Ask Again Later Quotes

It doesn't matter if it's the real world or fictional," I insisted. "Crushes are the best part of liking someone, and they are completely safe. You get all the benefits of fantasising about someone, but none of the he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not drama. It's all the good parts with none of the parts that make you lie awake at night all angsty. ~ Liz Czukas

It's just ... how do I put this? Maybe it's just hard for me to imagine turning down something that's so much harder for someone like me to find. ~ Liz Czukas

(...) one should never be too naive regarding the quality of the current philosophical culture, or imagine that the most recent thinking is in any meaningful sense more advanced or more authoritative than that of a century or a millennium or two millennia ago. There are certain perennial problems to which all interesting philosophy returns again and again; but there are no such things as logical discoveries that consign any of the older answers to obsolescence. Certain classical answers to those problems endure and recur, sometimes because they remain far more powerful than the answers (or evasions) produced by later schools of thought. And, conversely, weaker answers often enjoy greater favor than their rivals simply because they are in keeping with the prejudices of the age. ~ David Bentley Hart

It would have been worth the complaint and subsequent chewing out I would have received, if the events of the night just wouldn't have happened. I would later look back on this night and pray that things had ended differently. You can't change events that are completely out of your control, though.
Even so, anything would have been preferable to that one moment when you find your reality has just been blown to pieces and would never be the same again. That's assuming you live to survive it. ~ Rose Wynters

You tell me. Is contentment death? Does one need to want in order to live? Can one aspire to that which is not material?"

"It would seem wise to aspire to objects more real and less fleeting than a feeling state which you can't bank on," Tuttle says. "You may feel good now, but say something happens and you don't feel so good later. In your model there's no backup: you can't say, 'Well, I feel like crap but at least I have a really nice car and a big television set.'"

"Why not say, I may feel bad now but I felt good before and chances are I'll feel good again? ~ A.A. Holmes

Later, her first intense, serious love affair, yes then she'd lost something more tangible, if undefinable: her heart? her independence? her control of, definition of, self? That first true loss, the furious bafflement of it. And never again quite so assured, confident. ~ Joyce Carol Oates

The walls of this elevator are made of crystal so that you can watch the people on the ground floor shrink to ants as you shoot up into the air. It's exhilarating and I'm tempted to ask Effie Trinket if we can ride it again, but somehow that seems childish. ~ Suzanne Collins

Back in 'my day' – though I didn't claim ownership of it at the time, this is what used to happen: you met a girl, you were attracted to her, you tried to ingratiate yourself, you would invite her to a couple of social events – for instance the pub – and then ask her out on her own, then again, and after a goodnight kiss of variable heat, you were somehow, officially, 'going out' with her. Only when you were semi-publicly committed did you discover what her sexual policy might be. And sometimes this meant her body would be as tightly guarded as a fisheries exclusion zone. ~ Julian Barnes

In the wee small hours, California Highway One north of Half Moon Bay is about as desolate as it gets. The narrow, twisting road was etched from sheer cliff faces that towered above me on the right and dropped away a hundred feet to the Pacific Ocean on my left.

A soggy wool blanket of San Francisco's famous fog hung a few feet above the roadway, obscuring the stars and dribbling tiny spots of mist on my windshield. My headlights bored through the gap between road and fog, drilling an endless tunnel through the darkness.

So far as I could tell, there were only two other cars on the entire planet that night - actually, one car and a produce truck. They'd flashed by, one after the other, heading south just past Moss Beach. Their headlights glared in my eyes and made the road seem even narrower, but half an hour later, I was wishing for more signs of life just to help keep my drooping eyelids from slamming shut altogether. It was the wrong thing to wish for.

She appeared suddenly out of the fog on the opposite side of the road. Only, she wasn't in a car. This gal was smack dab in the middle of the southbound lane and running for all she was worth. She wore a white dress and no coat, and that was about all I had time to take in before she was gone and I was alone in the endless tunnel again. ~ H.P. Oliver

Tis obvious that you're easily…" She paused, searching for a more sarcastic and descriptive word than "encouraged."
"Aroused?" he queried.
Erienne gasped. "Certainly not!"
"Have you changed your mind? You said at a twitch of a skirt…"
"I know what I said!"
"The subject seems to be on your mind quite a bit, my lady."
"I wonder why," she retorted with unmistakable satire. It was impossible to ignore the manly feel of him against her.
"Because you lust after my body?" he asked, feigning innocence.
Erienne caught her breath in outrage. "I am a married woman, sir!"
He heaved a laborious sigh. "Here we go again!"
"Oh, you buffoon! Why don't you leave me alone?"
"Did I ask you to follow me?" he protested.
She groaned aloud in frustration. "I'm sorry I did!"
"Were you bruised?" He snuggled her closer against his body. "You feel all right to me."
"Christopher, if I weren't so afraid of this horse, I'd slap you," she threatened.
"Why? I only inquired of your health."
"Because you make free with your hands! Now, stop that!" She threw away the hand that had settled on her thigh. "Don't you ever get tired of playing the rake?"
"The sport warms and excites me, madam," he said, chuckling in her ear.

-Erienne & Christopher ~ Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

I'm sure the next time Piers Morgan asks me to host his show again I will ask President Obama to be my guest. ~ Harvey Weinstein

Books,' I say sleepily. 'They don't change either. If you read a book and look at it again later on, it's still the same thing. But it's exciting all over again. ~ Truus Matti

They couldn't talk. They were not good talkers, either of them. And once, long ago now, she had bought a notebook for a course. It lay empty and forgotten on the kitchen table until one afternoon, when she had gone out to the shops and he was worried that she would be killed by a bus or by lightning, he opened the notebook and he wrote lines about how he loved her, the way he loved her, about his fucking heart and crap like that, about his body brimful and his scrambled head. All that. She came back from the shops. He left the notebook where it was, and he didn't mention it. And it wasn't until about a week later that he noticed it again, and he flicked it open, and he saw his lines followed by lines from her. She'd written words that she had never said. He sat down. He read them over and over for a long time. Then he wrote a paragraph for her to find. ~ Keith Ridgway

Hey, Buddy," he said to me. I got a close-up view of his strange, light blue eyes and golden skin as he threw his arms around me and kept walking right over me. I had to throw my arms around him, too, to keep from thudding flat on my back on the dock.
"Oh, pardon me!" he said, pulling me out from under him and setting me on my feet again. "I didn't even see you there."
"That's quite all right," I managed in the same fake-formal tone. His warm hands still held my waist. This was the first time a boy had ever touched my bare tummy. My happy skin sent shocked messages to my brain that went something like, He's touching me! Are you getting this? He's touching me! Eeeeeeee! My brain got it, all right, and put the rest of my body on high alert. My heart thumped painfully, just like in my dream.
But as I looked into his eyes, I saw he was already gone, glancing up the stairs to the marina. If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd been flirting with me. I knew better. He treated all girls this way.
He slid out of my grasp. He may have had to shake one hand violently to extricate it from my friendly vise-like grip. "See you later, Junior," he threw over his shoulder at me as he climbed the steps to the marina. ~ Jennifer Echols

A few months later I got a call from a close friend, Jeff Bloch.
"I was reading in Men's Health that they're going to do a search for a regular guy to put on the cover," Jeff said.
He went on to tell me that Men's Health usually only had celebrities on their cover, but they were teaming up with Kenneth Cole to do this "Ultimate Guy Search," and Jeff thought I should enter. During my Army days I used to tell the guys that I'd be on the cover of Men's Health someday. Back then it was a real pie-in-the-sky dream, but I thought about it a lot. I even thought about it again after I was injured and started to design my own workouts. I thought I had a legit story for them. But of course it wasn't a reality until Jeff's call. ~ Noah Galloway

She touched his cheek. "I wondered what love felt like," she said. "Now I know." He crushed her to his chest again. There was no pretense with her. He kissed her again, not caring to hold back the depth of his love. His breathing was ragged when he raised his head. "Oh Addie, Addie, what did I do before you came into my life?" Tears shone on her lashes. "I don't think I lived before tonight." "We must be married. Quite soon, darling girl. I can't wait for long." "I'd marry you tonight," she said. "Right now." He traced the curve of her cheek with his finger. "I'll ask your father for your hand tonight." A shadow darkened the joy in her eyes. "What about Lord Carrington?" "What about him?" "Father seems quite set on a match with him." She wet her lips. "I've been thinking about what you said. That God might be disciplining him. You might be right. ~ Colleen Coble

it is one thing to explain that mortality in general is good for
people in general. It is something else again to try to tell someone who has lost a parent, a wife, or a child, that death is good. We
don't dare try to do that. It would be cruel and thoughtless. All we can say to someone at a time like that is that vulnerability to death is
one of the given conditions of life. We can't explain it any more than we can explain life itself. We can't control it, or sometimes even
postpone it. All we can do is try to rise beyond the question "Why did it happen?" and begin to ask the question "What do I do now that
it has happened? ~ Harold S. Kushner

But no, music lasted longer than anything it inspired. After LPs, cassettes, and CDs, when matrimony was about to decay into its component elements - alimony and acrimony - the songs startled him and regained all their previous, pre-Rachel meanings, as if they had not only conjured her but then dismissed her, as if she had been entirely their illusion. He listened to the old songs again, years later on that same dark promenade, when every CD he had ever owned sat nestled in that greatest of all human inventions, the iPod, dialed up and yielding to his fingertip's tap. The songs now offered him, in exchange for all he had lost, the sensation that there was something still to long for, still, something still approaching, and all that had gone before was merely prologue to an unimaginably profound love yet to seize him. If there was any difference now, it was only that his hunger for music had become more urgent, less a daily pleasure than a daily craving. ~ Arthur Phillips

Ask me to cut off my right arm for you, and I'll do it. Ask me to lay down my life for you, and I'll do it. But Please don't ask me to give you up now that I've found you again. Don't ask that, Amy ~ Catherine Anderson

7. Write down each thing you want to buy and don't look at it again until 30 days later. Or enforce a one day wait for every $100 you plan on spending on some non-essential items. This will enable you to avoid impulse buys and realize that the merchandize you think you must have now are really unnecessary. ~ Ron Tomby

I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow. ~ George R R Martin

I rest my elbows on my knees, watching Paco make a complete fool of himself.
Paco takes a little white golf ball and places it on top of a rubber circle inserted into the fake grass. When he swings the golf club, I wince. The club misses the ball and connects with the fake grass instead. Paco swears. The guy next to Paco takes one look at him and moves to another section.
Paco tries again. This time the club connects, but his ball only rolls along the grass in front of him. He keeps trying, but each time Paco swings, he makes a complete ass out of himself. Does he think he's hitting a hockey puck?
"You done?" I ask once he's gone through half the basket.
"Alex," Paco says, leaning on the golf club like it's a cane. "Do ya think I was meant to play golf?"
Looking Paco straight in the eye, I answer, "No."
"I heard you talkin' to Hector. I don't think you were mean to deal, either."
"Is that why we're here? You're tryin' to make a point?"
"Hear me out," Paco insists. "I've got the keys to the car in my pocket and I'm not goin' nowhere until I finish hittin' all of these bulls, so you might as well listen. I'm not smart like you. I don't have choices in life, but you, you're smart enough to go to college and be a doctor or computer geek or somethin' like that. Just like I wasn't meant to hit golf balls, you weren't meant to deal drugs. Let me do the drop for you."
"No way, man. I appreciate you makin' an ass out of yourself to prove a ~ Simone Elkeles

You ask yourself: where are your dreams now? And you shake your head and say how swiftly the years fly by! And you ask yourself again: what have you done with your best years, then? Where have you buried the best days of your life? Have you lived or not? Look, you tell yourself, look how cold the world is becoming. The years will pass and after them will come grim loneliness, and old age, quaking on its stick, and after them misery and despair. Your fantasy world will grow pale, your dreams will fade and die, falling away like the yellow leaves from the trees ... Ah, Nastenka! Will it not be miserable to be left alone, utterly alone, and have nothing even to regret - nothing, not a single thing ... because everything I have lost was nothing, stupid, a round zero, all dreaming and no more! ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Dear Jessa, I've started this letter so many times and I've never been able to finish it. So here goes again . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry that Riley is dead. I'm sorry for ignoring your emails and for not being there for you. I'm sorry I've hurt you. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish it had been me that died and not Riley. If I could go back in time and change everything I would. I'm sorry I left without a word. There's no excuse for my behaviour but please know that it had nothing to do with you. I was a mess. I haven't been able to talk to anyone for months. And I felt too guilty and didn't know how to tell you the truth about what happened. I couldn't bear the thought of you knowing. I got all your emails but I didn't read them until last week. I couldn't face it and I guess that makes me the biggest coward you'll ever meet. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never replied. You needed me and I wasn't there for you. I don't even know how to ask your forgiveness because I don't deserve it. I'm just glad you're doing better. I'm better too. I've started seeing a therapist – twice a week – you'd like her. She reminds me of Didi. I never thought I'd be the kind of guy who needed therapy, but they made it a condition of me keeping my job. She's helped me a lot with getting the panic attacks under control. Working in a room the size of a janitor's closet helps too – there aren't too many surprises, only the occasional rogue paperclip. I asked for the posting. I have to thank you ~ Mila Gray

When the store was empty again, I buried my head in my hands. I hadn't realized how much Josh had been helping me get through the summer until he wasn't there anymore. I wanted him to ask me how the Sky was. And then I wanted him to make it stop raining. ~ Heather Demetrios

Anya, you aren't getting' this but two weeks ago when you walked into my bedroom to use my phone, the life you been livin' which isn't all that good got better. A fuckuva lot better. Because I'm gonna make it that way. And in return, I'm gonna ask very little of you. And right now, all I'm askin' is for you to hang here until I come home so I can spent more time with you since I probably not gonna see you again for another week. ~ Kristen Ashley

Somehow I had a premonition of what I so often felt at later times: that you did not have the right to open a single book unless you engaged to read them all. With every line you read, you were breaking off a portion of the world. Before books, the world was intact, and afterwards it might be restored to wholeness once again. But how was I, who could not read, to take up the challenge laid down by all of them? ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

The cotton swab softly moved across my face, leaving a pleasant coolness behind. It swept over my forehead, down my nose, on the sides of my cheeks, and across my chin. It relaxed me and I melted. And slowly, I began to fall asleep. I considered reupping for another hour.
But then I felt the burning.
"Oooh," I said, opening my eyes. "Cindy, this doesn't feel right."
"Oh, good," Cindy said, sounding unconcerned. "You're starting to feel it now?"
Seconds later, I was in severe pain. "Oh, I'm more feeling it," I answered, gripping the arms of the chair until my knuckles turned white.
"Well, it should stop here in a second…," she insisted. "It's just working its magic--"
My face was melting off. "Ouch! Ow! Seriously, Cindy! Take this stuff off my face! It's killing me!"
"Oh, dear…okay, okay," Cindy answered, quickly grabbing a soaked washcloth and quickly wiping the nuclear solution from my skin. Finally, the intense burning began to subside.
"Gosh," I said, trying to be nice. "I don't think that's something I want to try again." I swallowed hard, trying to will the pain receptors to stop firing.
"Hmmm," Cindy said, perplexed. "I'm sorry it stung a little. But you'll love it tomorrow morning when you wake up! Your skin will look so fresh and dewy."
It better, I thought as I paid Cindy for the torture and left the tiny salon. My face tingled, and not at all in a good way. And as I walked to my car, the floodgates of wedding worry o ~ Ree Drummond

Ant 1: So, uh, do you ever worry that your itsy little neck is just going to snap under the weight of your head?
Ant 2: Stop asking me that. You ask me that, like, every five minutes.
Ant 1: Sometimes I notice my antennae out of the corner of my eye and I'm all, like: AHH! Something is on me! Get it off! Get it off!
Ant 2: Yeah, the antennae again. Listen, I just remembered, I have to go walk around aimlessly now. ~ Jim Benton

We no longer ask of a judicial ruling or a legislative act: is it good? Is it fair? Is it just? Is it right? Will it help bring about a better society or a better world? Those used to be the political questions, even if they invited no easy answers. We must learn once again to pose them. ~ Tony Judt

... .I thought we'd be okay apart, but I was sorely mistaken. I don't need much, Haven, but I do need you."
"I need you, too, you know," she said. "You make me feel safe."
Despite everything, she trusted him. She believed in him. She loved him.
And he loved her . . . more than anything in the world. She had given herself to him again, every barrier between them broken down. All of those unanswered questions, all of the worry, every single bit of it had been resolved the moment they came back together.
"Haven," he said. "If I could have anything, I know what I'd ask for now."
She pulled back from their hug to look at him with genuine curiosity. "What?"
Carmine took a step back, reaching around his neck to pull off the gold chain. He unfastened it, removing the small ring, and eyed it in his palm momentarily before dropping to his knee.
"If I could have anything in the world, it would be for you to marry me. ~ J.M. Darhower

A long marriage is complicated. So complicated, in fact, that most people in one sometimes ask themselves: 'Am I still married because I'm in love, or just because I can't be bothered to let anyone else get to know me this well again? ~ Fredrik Backman

Here he is, the epitome of self-improvement, like I knew a more primitive and lesser form of him. He wasn't a full person then, but now he is complete.Not completed by me, not at all. He's making damn sure I don't accidentally think that. And he smiles at me, the way you'd smile at a stranger, or at someone you know you're never going to see again, awkward but comforting like the encounter was not as unpleasant as it could have been. I want to snatch a hold of his shoulders and ask if he's fucking kidding me. If he's done. Because it seems to me like he is, but he's not allowed to be if I'm not. ~ Anna Green

My style also has a lot to do with theater because often I'm imagining I'm a character who is wandering by a wall and leaves a mark. Then I'm someone else, who 10 days later leaves another mark. Someone was angry and did this, and then someone came and painted over it, and then the sun bleached it out and the weather exposed it again. ~ Jose Parla

What everyone agreed was not very nice, was the way Clémence had carried on. Obviously, she wasn't the kind of girl you'd ask again: she'd ended up showing off everything she'd got, and she'd puked all down one of the muslin curtains and completely ruined it. At least the men did go into the street to do it; Lorilleux and Poisson, when they felt queer, managed to dash as far as the pork-butcher's shop. Breeding always tells. ~ Emile Zola

He ran a finger along the border against my skin, then followed some of the stretch marks across my belly. "I never knew about these," he said.
"They showed up later." I tried to cover them, but he pushed my hands away.
"They're beautiful." He began kissing each pale line, hip to stomach and back down again. "It's proof that Finn was once here. ~ Deanna Roy

Flambeau, once the most famous criminal in France and later a very private detective in England, had long retired from both professions. Some say a career of crime had left him with too many scruples for a career of detection. Anyhow, after a life of romantic escapes and tricks of evasion, he had ended at what some might consider an appropriate address; a castle in Spain. [ ... ] Flambeau had casually and almost abruptly fallen in love with a Spanish lady, married and brought up a large family on a Spanish estate, without displaying any apparent desire to stray again beyond its borders. ~ G.K. Chesterton

Now a witness was called who testified that he found Muff Potter washing in the brook, at an early hour of the morning that the murder was discovered, and that he immediately sneaked away. After some further questioning, counsel for the prosecution said: "Take the witness." The prisoner raised his eyes for a moment, but dropped them again when his own counsel said: "I have no questions to ask him." The next witness proved the finding of the knife near the corpse. Counsel for the prosecution said: "Take the witness." "I have no questions to ask him," Potter's lawyer replied. A third witness swore he had often seen the knife in Potter's possession. "Take the witness." Counsel for Potter declined to question him. The faces of the audience began to betray annoyance. Did this attorney mean to throw away his client's life without an effort? ~ Mark Twain

You want me to let you go?" I ask, leaning down, pausing just shy of her lips.
"Yes."
"Ask nicely," I tell her. "Say 'Lorenzo Gambini, I beg of you, please, let me go and I'll suck your dick.'"
She laughs again, harder. "You wish."
"I do," I say. "No doubt about it."
"Lorenzo Gambini," she whispers between kisses, "I beg of you, please... fuck me."
I kiss her once more before pulling back, shifting position, smirking. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."
I thrust hard, sliding right in first goddamn try.
BAM. ~ J.M. Darhower

Mamaw often told a parable: A young man was sitting at home when a terrible rainstorm began. Within hours, the man's house began to flood, and someone came to his door offering a ride to higher ground. The man declined, saying, "God will take care of me." A few hours later, as the waters engulfed the first floor of the man's home, a boat passed by, and the captain offered to take the man to safety. The man declined, saying, "God will take care of me." A few hours after that, as the man waited on his roof - his entire home flooded - a helicopter flew by, and the pilot offered transportation to dry land. Again the man declined, telling the pilot that God would care for him. Soon thereafter, the waters overcame the man, and as he stood before God in heaven, he protested his fate: "You promised that you'd help me so long as I was faithful." God replied, "I sent you a car, a boat, and a helicopter. Your death is your own fault. ~ J.D. Vance

The following morning, I swore to myself that I would not try to find out where Esther was living. For two years, I had unconsciously preferred to believe that she had been forced to leave, that she had been kidnapped or was being blackmailed by some terrorist group. Now that I knew she was alive and well (that was what the young man had told me), why try to see her again? My ex-wife had the right to look for happiness, and I should respect her decision. This idea lasted a little more than four hours; later in the afternoon, I went to a church, lit a candle and made another promise, this time a sacred, ritual promise: to try and find her. Marie ~ Paulo Coelho

Mel? Mel, I love you. Mel, come back . Mel, Mel, Mel."
It's Jared's voice, trying to call me back the way Wanda called back the Healer's host, the way she taught Kyle to call to Jodi.
I can answer him. I can speak now. I can feel my tongue in my mouth, ready to move into whatever shape I ask it to. I can feel the air in my lungs, ready to push out the words. If I want this.
"Mel, I love you, I love you."
This is Wanda's gift to me, paid for with her silver blood. Jared and I, put back together again as if she'd never lived. As if she hadn't saved us both.
If I accept this gift, I profit from her death. I kill her again. I take her sacrifice and make it murder.
"Mel, please? Open your eyes."
I feel his hand on my face, cradling my cheek. I feel his lips burn against my forehead, but I don't want them, not at this price.
Or do I? ~ Stephenie Meyer

Sweet music It beats love because there aren't any wounds: in the morning she turns on the radio, Brahms or Ives or Stravinsky or Mozart. She boils the eggs counting the seconds out loud: 56, 57, 58 ... she peels the eggs, brings them to me in bed. After breakfast it's the same chair and listen to the classical music. She's on her first glass of scotch and her third cigarette. I tell her I must go to the racetrack. She's been here about 2 nights and 2 days. "When will I see you again?" I ask. She suggests that might be up to me. I nod and Mozart plays. ~ Charles Bukowski