Bad Girls Of The Bible Quotes

Fun is temporary at best; it's risky, even dangerous, at worst. Joy, on the other hand, was mystery I couldn't seem to decipher. ~ Liz Curtis Higgs

He'd learned in the past few months that telling a girl what to wear
even one the size of a golf club
was a bad idea. Histrionics often followed. ~ Kristin Hannah

And then he kissed me.
I've been kissed before - plenty of times - some good, some bad, but I don't think I've ever been kissed quite like how Ben kissed me.
I've had other girls tell me that sometimes, when the right man kisses them, it's like the entire world disappears and it's just the two of them - connected by some sort of pseudo-magical connection. Like fairytale perfection from some childhood tale.
There was nothing childlike, nor innocent about the way Ben kissed me. When our lips met, when our tongues tangled, it was like nothing I've ever felt before. It wasn't a kiss - it was a promise, a promise which suggested that if I let him into my bed, there'd be indentations in my four-poster from the ties he'd use to fasten me there... ~ Chelsey Nichols

I grew up in a community where it was not the exception to be a good girl. It was sort of expected. And all of my friends were good girls too, and my boyfriends were good boys. Everybody was pretty nice. And that affects how I write my characters. There aren't very many bad guys in my novels. ~ Stephenie Meyer

Books were an antidepressant, a powerful SSRI. She'd always been one of those girls with socked feet tucked under her, her mouth slightly open in stunned, almost doped-up concentration. All written words danced in a chain for her, creating corresponding images as clear as the boy from Iran's bouncing family. She had learned to read before kindergarten, when she'd first suspected that her parents weren't all that interested in her. Then she'd kept going, plowing through children's books with their predictable anthropomorphism, heading eventually into the strange and beautiful formality of the nineteenth century, and pushing backward and forward into histories of bloody wars, into discussions of God and godlessness. What she responded to most powerfully, sometimes even physically, were novels. Once Greer read Anna Karenina for such a long, unbroken bout that her eyes grew strained and bloodshot, and she had to lie in bed with a washcloth over them as if she herself were a literary heroine from the past. Novels had accompanied her throughout her childhood, that period of protracted isolation, and they would probably do so during whatever lay ahead in adulthood. Regardless of how bad it got at Ryland, she knew that at least she would able to read there, because this was college, and reading was what you did. ~ Meg Wolitzer

When bad girls perform to get their needs met, they get in trouble. When good girls perform to get the same thing, we get praise. That is why the hiding is so easy for us. We work hard, we do right, and we try not to ruffle feathers. And even if we do all that by the strength of our own selves, we tell ourselves it's okay. It seems to work, therefore it's acceptable. ~ Emily P. Freeman

As he breathed the black and grey air into his body he no longer thought of anything as lovely, the way the retiring trees of his boyhood had been; for everything was made up of dirt-clods; and you do construct a mountain from molehills or other over-codified facts. If only the cities had been dynamited before it was too late for him! -- That Pol Pot sure had the right idea, blowing down those ticky-tacky rice paper offices and illuminating the middlemen with bullets of vanguardist light so everyone could get back to the country, don't you think? -- As things stood, even had Bug been able to cover the earth again with forests, after having lived so long in the excremental piles of cement and rusted steel he never could have seen trees as more than tedious identical dirty giant toothpicks unfit to be taken into the mouth' his summer camp, as a dishwasher jail where you breathed in the steam of bad food; and the islands to which he had rowed, as sad unwholesome protuberances, polyps and land-cancers still in the stink of the outhouse -- and all the girls had long since grown up completely to make travesties of their lives, even though some inherited great riches as we used to reckon riches in those days. -- But surely this change in him was necessary, for without wretchedness and degradation of self one will never accomplish anything. ~ William T. Vollmann

Like most girls, I want a lot. Fame and fortune. Equal rights. Shoes no one else has. But I'd trade all that in for the perfect guy. (Don't tell me there's something wrong with that. I don't know of a single person who doesn't spend most of her time thinking about love.) Anyway, ever since I could think, I have been imagining and reimagining the exact sort of boy I want to love and who would love me back. Basically, I imagine someone who has all the good attributes of the male species and whose bad ones wouldn't ruin my life. ~ Sarah Miller

Then the concerts came to an end, the weather turned bad and my girls left Balbec, not all at once, as the swallows leave, but within the same week. ~ Marcel Proust

I don't see any option except to stick to the plan. Split up, infiltrate, find out why they're here. If things go bad - " "We use the backup plan," Piper said. Jason hated the backup plan. Before they left the ship, Leo had given each of them an emergency flare the size of a birthday candle. Supposedly, if they tossed one in the air, it would shoot upward in a streak of white phosphorus, alerting the Argo II that the team was in trouble. At that point, Jason and the girls would have a few seconds to take cover before the ship's catapults fired on their position, engulfing the palace in Greek fire and bursts of Celestial bronze shrapnel. ~ Rick Riordan

His jaw clenched. "Okay, so I guess trying to let you down easy was a bad idea--"

"This is your idea of letting me down easy? Breaking up with me so you can screw other girls? Without feeling guilty? Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

The last thing I thought before I picked up my econ textbook and hurled it at him: How can he use such a piece-of-shit cliche in a moment like this? ~ Tammara Webber

The days passed. Success went fizzily to Bernard's head, and in the process completely reconciled him (as any good intoxicant should do) to a world which, up till then, he had found very unsatisfactory. In so far as it recognized him as important, the order of things was good. But, reconciled by his success he yet refused to forgo the privilege of criticizing this order. For the act of criticizing heightened his sense of importance, made him feel larger. Moreover, he did genuinely believe that there were things to criticize. (At the same time, he genuinely liked being a success and having all the girls he wanted.) Before those who now, for the sake of the Savage, paid their court to him, Bernard would parade a carping unorthodoxy. He was politely listened to. But behind his back people shook their heads. 'That young man will come to a bad end,' they said, prophesying the more confidently in that they themselves would in due course personally see to it that the end was bad. 'He won't find another Savage to help him out a second time,' they said. Meanwhile, however, there was the first Savage; they were polite. And because they were polite, Bernard felt positively gigantic - gigantic and at the same time light with elation, lighter than air. ~ Aldous Huxley

Je suis ce que je suis." – Death
"Is that a spell?" – Nick
"It's French, Nick. Means 'I am what I am.' Sheez, kid. Get educated. Read a book. I promise you it's not painful." – Death
"I would definitely argue that. Have you seen my summer reading list? It's nothing but girl books about them getting body parts and girl things I don't want to discuss in class with my female English teacher. Maybe in the boys' locker room and maybe with a coach, but not with a woman teacher in front of other girls who already won't go out with me. Or worse, they're about how bad all of us men reek and how we need to be taken out and shot 'cause we're an affront to all social and natural orders. Again – thanks, Teach. Give the girls even more reason to kick us down when we talk to one. Not like it's not hard enough to get up the nerve to ask one out. Can you say inappropriate content? And then they tell me my manga's bad. Riiight…Is it too much to ask that we have one book, just one, on the required reading list that says, 'Hey, girls. Guys are fun and we're okay. Really. We're not all mean psycho-killing, bloodsucking animals. Most of us are pretty darn decent, and if you'll just give us a chance, you'll find out we're not so bad.'" – Nick ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Few people understood the exceptional role the civil rights movement had on the white boys and girls of the South. Bill Clinton would never have become who he was without the shining example of Martin Luther King. The same is true of Jimmy Carter and Fritz Hollings and Richard and Joe Riley. Imagine this: you're a little white kid and you watch firehoses turned on people who don't seem to be hurting anyone, and fierce dogs being tuned on young men who carry signs about freedom. We white kids grew up watching movies and TV and guess what we had learned to do? We had learned to tell the good guys from the bad guys. ~ Pat Conroy

The God of impotence made her eyes flame. Mine too. I thought: I am going to die. Whoever sees God must die. It is written in the Bible. I had never quite understood that: why should God be allied with death? Why should He want to kill a man who succeeded in seeing Him? Now, everything became clear. God was ashamed. God likes to sleep with twelve-year old girls. And He Doesn't want us to know. Whoever sees it or guesses it must die so as not to divulge the secret. Death is only the guard who protects God, the doorkeeper of the immense brothel that we call the universe. I am going to die, I thought. And my fingers, clenched around my throat, kept pressing harder and harder, against my will. ~ Elie Wiesel

Have you found it different having girls in the house?"
He cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah."
"Would you care to elaborate?"
"Nope."
I looked up from my writing. "If you don't elaborate, it's going to be a very short article."
"Look, I've already gotten into it once tonight--"
"Are you implying I'm hard to live with? Is that why you won't comment further? Because you think I'll be offended? I won't be."
"No further comment."
I sighed, tempted to toss the recorder at him.
"Okay, then, we'll move on. What's been the most difficult aspect of living with us?"
There was silence, but it was the kind where you can sense someone wants to speak but doesn't. Jason was so incredibly still, as though he was weighing consequences.
"Not kissing you," he finally said, quietly.
My heart did this little stutter. I just stared at him as the recorder continued to run, searching for sound. My hand was shaking when I reached over and turned it off.
"But you did kiss me, and you said it was a mistake."
"Because getting involved with you is a bad idea, on so many levels."
"Care to share one of those levels?"
"I'm living in your house. Your parents are giving me a roof over my head. Your mom brings home extra takeout. I'm here only for the summer. Then I'm back at school." He reached up, removed the ice pack from around his shoulder, and set it on the table. "And Mac? After we went to Dave and Bubba's, he comes out to the ~ Rachel Hawthorne

And against whom is this censorship directed? By way of answer, think back to the big subcultural debates of 2011 – debates about how gritty fantasy isn't really fantasy; how epic fantasy written from the female gaze isn't really fantasy; how women should stop complaining about sexism in comics because clearly, they just hate comics; how trying to incorporate non-Eurocentric settings into fantasy is just political correctness gone wrong and a betrayal of the genre's origins; how anyone who finds the portrayal of women and relationships in YA novels problematic really just wants to hate on the choices of female authors and readers; how aspiring authors and bloggers shouldn't post negative reviews online, because it could hurt their careers; how there's no homophobia in publishing houses, so the lack of gay YA protagonists can only be because the manuscripts that feature them are bad; how there's nothing problematic about lots of pretty dead girls on YA covers; how there's nothing wrong with SF getting called 'dystopia' when it's marketed to teenage girls, because girls don't read SF. Most these issues relate to fear of change in the genre, and to deeper social problems like sexism and racism; but they are also about criticism, and the freedom of readers, bloggers and authors alike to critique SFF and YA novels without a backlash that declares them heretical for doing so.


It's not enough any more to tiptoe around the issues that matter, refusing to name the wor ~ Foz Meadows

His sisters
my aunts
did not go to school at all, just like millions of girls in my country. Education had been a great gift for him. He believed that lack of education was the root of all of Pakistan's problems. Ignorance allowed politicians to fool people and bad administrators to be re-elected. He believed schooling should be available for all, rich and poor, boys and girls. The school that my father dreamed of would have desks and a library, computers, bright posters on the walls and, most important, washrooms. ~ Malala Yousafzai

My apologies, see, I forgot my manners.
I get on the mic 'cause it's my life. You show off for girls and cameras.
You a pop star, not a rapper. A Vanilla Ice or a Hammer.
Y'all hear this crap he dumping out? Somebody get him a Pamper.
And a crown for me. The best have heard about me.
You can only spell "brilliant" by first spelling Bri.
You see, naturally, I do my shit with perfection.
Better call a bodyguard 'cause you gon' need some protection,
And on this here election, the people crown a new leader.
You didn't see this coming, and your ghostwriters didn't either.
I came here to ether. I'm sorry to do this to you.
This is no longer a battle, it's your funeral, boo. I'm murdering you.
On my corner they call me coroner, I'm warning ya.
Tell the truth, this dude is borin' ya.
You confused like a foreigner. I'll explain with ease:
You're just a casualty in the reality of the madness of Bri.
No fallacies, I spit maladies, causin' fatalities,
And do it casually, damaging rappers without bandaging.
Imagining managing my own label, my own salary.
And actually, factually, there's no MC that's as bad as me.
Milez? That's cute. But it don't make me cower.
I move at light speed, you stuck at per hour.
You spit like a lisp. I spit like a high power.
Bri's the future, and you Today like Matt Lauer.
You coward. But you're a G? It ain't convincing to me.
You talk ab ~ Angie Thomas

The aim of education is to fit children for the position in life which they are hereafter to occupy. Boys are to be sent out intothe world to buffet with its temptations, to mingle with bad and good, to govern and direct ... girls are to dwell in quiet homes, amongst a few friends; to exercise a noiseless influence, to be submissive and retiring. There is no connection between the bustling mill-wheel life of a large school and that for which they are supposed to be preparing ... to educate girls in crowds is to educate them wrongly. ~ Elizabeth Missing Sewell

My high school experience was kind of like 'Mean Girls.' It was very much like a bad B movie. 'This is where the jocks sit, and this is where the cheerleaders sit.' And I never really fit in. I guess I was sort of a theatre geek, but the activity that I was most invested in was speech and debate. ~ Andie MacDowell

We spend too much time teaching girls to worry about what boys think of them. But the reverse is not the case. We don't teach boys to care about being likable. We spend too much time telling girls that they cannot be angry or aggressive or tough, which is bad enough, but then we turn around and either praise or excuse men for the same reasons. All over the world, there are so many magazine articles and books telling women what to do, how to be and not to be, in order to attract or please men. There are far fewer guides for men about pleasing women. ~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

You're not so bad-looking yourself. A bit too clean, like a metrosexual fella. Probably got a bunch of antiaging cream in your bathroom or something, but you in Dixie now, boy. You walk around looking pretty and these Southern girls will scratch your eyes out because they're afraid you'll tempt their husbands into committing horrible, unnatural sins." "I should hope so." "It's the least you could ~ Nick Wilgus

I was reading Raymond Chandler very much with the feminist eye. In six of his seven novels, it's the woman who presents herself in a sexual way, who is the main bad person. And then you start reading more fiction, whether crime fiction or straight fiction, it's just bad girls trying to make good boys do bad things, going all the way back to Adam and Eve. The woman that thou gavest me made me do it, Adam says to God. ~ Sara Paretsky

Life is a sum made up of small parts, Kacie. Some are good; some are bad. You and the girls are definitely one of the good. The best good there is and I'll fight like hell to keep you here. ~ Beth Ehemann

A musical laugh sprang free, her happy smile trailing behind, and I was in heaven. "Until you," she agreed. She squinted one eye and added, "Though you should know, I'm probably gonna be really, really bad at it."
The expression on her face said she honestly believed it, and I couldn't wait to prove her wrong. I leaned close to her ear and whispered across her skin, "That's impossible."
Peyton's breath caught in a gasp, and I angled back to see her face.
That's when the moment changed.
Sounds of the emptying baseball field fell away. The cool air around us kindled. The soft smile on her face faded as she looked into my eyes, shifting her gaze between them to see what I'd do next. Part of me wondered the same thing.
I'd kissed dozens of girls before. Some I wanted, others purely because I was bored. But I'd never felt anything like this. Anticipation. Want. Fear. Unlike any other kiss I'd ever shared, this one needed to be epic. Girls remembered their first kiss for the rest of their lives, and I had to leave Peyton with something good to cling to later… when I inevitably screwed everything up.
Gauging her reaction, I slowly lowered my head and watched her soft lips part. Adrenaline surged through my veins at the swipe of her tongue. She nodded once, silently giving me permission, then closed her eyes.
Inhaling the scent of sunflowers, I kissed her. ~ Rachel Harris

There are things I need to ask her. Not what happened, back then in the time I lost, because now I know that. I need to ask her why.
If she remembers. Perhaps she's forgotten the bad things, what she said to me, what she did. Or she does remember them, but in a minor way, as if remembering a game, or a single prank, a single trivial secret, of the kind girls tell and then forget.
She will have her own version. I am not the centre of her story, because she herself is that. But I could give her something you can never have, except from another person: what you look like from outside. A reflection. This is part of herself I could give back to her.
We are like the twins in old fables, each of whom has been given half a key. ~ Margaret Atwood

He was scowling. "What the hell? If I had a daughter and she was dating a guy like me, I'd take him out back and threaten him with a shotgun to make sure he treated her right."

Kit's mouth fell open. "You?"

"Yeah." He folded his arms, his scowl growing heavier. "Jeez, Kit, he didn't even tell me to be good to you. That's bullshit."

Realizing he was dead serious, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "Where did you pick up this chivalrous instinct?"

"My father," he said, the sneer that usually accompanied any mention of Robert St. John missing from his voice. "He's a son of a bitch, but he brought me up to look after any women under my care."

"Under your care?" Kit raised an eyebrow. "Chauvinistic much?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe it is, but I'm not changing. My imaginary daughters are never dating musicians. Ever."

Stomach somersaulting at the idea of little girls with Noah's features and talent, she shook her head. "Noah St. John, bad boy of rock and concerned father of imaginary daughters. Hell hath frozen over and become an ice rink. ~ Nalini Singh

As bad as my lips wanted to kiss her, my brain wouldn't allow me to go through with it. Maybe it was the way her eyes were staring right through me. The way my heart was hammering out of my chest.
I never thought twice about it with other girls, but the thing was, Layla wasn't just another girl. Something was different with her. Something that told me everything would change the first second our lips met. Not just everything between us, but everything in my life. ~ T. Torrest

A pretty face had been damaged by acne scars and she wore and extra forty pounds on her frame like a threat. Her eyes were dull with anger disguised as apathy. If she kept on her current path, she'd grow into the type of person who fed her kids Doritos for breakfast and purchased angry bumper stickers with lots of exclamation points. But right now, she was just another in a long line of pissed-off small-town girls with a shitty outlook. ~ Dennis Lehane

Sometimes," she told me, "a girl will give a guy a blow job at the end of the night because she doesn't want to have sex with him and he expects to be satisfied. So if I want him to leave and I don't want anything to happen . . ." She trailed off, leaving me to imagine the rest.

There was so much to unpack in that short statement: why a young man should expect to be sexually satisfied; why a girl not only isn't outraged, but considers it her obligation to comply; why she doesn't think a blow job constitutes "anything happening"; the pressure young women face in any personal relationship to put others' needs before their own; the potential justification of assault with a chaser of self-blame. "It goes back to girls feeling guilty," Anna said. "If you go to a guy's room and are hooking up with him, you feel bad leaving him without pleasing him in some way. But, you know, it's unfair. I don't think he feels badly for you."

In their research on high school girls and oral sex, April Burns, a professor of psychology at City University of New York, and her colleagues found that girls thought of fellatio kind of like homework: a chore to get done, a skill to master, one on which they expected to be evaluated, possibly publicly. As with schoolwork, they worried about failing or performing poorly - earning the equivalent of low marks. Although they took satisfaction in a task well done, the pleasure they described was never physical, never located in their own b ~ Peggy Orenstein

Clothes are a better place for girls to keep their histories than stories. Stories betray girls by saying what we really were according to the rules of some game we had never agreed to play. Stories are about the painful aporia of having to both appear and exist, the things done to us, what we are trying to cover up by getting dressed. But if we kept our histories in clothes, these were the annals only of our own actualization and no one would put in quotation marks the bad things the world had said our way as we walked by on the streets. ~ Anne Boyer

What happened?" Violet asked Jay, when Mike went to join the girls in the kitchen, giving them a moment alone in front of the fire.
Jay shook his head, his expression dark. "You tell me. One minute you were leaning on me, and the next you passed out. It freaked the shit out of me."
"Claire actually screamed," Chelsea added, rejoining them. She sat down on a wooden chair across from Violet. "I can't believe you didn't hear her. I'm with Jay though-it was pretty scary. You're lucky he caught you before you hit the ground."
Violet cringed. She glanced up at Jay, humiliated. "You…caught me?"
He nodded, and she could tell from the look on his face that he was enjoying this part. A lot. "You're welcome," he said with a completely straight face.
She looked at him again and rolled her eyes, stubbornly refusing to thank him after he'd already so clearly patted himself on the back.
Megan came back in, carrying a mug of hot chocolate, and Claire trailed behind her.
"Be careful," Megan warned quietly, handing it to Violet. "It's kind of hot."
Their fingertips brushed as the mug exchanged hands. Violet locked eyes with the younger girl. "Thank you." She imparted as much meaning as she could in the two simple words and hoped that it was gesture enough, even if only for herself. She felt bad for the things she'd suspected her of doing.
Megan pulled her hand away and glanced down nervously. "You're welcome." Her voice was timid and hesitant.
~ Kimberly Derting

I tell about some of the female characters from the Bible so girls can be inspired and empowered and uplifted. ~ Roma Downey

The two greatest mannequins of the century were Gertrude Stein and Edith Sitwell - unquestionably. You just couldn't take a bad picture of those two old girls ~ Diana Vreeland

Night had fallen on Manta by the time we awoke and a cooling breeze was rustling the palm fronds of the tree outside our window. We could hear laughter below as the nightlife of Manta got underway. Girls dressed for clubbing were leaving the hotel hoping to have their world rocked after a night of dancing and wake up to discover he really was Prince Charming in disguise. In truth he would be the tatted-up, dumbed-down, self-involved bad-boy they'd been drawn to like a moth to a flame after several drinks, because he was the male mirror-image of them. The tap-tap of high-heeled shoes designed to accentuate the girls' derrieres sounded like an ancient tribal mating song being drummed out on concrete. ~ Bobby Underwood

His heart actually stumbled when he remembered her pain. He immediately knelt by her head.
"Eve, how can I fix this? Tell me what to do. I'll do anything." He moved her hair out of her face.
Eve let his words lay in the room with them for a while before she uttered her blasphemous ones. "When I'm with you, it doesn't hurt as bad."
He picked her up again, surprised - now that he could think - at how much she weighed. This girl's pure muscle.
He sat on the couch with her on his lap. Starting over. "I'm so sorry, Eve."
Eve touched the new marks on his chest, lines that linked all his past violence with a path of red, new pain. "I know you are, Beck. I know you are. ~ Debra Anastasia

Nothin very bad happen to me lately.
How you explain that? --I explain that, Mr
Bones,
terms o' your bafflin odd sobriety.
Sober as man can get, no girls, no telephones,
what could happen bad to Mr Bones?
--If life is a handkerchief sandwich,

in a modesty of death I join my father
who dared so long agone leave me.
A bullet on a concrete stoop
close by a smothering southern sea
spreadeagled on an island, by my knee.
--You is from hunger, Mr Bones,

I offers you this handkerchief, now set
your left foot by my right foot,
shoulder to shoulder, all that jazz,
arm in arm, by the beautiful sea,
hum a little, Mr Bones.
--I saw nobody coming, so I went instead. ~ John Berryman

And it's a shame that the measure is what is not so bad instead of what is thriving and good. I look at some of my worst relationships and think, "at least he or she didn't hit me." I work from a place of gratitude for the bare minimum. I've never been in a relationship where I've had to hide nonconsensual bruises. I've never feared for my life. I've never been in a situation where I couldn't walk away. Does this make me a lucky girl? Given the stories I've seen women sharing via the hashtags #whyIstayed and #whyIleft, yes.

This is not how we should measure luck.

I have had good relationships but it's hard to trust that because what I consider good sometimes doesn't feel very good at all.

Or I am thinking about testimony and how there has been so much over the past day and some–women sharing their truths, daring to use their voices to say, "This is what happened to me. This is how I have been wronged." I've been thinking about how so much testimony is demanded of women and still, there are those who doubt our stories. There are those who think we are all lucky girls because we are still, they narrowly assume, alive.

I am weary of all our sad stories–not hearing them, but that we have these stories to tell, that there are so many. ~ Roxane Gay

I turn to head outside when the boys make their way back into the house. Kel stops in the doorway and puts his hands on his hips, then looks up at me.
"Are you my sister's boyfriend?"
I'm thrown off by his directness. I pull my jacket on and shake my head. "Um, no. Just her friend."
"She told my mom you were taking her on a date. I thought only boyfriends took girls on dates."
"Well," I pause. "Sometimes boys take girls on dates to see if they want them to be their girlfriend."
I notice Caulder standing beside me, taking in the conversation as if he's just as curious. I wasn't prepared to have to explain the rules of dating right now.
"So it's like a test?" Caulder asks. "To see if you want Layken to be your girlfriend?"
I shrug and nod. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
Kel laughs. "You aren't gonna like her. She burps a lot. And she's bossy. And she never lets me drink coffee, so she probably won't let you have any, either. And she has really bad taste in music and sings way too loud and leaves her bras all over the house. It's gross."
I laugh. "Thanks for the warning. You think it's too late to back out now?"
Kel shakes his head, missing my sarcasm completely. "No, she's already dressed so you have to take her now."
I sigh, pretending to be annoyed. "Well, it's just a few hours. Hopefully she won't burp a lot and boss me around and steal my coffee and sing to her really bad music and leave her bra in my car."
Colleen Hoover

This 'vampire' stuff is to stay right in this room. Until we have the assailant in custody we say nothing about these girls being drained of blood. No more rumors. No reports in the papers," he added, looking directly at me and ignoring my colleague from the opposition press. "The official opinion at this time is that the cause of death is 'undetermined and under investigation'. We don't want to start a panic. It's bad for police operations. It's bad for the people. And it's had for business. ~ Jeff Rice

you, and have no little girls' clothes to mend." "Yes," said Maggie. "It is with me as I used to think it would be with the poor uneasy white bear I saw at the show. I thought he must have got so stupid with the habit of turning backward and forward in that narrow space that he would keep doing it if they set him free. One gets a bad habit of being unhappy." "But I shall put you under a discipline of pleasure that will make you lose that bad habit," said Lucy, sticking the black butterfly absently in her own collar, while her eyes met Maggie's affectionately. "You dear, tiny thing," said Maggie, in one of her bursts of loving admiration, "you enjoy other people's happiness so much, I believe you would do without any of your own. I wish I were like you." "I've never been tried in that way," said Lucy. "I've always ~ George Eliot

In the library
I search for a good book.
We have many books,
says Mrs. Rose, the librarian,
and ALL of them are good.
Of course she says that. It's her job.
But do I want to read about
Trucks
Trains and
Transport?
Or even
Horses
Houses and
Hyenas?

In the fiction corner
there are pink boks
full of princesses
and girls who want to be princesses
and black books
about bad boys
and brave boys
and brawny boys.

Where is the book
about a girl
whose poems don't rhyme
and whose Granny is fading?
Pearl, says Mrs. Rose, the bell has rung.

I go back to class
empty-handed
empty headed
empty-hearted. ~ Sally Murphy

You took it with good grace when you could have sliced him to ribbons with a few words."
"I was tempted," she admitted. "But I couldn't help remembering something Mother once said."
It had been on a long-ago morning in her childhood, when she and Gabriel had still needed books stacked on their chairs whenever they sat at the breakfast table. Their father had been reading a freshly ironed newspaper, while their mother, Evangeline, or Evie, as family and friends called her, fed spoonfuls of sweetened porridge to baby Raphael in his high chair.
After Phoebe had recounted some injustice done to her by a playmate, saying she wouldn't accept the girl's apology, her mother had persuaded her to reconsider for the sake of kindness.
"But she's a bad, selfish girl," Phoebe had said indignantly.
Evie's reply was gentle but matter-of-fact. "Kindness counts the most when it's given to people who don't deserve it."
"Does Gabriel have to be kind to everyone too?" Phoebe had demanded.
"Yes, darling."
"Does Father?"
"No, Redbird," her father had replied, his mouth twitching at the corners. "That's why I married your mother- she's kind enough for two people."
"Mother," Gabriel had asked hopefully, "could you be kind enough for three people?"
At that, their father had taken a sudden intense interest in his newspaper, lifting it in front of his face. A quiet wheeze emerged from behind it.
"I'm afraid not, dear," Evie had said gently, her ~ Lisa Kleypas

I am a Scorpio, and playing the seductress appeals to me. There are a lot of women throughout film history, like Marlene Dietrich or Mae West - those are the women I was always attracted to. The bad girls. ~ Chloe Sevigny

I wanted to do pretty much a purely boy story, yes. The girls are kind of the bad guys in 'Marble Season', although that wasn't my intention. It's also a world without adults. ~ Gilbert Hernandez

Whenever one of you guys says people deal with bad stuff in their own way, it means you don't deal with it at all. You just wait for it to go away. You don't help. You don't listen. You don't call. You don't write. WE deal with it in our own way. WE deal with it. We girls. We make the meals and clean up the messes and take the crap and listen to you talk about how you're dealing with it in your own way. What way? No way! ~ Anna Quindlen

The first symptom of true love in a young man
is timidity; in a young girl, boldness. This is surprising, yet nothing is more simple. It is the two sexes tending
to approach each other and assuming, each the other's
qualities.
That day, Cosette's glance drove Marius beside himself,
and Marius' glance set Cosette to trembling. Marius went
away confident, and Cosette uneasy. From that day forth,
they adored each other.
The first thing that Cosette felt was a confused and profound
melancholy. It seemed to her that her soul had become
black since the day before. She no longer recognized it. The
whiteness of soul in young girls, which is composed of coldness
and gayety, resembles snow. It melts in love, which is
its sun.
Cosette did not know what love was. She had never heard
the word uttered in its terrestrial sense. She did not know
what name to give to what she now felt. Is any one the less ill
because one does not know the name of one's malady?
She loved with all the more passion because she loved ignorantly.
She did not know whether it was a good thing or a
bad thing, useful or dangerous, eternal or temporary, allowable
or prohibited; she loved. She would have been greatly
astonished, had any one said to her: 'You do not sleep? But
that is forbidden! You do not eat? Why, that is very bad! You
have oppressions and palpitations of the heart? That must
not ~ Victor Hugo

Girls begin to have second thoughts about the violence. Studies show they feel a considerable amount of guilt about it. They feel bad later and want to apologize. ~ Meda Chesney-Lind

Do I still 'ave an eye?" I laughed. "Still there." He straightened with a sigh. "Too bad. I hear girls take a liking to a man with an eye patch." "Yes, when the eye was lost in some wildly romantic fashion like a sword fight or pistol duel. Not from smacking it on the eyepiece of a microscope. And you hardly need any more help with the ladies. ~ Tess Oliver