Ball Perfect Mason G7 Quotes

I thought we were meeting by the field house," I call out as I make my way over.
He doesn't even turn around. "Nah, I'm pretty sure I said the parking lot."
"You definitely said the field house," I argue. Why can't he ever just admit that he's wrong?
"Geez, field house, parking lot. What difference does it make?" Mason asks. "Give it a rest, why don't you."
I shoot him a glare. "Oh, hey, Mason. Remember when your hair was long and everyone thought you were a girl?"
Ryder chuckles as he releases a perfect spiral in Mason's direction. "She's got you there."
"Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?" Mason catches the ball and cradles it against his chest, then launches it toward Ben. I just stand there watching as they continue to toss it back and forth between the three of them. Haven't they had enough football for one day?
I pull out my cell to check the time. "We should probably get going."
"I guess," Ryder says with an exaggerated sigh, like I'm putting him out or something. Which is particularly annoying since he's the one who insisted on going with me.
Ben jogs up beside me, the football tucked beneath his arm. "Where are you two off to? Whoa, you're sweaty."
I fold my arms across my damp chest. "Hey, southern girls don't sweat. We glow."
Ben snorts at that. "Says who?"
"Says Ryder's mom," I say with a grin. It's one of Laura Grace's favorite sayings--one that always makes Ryder wince.
"The hardware store," Ryder ~ Kristi Cook

I dispelled my invisibility for a few seconds in his full view, a finger resting provocatively on my lower lip, giving him a come-hither look under a streetlight. His jaw and the bottle of Żubrówka dropped at the same time. It shattered, drawing his eyes to the sidewalk, and I took the opportunity afforded by his distraction to disappear again.

"That was mean," Oberon said, watching the man look wildly around for me and pawing at his eyes as if to clear them.

Why? I asked. I've done him no harm.

"Yes, you have. You will haunt him for the rest of his life. I know from experience."

You're haunted by someone flashing you on a street corner?

"No. It was a dog park. Atticus and I were just arriving and she was leaving."

Oh, here we go.

"She was so fit and her coat was tightly curled and she had a perfect pouf on the end of her tail like a tennis ball. I saw her for maybe five seconds, until she hopped into a Honda and her human drove her away. And now I can't see a Honda without seeing her."

But that's a good thing, isn't it? Kind of romantic? A vision of perfection you can treasure forever, unspoiled by reality.

"Well, I don't know. In reality I'd like to try spoiling her, if she was in the mood."

Look, Oberon, that man is lonely. He's too skinny and sweaty, and I'm willing to bet you five cows that he's socially awkward or he wouldn't be staggering drunk at this hour. Bu ~ Kevin Hearne

You push people away, Marley. You don't realise it, but you do. You close yourself off to anyone and anything that doesn't fit in your perfect little hamster ball of life. But you can't experience love only on your own terms. It doesn't work that way. ~ Kate Lattey

All knitterly creation stems from one simple element: yarn. It is the baker's flour, the jeweler's gold, the gardener's soil. Yarn is creation, consolation, and chaos all spun together into one perfect ball. ~ Clara Parkes

YOU, Harley Ann, are my beast.
My perfect wave, my high, my one, true love.

Mason ~ When It's Least Expected ~ Heather Van Fleet

Promise me you'll let go of your anger. Don't blame God for taking me. His will is beyond our understanding, but perfect in its execution. Don't let this shake your faith. ~Nolan's mom to Nolan ~ Susan Anne Mason

He loved that woman and all her understanding. If he could have single-handedly chosen the perfect woman, not only to deal with his crap on the daily, but to embrace a way of life that most people couldn't handle, he'd pick Ruby every damn time out of a line-up of billions. She was a ball buster and an angel. ~ V. Theia

He gave her one. "It is totally unfair," he said in his most severe voice, "to engage in a snowball fight when only one combatant can make snowballs." He waited, loving the way her eyes sparkled. "Well?" Even without reading the thoughts beneath it, he could tell her touch was filled with laughter. Daemon bent down, gathered some snow, and learned how to make a snowball from snow too fluffy to pack. This, too, was similar to a basic lesson in Craft - creating a ball of witchlight - yet it required a subtler, more intrinsic knowledge of Craft than he'd ever known anyone to have. "Did the Priest teach you how to do this?" he asked as he straightened up, delighted with the perfect snowball in his hand. Jaenelle stared at him, aghast. Then she laughed. "Noooo." She quickly cocked her arm and hit him in the chest with her snowball. The next few minutes were all-out war, each of them pelting the other as fast as they could make snowballs. When it was over, Daemon was peppered with clumps of white. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. "I leave the field to you, Lady," he panted. "As well you should," she replied tartly. Daemon looked up, one eyebrow rising. ~ Anne Bishop

Being on that pitcher's mound, it's the one thing I'm really good at. The one thing I haven't fucked up. And when I'm on the field, everything else fades away. You know?" He turned to look at me, his eyes craving understanding.
I smiled and he continued. "It's like my mind is clear when I'm out there. It's not about my mom or my dad or the stupid shit I've done. It's about me, the ball, and the batter. It's the one place in the world where I feel like I'm in control. Like I have a say in what happens around me."
I stopped my head from nodding in agreement once I realized that I was doing it. "I feel that way when I'm taking pictures. Anything that I'm not seeing through my lens fades away in the background. And I get to frame my picture any way I choose. I get to dictate how it looks. What's in it. What isn't. Behind that lens I have complete control in how things are seen."
He smiled, his dimples indenting his cheeks. "You get it. ~ J. Sterling

In American Romances, her new book of essays, Rebecca Brown has a voice that is full of pop references, family stories, and the fruits of a lifetime of
in her perfect phrase - extreme reading. The voice is a hoot, and it is dead serious. This is writing with exquisite control, fully up to the task Brown takes on of playing a fierce game of beach ball with deep problems of American (and personal) history and identity. ~ Susan Stinson

Like a lot of gym teachers, Coach Babcock loved to torture his students. He felt he had failed as a teacher if his students didn't cry out for mercy. He often bragged that he held the school district's record for causing the most hysterical breakdowns in one afternoon. He used such classic forms of torture as weight training, wrestling, long-distance running, rope climing, wind spirits, chin-ups, and the occasional game of wet dodgeball (the wet ball was superloud when it hit a kid, and it left a huge red welt). But his favorite device of torment was so horrible, so truly evil, that it would drive most children to the brink of madness. It was the square dance.
For six weeks of the school year, his students suffered through the Star Promenade, the Slip the Clutch, and the Ferris Wheel. As Babcock saw it, square dancing was the most embarrassing and uncomfortable form of dancing ever created, and a perfect way to prepare his students for the crushing heartbreak of life. Square dancing was a metaphor for like- you got swung around and just when you thought you were free, you got dragged back into the dance. He really thought he was doing the kids a favor. ~ Michael Buckley

Maybe there aren't any happily ever afters, or white knights who ride in on valiant steeds to save the day. Maybe, in real life, Prince Charming isn't always perfect – he's just as flawed as everyone else in the tale. And that princess, alone in her tower? She's not perfect either. Birds don't braid her hair every morning, she can't serenade wild forest creatures into servitude, and she doesn't even own a ball gown. But she's also smart enough to know not to accept poisoned apples from strangers, or prick her finger on deadly spindles.

She doesn't wait around for a prince to charge in and slay the dragon. Maybe she saves herself and in the end, rides off into her own goddamned sunset. ~ Julie Johnson

Calvin clears his throat. "Do you have anything to drink?"

Booze. Right. This is the perfect situation for some booze. I jump up, and he laughs, awkwardly. "I should have thought to get champagne or something."

"You bought the dinner," I remind him. "Obviously the champagne was on my list and I dropped the ball."

Pulling a bottle of vodka from the freezer, I set it on the counter and then realize I have nothing to mix it with. And I finished the last beer the other night.

"I have vodka."

He smiles valiantly. "Straight-up vodka it is."

"It's Stoli."

"Straight-up mediocre vodka it is," he amends with a cheeky wink.

His phone buzzes, and it sets off a weird, giddy reaction in my chest. We both have full lives beyond this apartment, which remain complete mysteries to each other. One difference between us is that Calvin likely doesn't care about my life outside of this. Yet I care intensely about his. Having him here feels like finding the key to unlock a mysterious chest that's been sitting in the corner of my bedroom for a year.

Buzz. Buzz.

Looking up, I meet his eyes. They're wide, almost as if he's not sure whether to answer.

"You can get it," I assure him. "It's okay."

His face darkens with a flush. "I . . . don't think I should."

"It's your phone! Of course it's okay to answer it."

"It's not . . ."

Buzz. Buzz.
Christina Lauren

When I throw the perfect ball, it's impossible to defend. ~ Rory Delap

Tis evident that all reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded on the relation of cause and effect, and that we can never infer the existence of one object from another, unless they be connected together, either mediately or immediately ... Here is a billiard ball lying on the table, and another ball moving toward it with rapidity. They strike; and the ball which was formerly at rest now acquires a motion. This is as perfect an instance of the relation of cause and effect as any which we know, either by sensation or reflection. ~ David Hume

Could any of these things be happening because they're fallen women?' I asked, drawing on another of the cliches we were given like a quiverful of arrows with which to face a life cursed by sin.
Doc sat a moment with his hand on the door handle before getting out. 'Well now, it's interesting that you ask. I had a woman recently who feel, not just one flight of stairs, but two. She had a baby as perfect as a pool ball. ~ Peter De Vries

There is danger that someday the farm land will be gone, the Downtown will be deserted, and the middle class living outside the city boundaries. If it is done intentionally, then that is our choice, but if it is allowed simply to happen without purpose, then that is ignorance. Indianapolis contains fantastic elements to become a vital city, but frequently our heritage has been destroyed in favor of cheap development and easy profits. Architects are not perfect, and many chances to improve our city have been lost. They allow the client to build structures without concern for what that building will do to the surrounding environment. The matter of conscience falls prey to the matter of making a living. A desire to improve our quality of life on the part of the client and profession will provide the best solution for all. Readers of this book, be inquisitive, explore your city, question its growth, let your feelings be known if your city is faulty, speak out if it is praiseworthy. Talk to your architects, politicians and developers; they are professionals, but they are also your servants. Use them to make your city better. Enjoy Indianapolis. It is a city to be lived in and can be taken to heart if one tries. ~ Rick A. Ball

Mothers have to pretend to be perfect[.] If we didn't, anarchy would rule the world. But most of the time we're just doing the best we can and trying to get better at it everyday ~ Donna Ball

I do what I've trained my whole life to do. I watch the ball. I keep my eye on the ball. I never stop watching.
I watch it as it sails past me and lands in the catcher's mitt, a perfect and glorious strike three. ~ Barry Lyga

Tits. Ass. Cock. I know those words, Mason, and I know you think I'm so deeply prissy and vanilla but I'm actually a big girl, so you can go ahead and use them on me."…
"You want it then?" His mutter was raspy and low and his eyes burned so deep into mine I felt paralyzed before he even spoke. "Fine, Taylor," he whispered, pressing his hand down hard on my thigh. "You walked in here and the first thing I thought of was how goddamned good you looked and how bad I wanted to rip that dress off those perfect tits of yours. I thought about what you'd look like in those boots and those boots alone and it turned me into a fucking crazy person for a second because I had some very real thoughts about grabbing you, taking you home and fucking you on my bed till I could hear those pretty lips screaming my name. does that get the point across or do you want to hear just how hard and deep I imagined my cock inside you."
Holy fuck.
Just like that, panties ruined. ~ Stella Rhys

After Evie had finished her plate, Sebastian tugged her to the billiards table and handed her a cue stick with a leather tip. Ignoring her attempts to refuse him, he proceeded to instruct her in the basics of the game. "Don't try to claim this is too scandalous for you," he told her with mock severity. "After running off with me to Gretna Green, nothing is beyond you. Certainly not one little billiards game. Bend over the table."
She complied awkwardly, flushing as she felt him lean over her, his body forming an exciting masculine cage as his hands arranged hers on the cue stick. "Now," she heard him say, "curl your index finger around the tip of the shaft. That's right. Don't grip so tightly, sweet…let your hand relax. Perfect." His head was close to hers, the light scent of sandalwood cologne rising from his warm skin. "Try to imagine a path between the cue ball - that's the white one - and the colored ball. You'll want to strike right about there" - he pointed to a place just above center on the cue ball - "to send the object ball into the side pocket. It's a straight-on shot, you see? Lower your head a bit. Draw the cue stick back and try to strike in a smooth motion."
Attempting the shot, Evie felt the tip of the cue stick fail to make proper contact with the white ball, sending it spinning clumsily off to the side of the table.
"A miscue," Sebastian remarked, deftly catching the cue ball in his hand and repositioning it. "Whenever that happens, reach f ~ Lisa Kleypas

I hate to burst your bubble, but you're really not as scary as you think you are. I don't find you scary at all, actually," I lied casually.
He stopped, raising his eyebrows in blatant disbelief. Then he flashed a wide, wicked smile.
"You really shouldn't have said that," he chuckled.
He growled, a low sound in the back of his throat; his lips curled back over his perfect teeth. His body shifted suddenly, half-crouched, tensed lika a lion about to pounce.
I backed away from him, glaring.
"You wouldn't."
I didn't see him leap me - it was much too fast. I only found myself suddenly airborne, and then we crashed onto the sofa, knocking it into the wall. All the while, his arms formed an iron cage of protection around me - I was barely jostled. But I still was gasping as I tried to right myself.
He wasn't having that. He curled me into a ball against his chest, holding me more securely than iron chains. I glared at him in alarm, but he seemed well in control, his jaw relaxed as he grinned, his eyes bright only with humor.
"You were saying?" he growled playfully.
"That you are a very, very terrifying monster," I said, my sarcasm marred a bit my breathless voice.
"Much better," he approved. ~ Stephenie Meyer

There's kind of a Zen aspect to bowling. The pins are either staying up or down before you even throw your arm back. It's kind of a mind-set. You want to be in this perfect mind-set before you released the ball. ~ Jeff Bridges

And I grew up in a close family, and I always knew I wanted one of those too. So, I cannot promise you life is gonna run perfect. I cannot tell the future. What I can say is, what we have when you and me are tossin' a ball or mannin' the grill or sittin' at the table doin' your homework, that means something to me. It's important to me. And when something's important, you take care of it. ~ Kristen Ashley

A curve ball is not something you can pick up overnight. It took me years to perfect mine. ~ Bob Gibson

There are moments where we forgot what got us to where we are now ... We stopped moving the ball. We know how it works. We are playing a great team with great players, and we've got to be close to perfect to win. ~ Manu Ginobili

The biggest lie in the world is in answer to the question, 'How are you?' People usually say, 'I'm fine,' but that's mostly bull. Everyone wants to display being perfect. They tell themselves and their friends, 'I drive this car, I own this house, I'm fine.' People ball up into these tight wads of repression. ~ Brittany Howard

I guess in America we're so sold on this ideal of the perfect, well-adjusted family that is able to confront any conflict and, with true love and understanding, work things through. I'm sure they do exist, but I never knew any of them. ~ Alan Ball

A very naked Lucas was crouched near Ethan. I couldn't process that. He was a werewolf? Dr. Keane and Mason were right? No, no, no. There was another explanation. There had to be. My world tilted and I had an urge to scream hysterically.
I stared at his bare back while he tugged off Ethan's cargo pants. He had absolutely no tan lines. He was like a perfect bronzed god. I might have fallen in lust right then and there if I didn't know that he came with issues in the form of a furry body and canine incisors. ~ Rachel Hawthorne

Something can be moving in one direction, smoothly, swiftly, something like a ball, or, oh, say, A LIFE, and then a bat swings, at the perfect moment, swings true, and hits that something, and it constricts...And its energy is reversed, and it fires off in the opposite direction, completely the other way to what has been, to what seems meant to be...But here's the lesson: The ball - the life, whatever - is STILL THERE. The energy hasn't destroyed it, the impact, the explosion, hasn't erased it from the world. It still exists, it's just in a different place altogether. A place it didn't expect to end up in...All the time, when I batted, I felt like it was meditation, like it was control. Like, swinging the bat at the perfect time, before you even see the ball - like that was a metaphor for something, for some kind of Zen peacefulness. What I didn't realize was: I got the metaphor wrong. I was not the bat. I was the ball. THAT - that is the lesson of the batting cage. ~ Nick Lake

I'm not used to seeing the ball go wherever she wants. As a pitcher, I like to be - I don't want to say perfect, but I want to know what the ball is going to do. ~ Mariano Rivera

The crops, however, I examine closely, to see what each bird has been feeding upon. Clover. Kinnickkinnick. Snowberries. Wheat. Barley. Crickets. Grasshoppers. Fir needles. Huckleberries. Rose hips. The crops filled with snowberries are breathtaking, looking like a clump of pearls, and nearly as rare; it's always a thrill to open a crop and see nothing but beautiful white berries. Usually in these woods, though, in the autumn, the crops are bulging with bright red kinnickkinnick berries, and the bright green leaves from the same bush. Tom and Nancy save the crop from each bird they kill and set it on the windowsill to dry translucent in the sunlight - a globe, a ball, filled with Christmas colors, perfect red and green; and then in December they hang these as ornaments on their tree. For ~ Rick Bass

I had, I'll admit, effected a certain style - a method, if you will - of cupcake eating. To begin, you remove the cupcake liner carefully so as not to unnecessarily crumble the cake, and set it aside. You then turn the cupcake slowly in your hand, taking bites along the line where cake meets icing, your mouth filling with a perfect combination of both components. Once you've come full circle, you gently twist off the bottom half inch of cake, a move that takes considerable finesse and leaves a delicate sliver of cake - the ideal size for lying flat on your tongue and allowing it to slowly dissolve, building anticipation for that final bite. To finish, you are left with the center cylinder of cake and icing, the cupcake's very heart, sometimes filled with a surprising burst of custard or jam or mousse, sometimes not, but always, always, the most moist, flavorful bite of the entire cupcake. Take a breath before diving into that final, perfect bite; it is to be savored for as long as possible. Finally, of course, you scavenge the crumbs from the cupcake liner you set aside during step one, then ball the liner into your fist and overhand it into the nearest receptacle. Make the shot? You get another cupcake. ~ Meg Donohue

As a child, when I first heard the story of Creation, I'd closed my eyes and pictured the earth as a ball rolling off the palm of God and into dark space, then drifting around until it found its home in sunny orbit. Never perfect, but ever spinning, and holding on to her course, despite it all. ~ Ann Howard Creel

Only those who do not expect anything are never disappointed. Only those who never try, never fail. Anyone who is currently achieving anything in life is simultaneously risking failure. It is always better to fail in doing something than to excel in doing nothing. A flawed diamond is more valuable than a perfect brick. People who have no failures also have few victories. ~ John Landis Mason

We've got some guys going good and we've got some guys who are struggling. Usually April's a tough month. Guys come from Arizona where the weather's perfect and the ball flies all over the place. Then you get into the reality of the season, and it can work against them, not so much physically as mentally. ~ Jeff Pentland

In the past, my brain could only compute perfection or failure - nothing in between. So words like competent, acceptable, satisfactory, and good enough fell into the failure category. Even above average meant failure if I received an 88 out of 100 percent on an exam, I felt that I failed. The fact is most things in life are not absolutes and have components of both good and bad. I used to think in absolute terms a lot: all, every, or never. I would all of the food (that is, binge), and then I would restrict every meal and to never eat again. This type of thinking extended outside of the food arena as well: I had to get all of the answers right on a test; I had to be in every extracurricular activity […] The 'if it's not perfect, I quit' approach to life is a treacherous way to live. […] I hadn't established a baseline of competence: What gets the job done? What is good enough? Finding good enough takes trial and error. For those of us who are perfectionists, the error part of trial and error can stop us dead in our tracks. We would rather keep chasing perfection than risk possibly making a mistake. I was able to change my behavior only when the pain of perfectionism became greater than the pain of making an error. […] Today good enough means that I'm okay just the way I am. I play my position in the world. I catch the ball when it is thrown my way. I don't always have to make the crowd go wild or get a standing ovation. It's good enough to just catch the ball or even to do my ~ Jenni Schaefer

This would be the third year that she would try halfheartedly to keep her mother unaware that there even was a Fall Ball,let alone the theme. But there was no question that Mrs. Winslow would get the info somehow, probably within six hours of the announcement. It didn't matter that she was presently in the Caribbean. She was connected. By morning,she would be on the phone to someone in New York or Paris or Milan, finding the perfect costume for her daughter.
The last one was a historically accurate replica of an eighteenth-century dress, appropraite to rural New York State gentility, no less. It had possessed a wig, corset, and padded butt. Sadie,itchy and unable to breathe, let alone eat or drink or shake her extended booty, had spent the four hours of the dance sitting in a dark corner.I,dressed in a high-necked, tattered, and "blood"-spattered white dress and veil (Bride of the Headless Horseman),sat with her. ~ Melissa Jensen

I think cricket is there in Usain Bolt's blood. Since I got to watch from close quarters, it was amazing to see him run up to bowl. The perfect delivery stride is understandable because he is a world champion athlete. But the manner - he loaded at the crease and then bowled the ball - left me zapped. He looked like a natural cricketer. ~ Harbhajan Singh

I admit that I sometimes climbed on other fellows' backs. But I used to watch the flight of the ball perhaps more than the other fellow did. Perfect timing, a deep breath and a natural spring then helped me to get above them. ~ Roy Cazaly

Dorian, C, Corp: It's my sincere belief that your potential is wasted in that sweaty little cockpit. You should be doing the Coreworld lecture circuit. Imagine it: Packed houses. Perfect hair. Screaming girlchildren. "Tonight Only. Ezra Mason: How To State The Bleeding Obvious. ~ Amie Kaufman

Shepley walked out of his bedroom pulling a T-shirt over his head. His eyebrows pushed together. "Did they just leave?"

"Yeah," I said absently, rinsing my cereal bowl and dumping Abby's leftover oatmeal in the sink. She'd barely touched it.

"Well, what the hell? Mare didn't even say goodbye."

"You knew she was going to class. Quit being a cry baby."

Shepley pointed to his chest. "I'm the cry baby? Do you remember last night?"

"Shut up."

"That's what I thought." He sat on the couch and slipped on his sneakers. "Did you ask Abby about her birthday?"

"She didn't say much, except that she's not into birthdays."

"So what are we doing?"

"Throwing her a party." Shepley nodded, waiting for me to explain. "I thought we'd surprise her. Invite some of our friends over and have America take her out for a while."

Shepley put on his white ball cap, pulling it down so low over his brows I couldn't see his eyes. "She can manage that. Anything else?"

"How do you feel about a puppy?"

Shepley laughed once. "It's not my birthday, bro."

I walked around the breakfast bar and leaned my hip against the stool. "I know, but she lives in the dorms. She can't have a puppy."

"Keep it here? Seriously? What are we going to do with a dog?"

"I found a Cairn Terrier online. It's perfect."

"A what?"

"Pidge is ~ Jamie McGuire

J.D. scoffed at this. "Please - as if I'm worried about anything Payton has to say. What's she going to do, give me another one of her little pissed-off hair flips?" He flung imaginary long hair off his shoulders, exaggerating. "I'll tell you, one of these days I'm going to grab her by that hair and ... " He gestured as if throttling someone.
Without breaking stride, he returned Tyler's serve. The two smashed a few back and forth, concentrating on the game when
Is violence always part of your sexual fantasies?" Tyler interjected.
J.D. whipped around
Sexual - ?"
- and got hit smack in the face with the squash ball. He toppled back and sprawled ungracefully across the court.
Tyler stepped over and twirled his racquet. "This is nice. We should talk like this more often. ~ Julie James