Best Notepad Quotes

I already knew what I'd research. I wrote the words 'Courtly love' on my notepad in swirly script, then caught Hayden peering at it.
'Courtly love? Sorry, Aurora, but I think I've already got that one in the bag.'
'I think you'd better think again, because I've already claimed it,' I replied.
'You just said you're not the Mills & Boon type and, technically, courtly love could be considered historical romance.' He grinned. 'As you don't want to pollute your mind with any clichéd topics, you should probably leave that one to me.'
'You, discussing romance? Ha!'
Hayden put on a hurt face. 'I think I might be alright at it. After all, I've been doing a lot of observing lately.' He gave me a significant look.
'Observing?' I repeated, curiosity getting the better of me.
'Well, you keep accusing me of spying on your dates,' he said, and shrugged. 'So, technically, I guess I'm learning about romance firsthand. It seems kind of brutal, judging from the goodnight ritual I saw last night.'
My blood wasn't boiling, but it was pretty warm. Despite that, I was not going to lose my temper. I was determined that this year Hayden Paris wasn't going to destroy my composure. ~ Tara Eglington

Miss Rook, on a scale of one to pomegranate, how dangerous would you say this situation has become?"

"Dangerous?" I faltered.

"Yes, Miss Rook," prompted Jackaby, in your expert opinion."

"On a scale of one to pomegranate?" I followed his lead, checking over the notes I had scribbled in my notepad and speaking in my most audible, serious whisper. "I should think ... acorn? Possibly badger. Time alone will tell. ~ William Ritter

It was almost noon when the plane touched down at the Triad airport on the outskirts of Greensboro. There was a hire car waiting for me; I waved my notepad at the dashboard to transmit my profile, then waited as the seating and controls rearranged themselves slightly, piezoelectric actuators humming. As I started to reverse out of the parking bay, the stereo began a soothing improvisation, flashing up a deadpan title: Music for Leaving Airports 11 June 2008. ~ Greg Egan

I don't want to blame anybody, but I just want to tell you that the process of writing is antisocial, so on the days that you have something really important to write, go from lying down directly to your notepad or your computer. Do not talk. ~ Sandra Cisneros

Baby smuggling is a serious crime,' he said. 'There were thirty-six babies on that plane. We could charge you with thirty-six counts of kidnapping.'
That, at least, got Second to look back at Mr. Reardon.
'Does FBI mean Federal Bureau of Idiots?' he asked. 'If any of you were any good at analyzing footprints, you would know that I fell when I was trying to sneak into the airport grounds, not out.'
'And why would you do that?' Mr. Reardon asked, hunching forward over a notepad.
'It was a dare, all right?' Second snarled. 'I was with my friends and we were talking about what it would be like to stand on a runway when a plane was landing and ... we decided to try it out.'
'That's a crime too,' Mr. Reardon said.
Second shrugged. 'It ain't thirty-six counts of kidnapping,' he said. ~ Margaret Peterson Haddix

Writing to her, I was no longer lonely ... I could tolerate anything as long as I had a notepad and a pen and could pour my heart out to her in these letters. ~ Portia De Rossi

Why are you still standing here?"
His uncle leaned back, peering out into the hallway. "I need you to come to town with me," he muttered.
"You're not on my schedule."
His uncle scowled. "I'm not what now?"
"I wrote out a schedule. You're not on it."
"Uh-huh. Can you fit me on the schedule?"
Bo grabbed the notepad off his night table and looked it over. "Well, let's see, maybe I could move-"
Grigori snatched the pad from him and tore it up, throwing the tiny pieces at Bo's head.
Bo stared at him. You don't think I made a copy? ~ Shelly Laurenston

I always carry a notepad with me, even on vacation. If I'm on the computer when the story 'hits', I open a Word document and start typing until I get it all out. I've got tons of notes that I never throw out. You never know when a story will strike! ~ Franny Armstrong

Since you haven't got a name," he said. "I guess you can pick one for yourself. Would you like to pick one for me to write down?"
She stopped rocking and looked at him. "I can do that? It's legal and everything?"
He smiled. "It's a free country again," he said. "At least in theory."
She nodded. "And when I pick a name it can be any name I want?"
He nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Victor," he said. "Vic, for short."
"Okay," she said, leaning forward and taking the pad from under his large thing hands. "How do you spell that?"
He spelled it and she wrote it down. Her handwriting was perfectly small and legible. "Can I be Victor, too?" she said, looking up from the pad.
He smirked. "It's a boy's name," he said. "You're a girl. You have to add an i and an a to the end if you want to make it a girl's name."
She looked down at the name she had written and added the letters i and a to the end. "Victoria," she said, passing the notepad back to the cop.
"Hello, Victoria," he said, smiling, taking the pad and pen back and presenting his hand for a shake. "It's nice to meet you, officially. ~ Benjamin R. Smith

I look down and see my hands uncapping the pen, turning the notepad right-side up on my knees. My mouth is dry, my stomach is in knots, my life is over, my heart is broken.

I start to write. ~ Amanda Maciel

Will that be all?" I asked the pimply faced teen who ogled my exposed legs as if in heat. My pen tapped impatiently on the notepad while I waited for him to look up.
Slowly his dull grey eyes roved over my body and a limp smile drew up his thin, crusted lips making him look more weasel than human.
"Yep. That'd be it," his cheerful, adolescent voice cracked.
"Great," I mumbled, walking back behind the counter. ~ Brandi Salazar

We talked a little, I on a small spiral notepad, and Luke using a combination of his voice and some simple signs, which he taught me as they came up. My fingers felt clumsy around him; I was used to being good at things, and learning a new skill, especially when I wanted so badly to impress the teacher, made me nervous. He only grinned at my rookie mistakes, and took my hands in his, bending my fingers and adjusting my angles with a patient strength that made my stomach flutter. A lot of the date, though, was spent in silence. I was learning a whole volume of his smiles - how he grinned when he was nervous, and how he beamed when he was pleased. The small, secret, naughty smile that traced along his lips more than a few times, which meant that was thinking something he wasn't going to share. For a man who had loved words his whole life, who'd made a living writing them and singing them, I found a strange pleasure in listening to the silence and finding meaning in the canting of a head or the wink of a long-lashed, big, brown eye. ~ Peter Styles

The bartender put a notepad and a pencil before me. Breathing hard, the pencil trembling, I wrote:
Dear Sinclair Lewis:
You were once a god, but now you are a swine. I once reverenced you, admired you, and now you are nothing. I came to shake your hand in adoration, you, Lewis, a giant among American writers, and you rejected it. I swear I shall never read another line of yours again. You are an ill-mannered boor. You have betrayed me. I shall tell H. L. Muller about you, and how you have shamed me. I shall tell the world.
Arturo Bandini
P.S. I hope you choke on your steak. ~ John Fante

It isn't a club," I said calmly. "It's a walking stick."
"Six feet long."
"It's traditional Ozark folk art."
"With dents and nicks all over it."
I thought about it for a second. "I'm insecure?"
"Get a blanket." He held out his hand. I signed and passed my staff over to him. "Do I get a receipt?"
He took a notepad from his pocket and wrote on it. Then he passed it over to me. It read: Received, one six foot tall traditional Ozark walking club from Mr. Smart-Ass. ~ Jim Butcher

Home
Every room should include something purple
Keep pens, a notepad, and a pair of scissors in every room
Write down anything I need to remember
If something's important to me, I should reserve time for it in my schedule, make a place for it in my home, and build relationships around it ~ Gretchen Rubin

Notepad++ or any advanced editor. All you need to do is copy the code and paste it into Notepad. Upon execution, you will get the output as depicted in the ~ Aravind Shenoy

WHEN I WAS A boy, after my mother died, I always tried hard to hold her in my mind as I was falling asleep so maybe I'd dream of her, only I never did. Or, rather, I dreamed of her constantly, only as absence, not presence: a breeze blowing through a just-vacated house, her handwriting on a notepad, the smell of her perfume, streets in strange lost towns where I knew she'd been walking only a moment before but had just vanished, a shadow moving away against a sunstruck wall. ~ Donna Tartt

It took teams of LEP warlocks to slow down time for a few hours; the magic required to open a door to the tunnel was stupendous. It would be easier to shoot down the moon.
Opal tapped this into her notepad.
Reminder. Shoot down the moon? Viable? ~ Eoin Colfer

I'm a bit of an insomniac. I'm always thinking. I've got a lot of ideas for lyrics and shows. I have a notepad by the side of the bed and voice recorders around the house. ~ Kid Rock

I jotted the name down mentally on that tattered notepad I call a memory. The pen skipped. ~ Jonathan Lethem

I'll write lines or words in a notepad. You work on little things and little parts; sometimes they turn into bigger songs. ~ Albert Hammond, Jr.

I'm not somebody who carries around a notepad and writes songs all day long. I don't imagine everything I think of is worth being in a song. So I tend to collect notes, and I set time aside to go to work and write songs. ~ Jakob Dylan

It's quite simple. I just don't feel right without a pen in my hand denting a hole through my notepad. ~ Veronika Carnaby

What is his deal? He always looks furious." Danny shakes his head at my notepad and we do a bit more business-miming.
"That's his face."
"You guys have a weird dynamic going on."
"There's no dynamic. No dynamic." I begin swigging at my coffee. It's too hot and a terrible idea.
"But you know he's in love with you, right?"
I inhale my huge mouthful and being to drown on dry land. ~ Sally Thorne

The man shoved a tongue depressor down his throat. Just as it started to tickle and would have made him cough, the doctor pulled it out of his mouth. "You have no gag reflex," the doctor said scribbling on a notepad.

"No reflex, huh?" John said with a salacious grin. "I could show you why that is."

The doctor tried to straight face it but failed. He was clearly disgusted. Maybe he'd pushed it a little too far. "They'll beat that out of you in the brig."

"No, I assure you, they won't. But they'll try. ~ Jennivie Wirries

I talk to myself through the computer. I ask myself questions, leave things to be looked at again, things that you would do with a notepad. It turns out today that it's much better today to do with a personal computer rather than a notepad. ~ Seymour Cray

Confessing I didn't, I scribbled the directions on the notepad I always kept by the phone. I hung up and my feet were already on the floor as adrenaline hit my nerves like espresso. The house was quiet. I grabbed my black medical bag, scuffed and worn from years of use. The ~ Patricia Cornwell

Or rather, I dreamed of her constantly, only as absence, not presence: a breeze blowing through a just-vacated house, her handwriting on a notepad, the smell of her perfume, streets in strange lost towns where I knew she'd been walking only a moment before but had just vanished, a shadow moving away against a sunstruck wall. Sometimes I spotted her in a crowd, or in a taxicab pulling away, and these glimpses of her I treasured despite the fact that I was never able to catch up with her. ~ Donna Tartt

I'm not sure if people understand what it means to be a writer. It's not like it feels so great. I mean, most of the time you are sitting at your desk and bleeding out onto your computer screen, your notepad, your notebook ... there's a lot of bleeding that goes on when you're a writer! You don't just work to sell books, you work to bind your wounds and put your skin back together again after opening yourself up all over the place! I don't know how other writers write ... but this is how I write. ~ C. JoyBell C.