Boyfriend Not Feeling Well Quotes

Look, people need to conform the external reality they face daily with this subjective feeling they likewise experience constantly. To do this they have two options. First, they can achieve what passes for great things. Now the external reality matches their feeling; they really are better than the rest and maybe they'll even be remembered as such. These are the ambitious people, the overachievers. These are also, however, the people who go on these abominable talk shows where they can trade their psychoses for exposure on that box, modernity's ultimate achievement. Not that this tact, being ambitious, is not the preferred course of action. The reason is it's the equivalent of sticking your neck out which we all know is dangerous. Instead many act like they have no ambition whatsoever. Their necks come back in and they're safe. Only problem is now they're at everyone else's level, which we've seen is untenable. The remedy of course is that everyone else needs to be sunk. This helps explain racism's enduring popularity. If I myself don't appear to be markedly superior to everyone else at least I'm part of the better race, country, religion et cetera. This in turn reflects well on my individual worth. There are other options, of course. For example, you can constantly bemoan others' lack of moral worth by extension elevating yourself. Think of the average person's reaction to our clients. Do these people strike you as so truly righteous that they are viscerally pained by our cl ~ Sergio De La Pava

What is it, she asks me, why do people cry? Why do we cry when we're happy and when we're sad or hurt? I tell her what I know or think I know: that the body does not distinguish between emotional and physical pain; the muscles around the lachrymal glands receive a message from the brain, then tighten and squeeze out tears. Tears contain high levels of the hormone ACTH and prolactin, endorphins (which we know are mood-altering and pain-killing), as well as thirty times more manganese than is found in blood, suggesting that human tears can concentrate and remove harmful substances from the body. Prolactin in humans controls fluid balance; by the age of eighteen women have 60 percent more prolactin than men, which may explain why women seem to cry more often. I tell her that sadness--like happiness--is an intense feeling of being alive, of having essence. I try to explain to her my own nonscientific theory: that crying is about weight or heft, that we cry when our bodies feel too light or too heavy to bear or hold on to language. ~ Liza Wieland

These are sad days in literature. Homer is dead. Shakespeare is dead. And I myself am not feeling at all well. ~ Mark Twain

Her face went blank as she realized what she'd interrupted. "I'll, uh, go upstairs and watch a show," she said, not sounding like herself at all.
I scooted out from under Adam. "And Jesse saves the day," I said lightly. "Thank you, that was getting out of hand."
She paused, looking - surprised.
I wondered uncharitably how many times she'd walked in on her mother in similar situations and what her mother's response had been. I never had liked Jesse's mother and was happy to believe all sorts of evil about her. I let anger at the games her mother might have played surround me. When you've lived with werewolves, you learn tricks to hide what you're feeling from them - anger, for instance, covers up panic pretty well - and, out from under Adam's sensuous hands, I was panicking plenty.
Adam snorted. "That's one way to put it." To my relief, he'd stayed where we'd been, sinking facedown onto the mat.
"Even with my willpower, his lure was too great," I said melodramatically, complete with wrist to forehead. If I made a joke of it, he'd never realize how truthful I was being.
A slow smile spread across her face and she quit looking like she was ready to bolt back into the house. "Dad's kind of a stud, all right."
"Jesse," warned Adam, his voice muffled only a little by the mat. She giggled.
"I have to agree," I said in overly serious tones. "Maybe as high as a seven or eight, even."
"Mercedes," Adam thundered, surging to his feet.
I w ~ Patricia Briggs

Well, I never been to much school, you understand, but it seems to me that you're assuming something you shouldn't assume ... that God sees the world like you do; one thing at a time, from just one spot. Seems to me that he's supposed to be everywhere, know everything ... Think about that; he knows what you're feeling, how you're hurting. Feels my pain, your pain like it was his own. Hell son, the question isn't how God could care about just one person; question is, how could he not? ~ Jim Butcher

Are you okay, baby?
I don't know. She sounded dazed. Am I alive?
I'm not certain either of us are. Give me a minute and we'll go for round two.
He felt movement and managed to turn his head toward her and pry open one eye. She lifted her head and looked pointedly at his soft cock with a small smile.
"You're feeling optimistic, aren't you?" she said aloud, laughter in her voice.
His fingers found her hair, wrapping a length around his fist. He gave a gentle tug and made an effort to find his voice. "That's a challenge, woman, and all good soldiers find a way to meet a challenge."
He felt her laughter in his mind, that soft, melting molasses that just poured in and filled him with happiness. How had he ever managed without her?
"I wasn't challenging you, Sammy. I'm not certain I'll ever be able to walk again," she pointed out. "I think I have skid marks inside."
Alarm spread instantly. "Did I hurt you?"
"You know you didn't, but we were a little on the wild side. I'm definitely going to be a little sore, but I'm perfectly willing to give up walking. ~ Christine Feehan

Do you live in Ellsberg?" I asked as he flipped from channel to channel too quickly to really be looking for anything to watch.
"Yes."
"Did you grow up there?"
"No."
"Do you like it there?"
"Sure."
"Do you think I'll like it there?"
"Your sister is shacked up with the prince of the fucking place. I'm sure you'll live a pretty sweet life in Ellsberg."
"Are the people friendly there?"
"Not really. Maybe two percent of the people are."
"So the other ninety eight percent are like you?"
Judd grinned. "Sounds about right. You should fit in."
"How am I not friendly?"
"You got a look about you. Like the little girl act is a con and you'll shiv me while I sleep."
"It's getting late, so I guess we'll see."
Smiling growing, he watched the TV, instead of me. "I'm sleeping in here next to my weapons and keeping one eye open. You best mess someone else, little girl."
"I'm not feeling great, so I'll probably wait to shiv you until I'm up to all the laughing and pointing I'll want to do after I get the drop on you."
Judd laughed. "You would mock me afterwards, wouldn't you?"
"Of course. You're a big guy. Fast and strong too. If I take you down, I'm totally enjoying the triumph."
"Good for you," he said quietly, a smile on his lips and a strange look in his eyes. ~ Bijou Hunter

I went on steadily trying to 'find out how to'; but I wrote two or three novels without feeling that I had made much progress. It was not until I wrote "Ethan Frome" that I suddenly felt the artisan's full control of his implements. When "Ethan Frome" first appeared I was severely criticized by the reviewers for what was considered the clumsy structure of the tale. I had pondered long on this structure, had felt its peculiar difficulties, and possible awkwardness, but could think of no alternative which would serve as well in the given case: and though I am far from thinking "Ethan Frome" my best novel, and am bored and even exasperated when I am told that it is, I am still sure that its structure is not its weak point. ~ Edith Wharton

Setting aside the truth value of the UFO phenomenon, it is an interesting sociological reality that so many people are unwilling to discuss the most - and at times traumatic - experience of their lives. What does it say about our society that this is so? My feeling is that, by its very nature, it represents a form of repression. If you are a reader who believes UFOs to be nonsense of some sort, I can nevertheless assure you that you have a friend or relation who has seen one. They have simply learned not to discuss it. Many people can live perfectly well within the constraints of repression and denial; they simply learn to shut off certain parts of their mind. It is sad, but it happens all of the time.

But not everyone is the same. Not everyone is willing to do this, or even can do this. By any estimate, there are may millions of people on this planet who have had a powerful UFO experience. They cannot and will not be silenced indefinitely. ~ Richard M. Dolan

The next night, alone in the tent, Laurent said: 'As we draw closer to the border, I think it would be safer
more private
to hold our discussions in your language rather than mine.'
He said it in carefully pronounced Akielon.
Damen stared at him, feeling as though the world had just been rearranged.
'What is it?' said Laurent.
'Nice accent,' said Damen, because despite everything, the corner of his mouth was beginning helplessly to curve up.
[ ... ]
It was of course no surprise to find that Laurent had a well-stocked armoury of elegant phrases and bitchy remarks, but could not talk in detail about anything sensible. ~ C.S. Pacat

If we are not peaceful, if we are not feeling well in our skin, we cannot demonstrate real peace, and we cannot raise our children well either. ~ Nhat Hanh

But walking down the stairs feeling each stair carefully and holding to the banister he thought, I must get her away and get her away as soon as I can without hurting her. Because I am not doing too well at this. That I can promise you. But what else can you do? Nothing, he thought. There's nothing you can do. But maybe, as you go along, you will get good at it. ~ Ernest Hemingway,

No matter how many movies you watch, songs you listen to, and friends you talk to, you will never understand heartbreak. You want to disappear, crying feels like bleeding, the world is spinning. You watch a movie you have seen ten times, a song you've listened to a hundred times and a friend you've been talking to for a thousand days and suddenly it's like your hearing everything for the first time. For the first time you've opened your heart and your mind, you want to listen, you want to heal others. For the first time you feel destroyed. The word pain cannot do what you are feeling justice. It is beyond pain, beyond fury, beyond sadness. You feel everything but nothing at once. Shocked. Numb. Empty. But I had also felt compassion that day, empathy for a heart that I had once broke. Love for all of those who had not broken my heart. Appreciation for all of those who had mended hearts. Happiness for all who had secured their hearts. The day that I first met heartbreak, the day that I got my heart snatched away from me, happens to be the day that I first found my heart as well. ~ Everance Caiser

Oh,Mercer," he murmured against my temple once we'd come up for air, "we are so screwed."
I pressed my face against his neck, breathing him in. "I know."
"So what do we do?"
Reluctantly, I tried to move away. It was hard to think when he was so close to me. "If we were good people, we'd never see each other again."
His arms locked around my waist, pulling me back. "Okay,well, that's not happening. Plan B?"
I smiled up at him, feeling ridiculously giddy for someone on the verge of ruining her life. "I don't have one.You?"
He shook his head. "Nothing.But...look. I've spent basically my whole life pretending to be someone I'm not, faking some feelings, hiding others." Reaching down, he clasped my hand and lifted it so that our joined hands were trapped between our chests. "This thing with us is the only real thing I've had in a long time.You're the only real thing." He raised our hands and kissed my knuckles. "And I'm done pretending I don't want you."
I had read a lot about swooning in the romance novels Mom had tried to hide from me,but I'd never felt in danger of doing it until now. Which was why a snarky comment was definitely called for.
"Wow,Cross.I think you missed your calling.Screw demon hunting: you should clearly be writing Hallmark cards."
His face broke into that crooked grin that was maybe my favorite sight in the whole world. "Shut up," he muttered before lowering his head and kissing me again.
"Why is it," I said ~ Rachel Hawkins

Probably you were not quite well, my little dove, when you wrote to me, for a note of real melancholy pervaded your letter. I recognized in it a nature closely akin to my own. I know the feeling only too well. In my life, too, there are days, hours, weeks, aye, and months, in which everything looks black, when I am tormented by the thought that I am forsaken, that no one cares for me. Indeed, my life is of little worth to anyone. Were I to vanish from the face of the earth to-day, it would be no great loss to Russian music, and would certainly cause no one great unhappiness. In short, I live a selfish bachelor's life. I work for myself alone, and care only for myself. This is certainly very comfortable, although dull, narrow, and lifeless. But that you, who are indispensable to so many whose happiness you make, that you can give way to depression, is more than I can believe. How can you doubt for a moment the love and esteem of those who surround you? How could it be possible not to love you? No, there is no one in the world more dearly loved than you are. As for me, it would be absurd to speak of my love for you. If I care for anyone, it is for you, for your family, for my brothers and our old Dad. I love you all, not because you are my relations, but because you are the best people in the world. ~ Modest Ilyich Tchaikovsky

He closed his eyes. "I'm not like you." He laughed under his breath, but it wasn't happy sound. "You grew up in despreation and squalor, and yet you're able to hope and dream. I don't quite how you can, but I love you for it." He opened his black eyes, and she saw in them wonder and pain and vunerability. "You're much more courageous than I am, imp. I've had everything material handed to me on a golden platter, and yet I find it... difficult to hope as you do. Even more difficult, I think, to trust."

"To trust me?" she whispered, feeling hurt.

"No, never," he said fiercely. "To trust myself. To trust in the future, I suppose. To open my hands and let go of the reins of control and simply trust that things -my life, my family, our happiness- will turn out well." He frowned down at her. "Do you understand?"

"No," she said simply, but she smiled to take away the sting of the word. "No, because if you say you love me then I believe everything will turn out well. It simply must. For I love you, too."

He laid his forehead against hers. "I do love you, heart and soul and body, Alf, my imp. I love you now and forever, and I will trust and I will hope in your dreams and hope."

"That's all we need, really," she whispered. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke Of Pleasure

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

If you are feeling more yourself, there is a problem best addressed immediately," said the queen.
"In my nightshirt?" The king wriggled, as ever, out of straightforward obedience.
"Your attendants. I have spoken to them. You will speak to them as well."
"Ah. They have seen me in my nightshirt." He looked down at his sleeve, embroidered with white flowers. "Not in your nightshirt, though. ~ Megan Whalen Turner

Annabelle, what happened to you?" Lillian asked the next morning. "You look dreadful. Why aren't you wearing your riding habit? I thought you were going to try out the jumping course this morning. And why did you disappear
so suddenly last night? It's not like you to simply vanish without saying - "

"I didn't have a choice in the matter," Annabelle said testily, folding her fingers around the delicate bowl of a porcelain teacup. Looking pale and exhausted, her blue eyes ringed with dark shadows, she swallowed a mouthful of heavily sweetened tea before continuing. "It was that blasted perfume of yours - as soon as he caught one whiff of it, he went berserk."

Shocked, Lillian tried to take in the information, her stomach plummeting. "It… it had an effect on Westcliff, then?" she managed to ask.

"Good Lord, not Lord Westcliff." Annabelle rubbed her weary eyes. "He couldn't have cared less what I smelled like. It was my husband who went completely mad. After he caught the scent of that stuff, he dragged me up to our room and…well, suffice it to say, Mr. Hunt kept me awake all night. All night ," she repeated in sullen emphasis, and drank deeply of the tea.

"Doing what?" Daisy asked blankly.

Lillian, who was feeling a rush of relief that Lord Westcliff had not been attracted to Annabelle while she
was wearing the perfume, gave her younger sister a derisive glance. "What do you think they were doing? Playing a few han ~ Lisa Kleypas

Her friend who treated her maid badly was not a wicked person. She behaved well towards her family ... but when it came to her maid ... she seemed to have little concern for her feelings. It occurred to Mma Ramotswe that such behaviour was no more than ignorance; an inability to understand the hopes and aspirations of others. Theat understanding ... was the beginning of all morality. If you knew how a person was feeling, if you could imagine yourself in her position, then surely it would be impossible to inflict further pain. Inflicting pain in such circumstances would be like hurting oneself. ~ Alexander McCall Smith

By definition an anarchist is he who does not wish to be oppressed nor wishes to be him self an oppressor; who wants the greatest well-being, freedom and development for all human beings. His ideas, his wishes have their origin in a feeling of sympathy, love and respect for humanity: a feeling which must be sufficiently strong to induce him to want the well-being of others as much as his own, and to renounce those personal advantages, the achievement of which, would involve the sacrifice of others. ~ Errico Malatesta

I hear the words, the thoughts, the feeling tones, the personal meaning, even the meaning that is below the conscious intent of the speaker. Sometimes too, in a message which superficially is not very important, I hear a deep human cry that lies buried and unknown far below the surface of the person.
So I have learned to ask myself, can I hear the sounds and sense the shape of this other person's inner world? Can I resonate to what he is saying so deeply that I sense the meanings he is afraid of, yet would like to communicate, as well as those he knows? ~ Carl R. Rogers

The people they had been last summer, the person she had been
Dicey guessed she'd never be afraid again, not the way she
had been all summer. She had taken care of them all, sometimes well, sometimes badly. And they had covered the distances.
For most of the summer, they had been unattached. Nobody knew who they were or what they were doing. It didn't matter
what they did, as long as they all stayed together. Dicey remembered that feeling, of having things pretty much her own way.
And she remembered the feelings of danger. It was a little bit like being a wild animal, she thought to herself.
Dicey missed that wildness. She knew she would never have it again.
And she missed the sense of Dicey Tillerman against the whole world and doing all right. ~ Cynthia Voigt

Kant comes to identify the institution of property with freedom because he sees it in a fundamental sense as an extension of the self. An object which is, he argues, my property belongs solely and exclusively to myself, and it is my right to consume or use it in whatever way I please. Indeed, so strongly does the individual feel about his ownership, Kant thinks, that if somebody takes it without his consent they harm the individual just as much as though they had injured his body. From this point of view, the individual has every justification in feeling as upset about the theft of a favourite book as he has about a bruised knee. To threaten the individual's property, in the sense of its being an extension of the self, prejudices not only his feeling of well-being but also his very existence. ~ Howard Williams

The wife's gotta know. You can't hook up like that for what looks like about six or seven years without the wife figuring it out. Unless she's another idiot.
"I'm not an idiot."

Smiling, Roarke continued to stroke. "I'll keep that in mind when I decide to have a long-term affair."
"Yeah, you do that. They'll never find your body," she murmured, then dropped into sleep.

His smiled warmed, and feeling well loved, he dropped off with her. ~ J.D. Robb

You must understand that those who are mad, wherever they are, feel imprisoned; perhaps the first step toward madness is the feeling that the world is a prison. The world, with its laws -- I am thinking not solely of societal laws but of natural ones as well -- is experienced as a prison; perhaps this is what leads to the creation of one's own world, with one's own laws, yet the feeling of imprisonment remains forever. ~ Goce Smilevski

Derrick flies through the portal first. "Look at you," he says, stopping to study me. "Alive. Unscathed. Good. If you hadn't been, I would have lopped his fingers off."

Kiaran moves to stand beside me. "I would have pulled off your wings."

"Ignore him, pixie." Aithinne strides into the room, her long coat billowing behind her. "I should have figured he'd be sullen and moody."

Kiaran's emotionless gaze flickers to her. "Phiuthair."

"Bhràthair." She stops and studies him. "You look like hell. I suppose you haven't fed in a few days, if the lack of gifts is any indication."

"Don't." Kiaran's voice dips in warning.

"I'm wonderful, by the way," she continues, as if he hadn't spoken. "Do you like my coat? Don't I look lovely? Aren't I the best sister for standing here, still willing to talk to you after you've ignored me for months, you stubborn bastard?"

"Well, this is fun," Derrick says. "I'm really feeling the love in this room. It's beautiful. Aileana, isn't it beautiful?"

"You're here because Kam wanted your help. Not because I did."

"Damn it, MacKay - "

"You might not have wanted me," Aithinne says, ignoring my attempts to stand between them, "but look how quickly I came. Because I still care about you. Though god only knows why, since you're such an obstinate pain in my arse."

"I love it when Aithinne curses at people." Derrick says to me. "I say we let th ~ Elizabeth May

The best thing that I can offer to people is just to be honest, and that's a rare quality. In doing so, I think there's always a top down feeling that permeates a working environment. If the boss is cool and he's a certain way that's not bullshitting, then everyone around is going to feel that comfort and try to be that way, as well. That's just who I strive to be, as a person. ~ Joe Hahn

Such nice people, the Hillingdons, though she's not really very easy to know, is she? I mean, she's always very pleasant and all that, but one never seems to get to know her better.'

Miss Marple agreed thoughtfully.

'One never knows what she is thinking.'
'Perhaps that is just as well.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Oh nothing really, only that I've always had the feeling that perhaps her thoughts might be rather disconcerting. ~ Agatha Christie

If it was that easy, your father would have told you himself. This-like any real truth-must be discovered on your own. Honestly, I have no idea what your father might have told you. I do know he felt you were too optimistic, too naïve, and Royce is … well … not. At our last meeting, I spoke to him of Royce. It was Danbury's idea-his last wish-that if I ever found his wayward son, I should introduce the two of you. I think he felt Royce could provide you with that last piece of the puzzle, the one thing he failed to give you. Consider it one last chicken test if you will, one whose lesson you might not see the virtue of just yet." The professor stroked his beard around the edges of his mouth. "I suspect you have regrets at how you left home. Guilt perhaps. This is your chance to ease that feeling. This is the door your father left open for you. Besides, you don't need to marry Royce-just accept this single assignment."

"What assignment?" Hadrian asked.

"I need for you to fetch me a book. It's a journal written by a former professor here at the university."

"He means he wants us to steal a book." Royce had picked up what looked to be a six-inch incisor from a bear and was rolling it between his hands.

"More like borrow without permission," Arcadius expl-ained.

"Can't you just ask, especially since you only want to borrow it?" Hadrian said.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. First, it would be heretical to ~ Michael J. Sullivan

I am well aware that certain exercises, tasks setup by the facilitator, can practically force the group to more of a here-and-now communication or more of a feeling level. There are leaders who do these very skillfully, and with good effect at the time. However, I am enough of a scientist-clinician to make many casual follow-up inquiries, and I know that frequently the lasting result of such procedures is not nearly as satisfying as the immediate effect. At it's best it may lead to discipleship (which I happen not to like): "What a marvelous leader he is to have made me open up when I had no intention of doing it!" It can also lead to a rejection of the whole experience. "Why did I do those silly things he asked me to?" At worst, it can make the person feel that his private self has been in some way violated, and he will be careful never to expose himself to a group again. From my experience I know that if I attempt to push a group to a deeper level it is not, in the long run, going to work. ~ Carl R. Rogers

Most of the people I admire, they usually smell funny and don't get out much. It's true. Most of them are either dead or not feeling well. ~ Tom Waits

The realm of sexual pleasure is also the realm of the psyche. To love or be loved, to touch, be touched, feel pleasure, passion, ecstasy, to surrender and release engages every human faculty, not sensual adroitness alone but intelligence of every kind. As well as being willing to give pleasure, a good lover must be sensitive and aware, registering what kind of touch, for instance, on which part of the body arouses desire, knowing which mood calls for a robust approach, which moment requires gentleness, able to laugh or tease while at the same time probing both the mind and body of the loved one for gateways to greater feeling.

The desire to give pleasure is, however, not the only motive. The deepest ardor of the lover is to know the beloved: to test, feel, see, taste, smell, witness every response, every shade of sensation. ~ Susan Griffin

Hey…," I said as we climbed into bed one rainy night. "What if we just put the house on hold for a while?" I reached over to my bedside table, grabbed the lemon half, and took a big sniff. Lemon halves were my new narcotic.
Marlboro Man was quiet. He worked his leg under mine and locked it into what had become its official position. It was warm.
"I think maybe we should get to a stopping point," I said. "And just put it on hold for a while."
"I've thought about it," he answered quietly. He rubbed his leg slowly up and down mine.
Feeling better, I set the lemon back on the table and reached my arm toward him, rolling over and draping my other leg over his waist and resting my head on his chest. "Well, I was thinking it might be easier for me not to worry about it with my parents and the baby and everything else." Maybe it would be more effective, I thought, if I turned the focus on me.
"Well, that makes sense," he said. "But let's talk about it tomorrow." He wrapped his other arm around my waist, and within seconds we were in a totally different world, where parents and drywall--and crippling nausea--were no longer welcome. ~ Ree Drummond

Peter sits with his back to the wall in the hallway. He looks up at me when I lean over him, his dark hair stuck to his forehead from the melted snow.
"Did you reset her?" he says.
"No," I say.
"Didn't think you would have the nerve."
"It's not about nerve. You know what? Whatever." I shake my head and hold up the vial of memory serum. "Are you still set on this?"
He nods.
"You could just do the work, you know," I say. "You could make better decisions, make a better life."
"Yeah, I could," he says. "But I won't. We both know that."
I do know that. I know that change is difficult, and comes slowly, and that it is the work of many days strung together in a long line until the origin of them is forgotten. He is afraid that he will not be able to put in that work, that he will squander those days, and that they will leave him worse off than he is now. And I understand that feeling--I understand being afraid of yourself.
So I have him sit on one of the couches, and I ask him what he wants me to tell him about himself, after his memories disappear like smoke. He just shakes his head. Nothing. He wants to retain nothing.
Peter takes the vial with a shaking hand and twists off the cap. The liquid trembles inside it, almost spilling over the lip. He holds it under his nose to smell it.
"How much should I drink?" he says, and I think I hear his teeth chattering.
"I don't think it makes a difference," I say.
"Okay. Well…h ~ Veronica Roth

There is one thing I need to be sure of," said the Emperor, taking an arrow, and placing it in the bow, cocking it back, "I need to know where your loyalties lay, Miss Roberts."
"With you, Emperor," said Areli, scared, "of course, they're with you."
"Then prove it," said the Emperor, "prove your obedience to me. Prove your allegiance." He placed the crossbow in her fingers, laced her finger against the trigger, and positioned the butt of the weapon against her shoulders. "That woman there. She's a follower, Areli. She's a deceitful little tramp that had taken residence in the bed of Degendhard's. I want you to kill her for me. I want you to punish her, for her crimes against her Empire." Areli looked at him, bewildered, with eyes that screamed, you can't be serious!
"If you don't. Then I will have no other option than to assume you have been taken to Degendhard's bed as well. You will do this, Areli. You will punish her. Prove your worth." Areli took a deep breath, feeling the smoothness of the wood and the coldness of the trigger for the first time since having the harsh weapon thrust into her hand.
The Emperor, sensing her hesitation, forced himself upon her. Her lifted her arms, and steadied the weapon into her shoulder, his chest pressed up against her back, his lips rubbing against her ear. The crossbow shook. The woman's head lulled back and forth as she was stuck in a drug rendered dream-state, not knowing that her body faced impalement.
" ~ Jeffrey Johnson

Smokers always waxed poetic about the ritual of it, how a large part of the satisfaction was packing the box and pulling the foil wrapper and plucking an aromatic stick. They claimed they loved the lighting, the ashing, the feeling of being able to hold something between their fingers. That was all well and good, but there was nothing quite like actually smoking it: Leigh loved inhaling. To pull with your lips on that filter and feel the smoke drift across your tongue, down your throat, and directly into your lungs was to be transported momentarily to nirvana. She remembered- every day- how it felt after the first inhale, just as the nicotine was hitting her bloodstream. A few seconds of both tranquility and alertness, together, in exactly the right amounts. Then the slow exhale- forceful enough so that the smoke didn't merely seep from your mouth but not so energetic that it disrupted the moment- would complete the blissful experience. ~ Lauren Weisberger

The following brief points are like magic moccasins. They
guarantee safe guidance through the forest of people. To walk
safely, wear them!
1. The most persuasive power you have toward others is a
mature self.
2. The mark of greatness is to be superior without feeling
superior.
3. "The consciousness of being loved softens the keenest
pang." (Joseph Addison)
4. The turning point in all your exterior relations comes
when you start changing your inner self.
5. Strong people attract the weak.
6. Possessiveness and dependency are not states of love.
7. Your own level of being attracts the kind of people who
enter your life.
8. "He is happy as well as great who needs neither to obey
nor command in order to be something." (Goethe)
9. Your True Self cannot be afraid of anyone.
10. You break the cord of painful thought toward another
person by snipping the connection within your own
mind.
11. It is very painful to pretend to be someone.
12. Any sincere effort at bettering your human relations
returns a reward.
13. Don't drain your energy by thinking negatively toward
people who harm you.
14. You get along with others to the exact degree that you
get along with yourself.
15. A real person stands out like a human being among statues. ~ Vernon Howard

Die. Do you think I will? I suppose I must...I exist now, and everything that exists must end, one day. I wonder how I will die, and what it will be like. It will be most interesting, don't you think? [...] Yes. Yes, I think it will," said the wolf. "I look forward to it. On the whole, I think it is a very strange and terrifying thing, to exist. I really don't understand how you do it. Tell me - how do you deal with the fear?

"The fear?" asked George.

"Yes. That fear that comes from the feeling that there is you, and then there is...everything else. That you are trapped inside of yourself, a tiny dot insignificant in the face of every everything that could ever be. How do you manage that?"

George considered how to answer. "I...guess we just never think about it."

"Never think about it!" cried the wolf. "How can you not think about it when it confronts you at every moment? You are lost amid a wide, dark sea, with no shores in sight, and you all so rarely panic! Some days I can barely function, so how on earth can you never think about it?"

"Well, I...suppose we distract ourselves," said George.

"But with what?".

"I don't know. With all kinds of things. ~ Robert Jackson Bennett