathroom directly in front of the shower, but only when I was in the shower ...

Derek gave me a look that was part sheepish, but mostly whatcha-gonna-do, amiright?

Attending to injustice, no matter how small, is always a worthy cause.

I feel like the rest of the male body makes a lot of sense. And then ... balls.

I was making pie.

I didn't usually make pie, but I was waiting for the bread to rise so I could knead it again. I'd woken up with a thirst for violence. Cutting the butter into the flour for pie crust was almost as good as kneading bread.

but applying logic to love is like buttering a pig before you slaughter it.

I'd always been a big fan of kissing when done right.

You're a good kisser." It sounded like an accusation.

I shrugged, giving her a satisfied smile. "I practice."

Her gaze sharpened. "Oh?"

"Yes. With my pillow. And a watermelon that one time.

Billy helped," Jethro said, his voice held hesitation.

"Billy?" Duane didn't try to mask his surprise; he and Beau stared at each other, communicating for several seconds without talking. The twins' ability to impart thoughts through a look had always been frustrating. I didn't like being left out of a conversation.

"Yes. Billy. Billy helped," I confirmed irritably. "And will you two cease discussing with your eyeballs. There are several other people in the room who can't brain-link."

Duane lifted an eyebrow, his eyes darting from me to Beau and then quickly to the floor. "Fine, Cletus. Cool your engine."

I grunted, but said nothing. I didn't want to pick a fight with Duane. I only had a few more weeks of him hanging around and the thought depressed me. He was a grumpy, brooding little bastard who had the habit of only speaking when spoken to - and sometimes not even then. I was going to miss him.