Cant Do Right For Wrong Quotes

Okay, so first we get you a new computer and then a Facebook page. Priorities, you know," he said, typing in Kyle's password.

"What would I do without you--"

"Found her," he interrupted. "She's at Carrie's OK Bar. It's downtown."

"What the hell is Carrie's OK Bar?"

"It's a karaoke bar. Travis, come on."

"Wait, how do you know she's there?"

"She checked in there about twenty minutes ago."

"What does that mean?"

"Oh. Right. Since you left, it's become very important that we all constantly know each other's thoughts, locations, and birthdays."

"That's really stupid. Except for in this one very specific situation. I can't go if her fiancé's there, though. That would be too weird."

"He's not."

"How do you know?"

"Because she put 'Girls' Night' with about five exclamation points after it."

"Are people just asking to be murdered?"

"Pretty much. So are we going? ~ John Corey Whaley

I too am relieved. I did not know if Kate would like me."
"Well, sure she would! You're her own kind, right?"
"I am her kind?"
Richard suddenly looked less sure of himself, but he said, "I mean you're in that same milieu or whatever. That science milieu she was raised in. Right, Uncle Louis?" he asked. "No normal person could understand you people."
"What exactly do you find difficult to understand?" Dr. Battista asked him.
"Oh, you know, all that science jargon; I can't offhand - "
"I am researching autoimmune disorders," Dr. Battista said. "It's true that 'autoimmune' has four syllables, but perhaps if I broke the word down for you… ~ Anne Tyler

- The local prince had gotten a notion that the girl could spin straw into gold, the dwarf said. Brainless young idiot, but they're all like that. If she could spin straw into gold, why was she living in a hovel? Anyway, Gramps said he'd do her spinning for her in return for part of the gold and her firstborn child. She agreed, but naturally when the baby was born she didn't want to give him up. So Gramps agreed to a guessing game: if she could guess his name, she could keep the baby. Then he let her find out what his name was. She kept the baby and Gramps kept the gold, and everyone went home happy.

- I think I'm beginning to get the idea, Cimorene said. It's not just spinning straw into gold that's a family tradition, is it? It's the whole scheme.

The dwarf nodded sadly.
- Right the first time. Only I can never make it work properly. I can find plenty of girls who're supposed to spin straw into gold, and most of them suggest the guessing game, but I've never had even one who managed to guess my name.

- Oh, dear, said Cimorene.

- I even changed my name legally, so it would be easier, the dwarf said sadly. Herman isn't a difficult name to remember, is it? But no, the silly chits can't do it. So I end up with the baby as well as the gold, and babies eat and cry and need clothes, and the gold runs out, and I have to find another girl to spin gold for, and it happens all over again, and I end up with another baby. It isn't fair! ~ Patricia C. Wrede

Women formed from black smoke come to me at night and they scream for me to not cut their throats or twist those tiny necks. They beg and cry. Then right at the moment when I can't take anymore, I rush up to them, slashing at the smoke with my hands. Do they go away? Never. They turn into familiar faces. ~ Kenya Wright

So your husband's home with the little ones? - it'll be good for him, let him see what it's like with kids all day, right? men never understand until you ask them to do it and then they say, Well, the kids only act like this with me, it has to be much easier when you're with them, isn't that the truth? They're really thinking, You can't possibly put up with this day after day, can you? ~ Alice McDermott

He saw nothing but the gentle ruffling of the leaves in the wind, but as he finished his sweep of the area, he somehow knew.
"Sophie!"
He heard a gasp, followed by a huge flurry of activity.
"Sophie Beckett," he yelled, "if you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you,and I will not take the time to don my clothing."
The noises coming from the shore slowed.
"I will catch up with you," he continued, "because I'm stronger and faster. And I might very well feel compelled to tackle you to the ground, just to be certain you do not escape."
The sounds of her movements ceased.
"Good," he grunted. "Show yourself."
She didn't.
"Sophie," he warned.
There was a beat of silence, followed by the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps, and then he saw her, standing on the shore in one of those awful dresses he'd like to see sunk to the bottom of the Thames.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I went for a walk.What are you doing here?" she countered. "You're supposed to be ill.That-" she waved her arm toward him and, by extension, the pond- "can't possibly be good for you."
He ignored her question and comment. "Were you following me?"
"Of course not," she replied, and he rather believed her. He didn't think she possessed the acting talents to fake that level of righteousness.
"I would never follow you to a swimming hole," she continued. "It would be indecent."
And then her face went completely red, beca ~ Julia Quinn

He turned to face her. The two vertical lines above his nose were deep clefts between red wales. "I don't give a damn about your honesty," he told her, trying to make himself speak calmly. "I don't care what kind of tricks you're up to, what your secrets are, but I've got to have something to show that you know what you're doing."
"I do know. Please believe that I do, and that it's all for the best, and
"
"Show me," he ordered. "I'm willing to help you. I've done what I could so far. If necessary I'll go ahead blindfolded, but I can't do it without more confidence in you than I've got now. You've got to convince me that you know what it's all about, that you're not simply fiddling around by guess and by God, hoping it'll come out all right somehow in the end. ~ Dashiell Hammett

I'm a dog. I don't have a name yet.
(a dazed Namiki)
This guy is "Namikisan". That's what Kanade calls him, anyway.
What...have we here? SNIFF. SNIFF.
...
CHOMP. CHOMP.
'Hey! Did you just eat something off the ground?! Like you didn't stuff your belly at home.' (-Namiki)
Hmm? My instinct told me it was okay! And it's almost always right! Like that one time... That one time...

'I'm sure some good samaritan'll pick him up.' (-man)
'Yeah, who'll take him to the dog pound!' (-woman)
'Well, there's nothing we can do about it now...' (-man)
Hmm?
...
RUSTLE. RUSTLE.
(Namiki pauses, looks down at him)
PAT.
KNEAD. KNEAD. KNEAD.
'Heh heh.' (-Namiki)
Not so rough!
KNEAD. KNEAD.
Oh, yeah? Try this on for size! NIP. NIP.
'Ha ha ha! Ha... ..... ...Oh. I see. You're...' (-Namiki)
? WAG. WAG.
'...gonna die.' (-Namiki)
That one time...my animal instinct told me...
(Namiki looks at him with a pained expression)
"He's the one!"
That's why, even when he walked away at first, even when it rained, I knew it would be okay.
(Namiki appears in the rain and reaches down for him, smiling)
My instinct was right on target.

[at the Animal Hospital]
'He probably ate something off the ground.' (-vet.)
GROAN. GROAN.
'I knew it! Can't you even tell when something's safe to eat or not?! I thought dogs were supposed to have instincts fo ~ Sakura Tsukuba

Hey!"

"What is it, Eggers?" Dad walks out of the kitchen in his windbreaker and running shorts and looks up the stairs.

"Do I have to walk around with Church and Sully for Halloween this year?"

Dad frowns. "Church and Sully are doing Halloween this year? Are they too old for that yet?"

He asks it honestly, because he really doesn't remember. He knows they're in the same grade, and that they're under fourteen because they play on all U-14 sports teams, but anything beyond that is details. Sully is fourteen, Church is thirteen; born elevenmonths apart exactly, and most people think they're twins.

"They're kind of too old for it, yeah," I say.

"Oh. Well, ask your mom."

"Is she home right now?"

"No, she took Davy for her quick 10K with her marathon students."

"What? Davy can't run a 10K!"

He holds his hands up in surrender. "They're jogging, and the slow students always take care of him anyway. He's fine. ~ Francesca Zappia

Like a child, I close my eyes as if they can't see me either. The fire from the kiss broadcasts itself all over me in the form of a full-body blush.
Galen laughs. "There it is," he says, running his thumb over my bottom lip. "That is my favorite color. Wow."
I'm going to kill him. "Galen. Please. Come. With. Me," I coke out. Gliding past him, my bare feet slap against the tile until I'm stomping on carpet in the hallway, then up the stairs.
I can tell by the prickles on my skin that he's following like a good dead fish. As I reach the ladder to the uppermost level, I nod to him to keep following before I hoist myself up. Pacing the room until he gets through the trap door, I count more Mississipis than I've ever counted in my whole life.
He closes the door and locks it shut but makes no move to come closer. Still, for a person who's about to die, he seems more amused than he should. I point my finger at him, but can't decide what to accuse him of first, so I put it back down.
After several moments of this, he breaks the silence. "Emma, calm down."
"Don't tell me what to do, Highness." I dare him with my eyes to call me "boo."
Instead of the apology I'm looking for, his eyes tell me he's considering kissing me again, right now.
Which is meant to distract me. Tearing my gaze from his mouth, I stride to the window seat and move the mountains of pillows on it. Making myself comfortable, I lean my head against the window. He knows as well as ~ Anna Banks

But no, I'm sorry. I can't end there. I haven't yet said everything I want to say. A little girl is at school, out in the playground with her friends, and she sees a flower and says to her friends, just thinking out loud, wondering gently to herself: Do you think flowers have feelings? And for the rest of the day her friends tease her relentlessly, with every new opportunity that arises. Do flowers have feelings, that's so stupid. Right, flowers have feelings. All day and for the rest of the week: stupid flowers have stupid feelings and that little girl feels she is never going to say anything like that ever again. She has already learned that when you open your heart or express genuine, innocent curiosity or wonder about the world, your friends will pounce on the opportunity and use it to hurt you as viciously as possible and there is nothing anyone can do to protect her. It's simple stories like that that really break my heart. ~ Jacob Wren

Owen stepped into the saddle and reached a hand down as he took his foot out of the stirrup, so Bay could mount behind him. Once she was settled, he said, "Hang on. And don't be wiggling around. We can't afford any more accidents."
Bay glowered at him. She clamped her hands on either side of his waist at his beltline, but his Colt .45 was holstered on one side, which kept her from getting a comfortable hold. She put her right hand above the gun, but that meant it was practically under his armpit. Then she moved it below the gun, but that put her hand low on hips close to his crotch.
"Sonofabitch." He grabbed her hands and pulled them around his midriff. "Now hang on."
Bay kept her breasts rigidly distanced from Owen's back, but her nipples puckered anyway. It was that damned washboard of male abdominal muscle under her hands. The man could do commercials for those workout machines they advertised on TV.
The horseflies were a surprise. Where had they come from? She let go with one hand and swatted at one that seemed determined to bite her on the nose.
And knocked Owen's hat askew.
"That does it. Off."
"It wasn't my fault," Bay said. "I was getting bitten."
"Off." He grabbed her arm and levered her out from behind him and onto the ground. ~ Joan Johnston

I get asked to do benefits a lot and I've decided I've got to be a bit more discerning, I can't just do all of them ... I got asked to do a benefit for babies born addicted to crack. And I said well, all right, I'll help you raise money for them, but I think we both know what they're gonna spend it on. ~ Laura Kightlinger

Okay," I finally said. "Can we all agree that this is maybe the most screwed-up situation we've ever found ourselves in?"
"Agreed," they said in unison.
"Awesome." I gave a little nod. "And do either of you have any idea what we should do about it?"
"Well, we can't use magic," Archer said.
"And if we try to leave, we get eaten by Monster Fog," Jenna added.
"Right. So no plans at all, then?"
Jenna frowned. "Other than rocking in the fetal position for a while?"
"Yeah, I was thinking about taking one of those showers where you huddle in the corner fully clothed and cry," Archer offered.
I couldn't help but snort with laughter. "Great. So we'll all go have our mental breakdowns, and then we'll somehow get ourselves out of this mess."
"I think our best bet is to lie low for a while," Archer said. "Let Mrs. Casnoff think we're all too shocked and awed to do anything. Maybe this assembly tonight will give us some answers."
"Answers," I practically sighed. "About freaking time."
Jenna gave me a funny look. "Soph, are you…grinning?"
I could feel my cheeks aching, so I knew that I was. "Look, you two have to admit: if we want to figure out just what the Casnoffs are plotting, this is pretty much the perfect place."
"My girl has a point," Archer said, smiling at me. Now my cheeks didn't just ache, they burned.
Clearing her throat, Jenna said, "Okay, so we all go up to our rooms, then after the assembly tonight we can ~ Rachel Hawkins

Memories separated in time are often recalled side by side-there's an emotional connection that has nothing to do with the diary dates and everything to do with the feeling.
Remembering isn't like visiting a museum: Look! There's the long-gone object in a glass case. Memory isn't an archive. Even a simple memory is a cluster. Something that seemed so insignificant at the time suddenly becomes the key when we remember it at a particular time later. We're not liars or self-deceivers-OK, we are all liars and self-deceivers, but it's a fact that our memories change as we do.
Some memories, though, don't seem to change a all. They are sticky with pain. And even when we are not, consciously, remembering our memories, they seem to remember us. We can't shake free of their effect.
There's a great-term for that-the old present. These things happened in the past, but they're riding right up front with us every day. (245-6) ~ Jeanette Winterson

It's cool in the basement, so I pull the blanket up to my chest. Caleb slides in beside me, and I feel his bare legs against mine. "You're shivering," he says, his voice a low whisper.
"I'm a little cold... and a little nervous."
"Don't be nervous, Maggie. It's juste me."
It's the real Caleb, without the tough facade. I'm glad it's completely dark now and he can't see my trembling fingers as they move up to his beautiful face. "I know."
He pulls me closer. I rest my head in the crook of his arm and am more content than ever.
"Maggie ?"
"Yeah ?"
"Thanks."
"For what ?"
"For making me feel alive again."
I drape my arm across his chest, the warmth of his skin melting into mine. I want to remember this night forever, because we'll probably never get another chance to hold each other like this again. It makes me want to do more than just sleep in his arms. I try and relax, to slow my own erratic heartbeat as I wrap my right leg, the one that wasn't severely damaged in the accident, around him. It's a definite hint that I'm ready to do more than just lie in his arms.
He moans in response. "Maggie, you're treading into dangerous territory. I'm trying to be a good, honorable guy here."
" I know. But I'm not asking you to be one."
"You sure you know what you're getting into ?"
"Nope. I've got no clue." I start kissing and feeling my way across his broad chest.
"You're killing me", he says, his hands slowly reach ~ Simone Elkeles

Don't you think it's rather nice to think that we're in a book that God's writing? If I were writing a book, I might make mistakes. But God knows how to make the story end just right
in the way that's best for us."
Do you really believe that, Mother?" Peter asked quietly.
Yes," she said, "I do believe it
almost always
except when I'm so sad that I can't believe anything. But even when I don't believe it, I know it's true
and I try to believe it. ~ E. Nesbit

He was right! Said you'd go straight after 'em, sword and knife. What's with you?"
"You said, 'A trap.' I thought it was them," I muttered through suddenly numb lips. "Wasn't it?"
"Didn't you see the riding of greeners?" Bran retorted. "It was Debegri, right enough. He had paid informants in those inns, for he was on the watch for your return. Why d'you think Vidanric sent the escort?"
"Vidanric?"
"His name," Branaric said, still staring at me with that odd gaze. "You could try to use it--only polite. After all, Shevraeth is just a title, and he doesn't go about calling either of us Tlanth."
I'd rather cut out my tongue, I thought, but I said nothing.
"Anyway--life, sister--if he'd wanted me dead, why not in the comfort of his own home, where he could do a better job?"
I shook my head. "It made sense to me."
"It makes sense when you have a castle-sized grudge." He sighed. "It was the Renselaeus escort, hard on their heels, that attacked Debegri's gang and saved my life. Our friend the Marquis wasn't far behind--he'd just found out about the spies, he said. Between us we pieced together what happened, and what I said, and what you'd likely do. I thought you'd stay home. He said you'd ride back down the mountain breathing fire and hunting his blood. He was right." He stared to laugh, but it came out a groan, and he closed his eyes for a long breath. Then, "Arrow clipped me on the right, or I'd be finished. But I can't talk long--I'm alrea ~ Sherwood Smith

Archer, Jenna, and I weren't exactly clutching each other and sobbing, but we were pretty shaken as we formed a little huddle. "Okay," I finally said. "Can we all agree that this is maybe the most screwed-up situation we've ever found ourselves in?"
"Agreed," they said in unison.
"Awesome." I gave a little nod. "And do either of you have any idea what we should do about it?"
"Well, we can't use magic," Archer said.
"And if we try to leave, we get eaten by Monster Fog," Jenna added.
"Right. So no plans at all, then?"
Jenna frowned. "Other than rocking in the fetal position for a while?"
"Yeah, I was thinking about taking one of those showers where you huddle in the corner fully clothed and cry," Archer offered.
I couldn't help but snort with laughter. "Great. So we'll all go have our mental breakdowns, and then we'll somehow get ourselves out of this mess. ~ Rachel Hawkins

Dear father,

It's been five years today, but makes no difference! Not a day goes by without me remembering your pure green eyes, the tone of your voice singing In Adighabza, or your poems scattered all around the house.

Dear father, from you I have learned that being a girl doesn't mean that I can't achieve my dreams, no matter how crazy or un-urban they might seem. That you raised me with the utmost of ethics and morals and the hell with this cocooned society, if it doesn't respect the right to ask and learn and be, just because I'm a girl.

Dear father, from you I have learned to respect all mankind, and just because you descend from a certain blood or ethnicity, it doesn't make you better than anybody else. It's you, and only you, your actions, your thoughts, your achievements, are what differentiates you from everybody else. At the same time, thank you for teaching me to respect and value where I came from, for actually taking me to my hometown Goboqay, for teaching me about my family tree, how my ancestors worked hard and fought for me to be where I am right now, and to continue on with the legacy and make them all proud.

Dear father, from you and mom, I have learned to speak in my mother tongue. A gift so precious, that I have already made a promise to do the same for my unborn children.

Dear father, from you I have learned to be content, to fear Allah, to be thankful for all that I have, and no matter what, never l ~ Larissa Qat

Of that first decade, Neil said
I would have this recurring fantasy in which there would be a knock on the door, and I would go down, and there would be somebody wearing a suit – not an expensive suit, just the kind of suit that showed they had a job – and they would be holding a clipboard, and they'd have a paper on the clipboard, and I'd open the door and they'd say, „Hello, excuse me, I'm afraid I am here on official business. Are you Neil Gaiman?" And I would say yes. „Well, it says here that you are a writer and that you don't have to get up in the morning at any particular time, that you just write each day as much you want." And I'd go „That's right." "And that you enjoy writing. And it says here that all the books you want – they are just sent to you and you don't have to buy them. And films: it says here that you just go to see films. If you want to see them you just call up the person who runs the films." And I say, „Yes, that's right." And that people like what you do and they give you money for just writing things down." And I'd say yes. And he'd say, „Well, I'm afraid we are on to you. We've caught up with you. And I'm afraid you are now going to have to go out and get a proper job." At which point in my fantasy my heart would always sink, and I'd go, „Okay," and I'd go and buy a cheap suit and I'd start applying to real jobs. Because once they've caught up with you, you can't argue with this: they've caught up with you. So that was the thing in my head. ~ Amy Cuddy

Why should literature be easy? Sometimes you can do what you want to do in a simple, direct way that is absolutely right. Sometimes you can't. Reading is not a passive act. Books are not TV. Art of all kinds is an interactive challenge. The person who makes the work and the person who comes to the work both have a job to do. I am never wilfully obscure, but I do ask for some effort. ~ Jeanette Winterson

There were some jobs I wanted that weren't necessarily right for me at the time. The ones I thought I'd never get, I got. As long as I am doing the best work I can possibly do at any given time, I can't do any better than that. ~ Constance Marie

A human being can choose what to do, what to become. We are all free. No one but you can decide what you make of your life. If you let other people decide how you live, that is, again, a choice. It would be a choice to be the kind of person other people expect you to be.
Obviously if you make a choice to do something, you might not always succeed in doing it. And the reasons why you don't succeed may be completely outside your control. But you are responsible for wanting to do that thing, for trying to do it, and for how you respond to your failure to be able to do it.
Freedom is hard to handle and many of us run away from it. One of the ways to hide is to pretend that you aren't really free at all. If Sartre is right, we can't make excuses: we are completely responsibile for what we do every day and how we feel about what we do. Right down to the emotions we have. If you're sad right now, that's your choice, according to Sartre. You don't have to be sad. If you are sad, you are responsible for it. That is frightening and some people would rather not face up to it because it is so painful. He talks about us being 'condemned to be free'. We're stuck with this freedom whether we like it or not. ~ Nigel Warburton

I think the word despair is much too small to encompass the magnitude of all it defines. For me, right then, despair meant that everything within me-my organs, my spirit, my hope-plunged down into a place of utter density, of blackness so heavy and bleak I had no idea how to lift any of it up again.
I can't do this. I'm just Lora Jones. I can't even remember how to tell a shrimp fork from an oyster fork. I can barely find middle C. I can't save Jesse and Armand and the castle. I can't defeat them all.
But I had to. We were going to die unless I did. ~ Shana Abe

I love the way you feel inside me," he said.

Ryder made a low, rumbling noise of contentment. "I love the way I feel inside you, too."

"I love that you did this for me because you wanted to give me something special." Luca started rocking back and forth on Ryder's cock. "I love that you've never done it for anyone else."

Ryder's brow creased. "Luca…"

Luca put his hand over Ryder's mouth, a domineering gesture that silenced Ryder instantly. He didn't know where the words were coming from, just that they were clawing at his throat, demanding to get out.

"I love the way you treat me," he said. "I love that you're so much stronger than me but you never make me feel weak. I love that you take care of me without implying that I can't take care of myself. I love that you let me take control but always call me on my bullshit."

Luca had to pause for a moment; the pleasure of their slow, rhythmic fucking was making it difficult for him to gather his thoughts. Ryder waited, eyes watchful.

"I love that you're always worried about doing the right thing, even when nobody else is." Certain that Ryder wouldn't interrupt now, Luca let go of his mouth and braced his hands on Ryder's chest. He bounced shallowly on Ryder's cock, soaking up his size, his strength, his steady, reassuring presence. "I love that I can trust you, and I love that I can rely on you, and – and I love you, Ryder, I do, I love you – "

~ Cordelia Kingsbridge

He began to attack the bone with a regular knife and spoon. Until I nudged him with an elbow. "The marrow shovel." It was meant to reach down to the bottom of a bone and lift the marrow out. He reached for the utensil. "That's right. I always forget!" He wouldn't if Aunt had been his teacher. "Why do you think it is that we can't just use a knife?" I smothered a laugh as I remembered that I had asked Aunt that very same thing. "I don't know." "Neither do I. This table is a pigeon trap. A dozen different forks and knives and spoons. Four different goblets. All of them just waiting to be knocked over or misapplied and mishandled. It's a wonder anyone is ever tempted to eat!" "You're doing quite well." "Franklin's much better at all of this than I am." "But you're much better at conversing." "And making you laugh? Am I better at that?" I smiled. "Yes. I would say so." "Good. Because that, at least, is something worthwhile. ~ Siri Mitchell

I could never sit down and say: I'm going to do an out-and-out comedy, just to prove to people I can. You've just got to do what you do. Just listen to your soul and do your art and do it for the right reasons, and then you can't fail. ~ Paddy Considine

Medical care for the entire country seems to me a basic right. If every other country in the West can do it, why can't we? ~ Paul Auster

I can't help blushing and looking down at my feet. "It was nothing."
"It was literally everything to me."
I look up, putting on my best version of Eight's teasing smile. "In that case, I think I deserve more than a gross hot dog."
Eight clasps his hands across his chest like I've wounded him. "You're right! I'm a fool to think my life could be traded for a hot dog." He grabs my hand and gets down on one knee, pressing his forehead to the back of my hand. "My savior, what can I ever do to repay you? ~ Pittacus Lore

How do text messages make you feel existential?
I start thinking about exactly that: how people can edit a thought before sending it out to the world. They can make themselves seem more well spoken than they are, or funnier, smarter. I start thinking that no one in the world is who they say the are, then my mind goes to how I also edit myself, not just online but in real life, except for those rare instances like right now where I'm ranting- even though that's a lie because I've had this train of thought before and damned if I didn't tweak it in my head a few times to make it sound better- and then my mind starts racing so furiously I can't control my thoughts, and I start thinking about robots and wondering if I'm even a real person. ~ Adi Alsaid

You stand there all tan and glowing and wonder why I use Voice on you?" he bellowed. "Where the hell do you get off? You've been with V'lane again. How many slaps in the face do you think I'm going to take, Ms. Lane?" He grabbed my fist and held it when I tried to punch him again. I swung at him with the other. He caught that, too. "I warned you not to play us against each other."
"I'm not playing you! I'm trying to survive. And I don't slap you when I go off with V'lane!" I tried to yank my fists from his hands. "It doesn't have anything to do with you. I'm trying to get answers, and since you won't give me any, you can't blame me for going somewhere else."
"So, the man who doesn't get laid at home has the right to go off and cheat?"
"Huh?"
"Which word didn't you understand?" he sneered.
"You're the one who's crippled by illogic. This isn't home, it never will be, and nobody's getting laid!" I practically shouted.
"You think I don't know that?" He shifted his body beneath me, making me painfully aware of something. Two somethings, in fact, one of which was how far up my short skirt was. The other wasn't my problem. I wriggled, to shimmy my hem down, but his expression perished the thought. When Barrons looks at me like that, it rattles me. Lust, in those ancient, obsidian eyes, offers no trace of humanity. Doesn't even bother trying.
Savage Mac wants to invite it to come out and play. I think she's nuts. Nuts, I tell you.
"Let go of my ~ Karen Marie Moning

Jamie used the time away from me to do some soul-searching. She finally also did something she'd thought about for a long time. She walked into an Army recruitment office in Nashville and joined the military. She didn't discuss it with me beforehand. Instead she called and said, "I'm joining the Army. It's active duty and I'm going to be a truck driver with an airborne contract." Shocked, I blurted out, "You're going to do what? No you're not."
"What do you mean? I'm gonna be a truck driver in a convoy." I knew she was referring to a seventies country song she likes. Only this wasn't a country song, this was real life.
"Are you crazy? This is not a game. You will hate being a truck driver. You don't even know if you'll like being in the military. Go National Guard or Reserves and see if you like it."
"They said I'm already in. Basic is not for another few months but I'm in and I can't change it."
"Yes you can. You are not in yet. You are not in the military. That was just a recruiter telling you that. Why aren't you going in as an officer? You have a degree. You can make more money."
She seemed annoyed that I was raining on her parade, but I think it was also dawning on her that maybe I was right and she hadn't done the research.
"They told me that it's not really that much more."
I explained to her, "They are lying to you. It is a lot more."
I had no problem with her joining the military. If that's what she wanted to do, I supported it ~ Noah Galloway

You're right, Jottie, but what good is it? Rightness is nothing. You can't live on it. You might as well eat ashes." I glanced at Father, his bloodshot eyes and the stain on his pants. I loved him so. Once more, I tried to explain. "This is all we can do; it's all we're allowed. We can't go back. The only thing time leaves for us to decide" -- I picked up Father's hand and held it tight-- "is whether or not we're going to hate each other. ~ Annie Barrows