Cards On The Table Quotes

Let's be honest, the cards' on the table:
Jealousy's a sin, Cain killed Abel.
Backstabber ... Caesar had Brutus.
It's hard to weed 'em out, even Jesus had Judas. ~ Pusha T

If I were wise, I shouldn't tell you. But I won't be wise, Harry, not for this time. I'll be just the opposite. So now mind what I say! You will hear it and forget it again. You will laugh over it, and you will weep over it. So look out! I am going to play with you for life and death, little brother, and before we begin the game I'm going to lay my cards on the table. ~ Hermann Hesse

Jane, I don't care what capacity you let me have in your life. I just want to be there. And if that means I have to keep my distance, I'll do that."
I sighed. If ever there was a time for me to lay all my cards on the table, this was it. Naked, wounded, and vulnerable. "So, here's my basic
problem with us, the reason I can't seem to relax into a relationship with you, the reason I find problems where none exist and I push you away. I - I can't figure out why you're with me!" I exclaimed, clapping my hand over my mouth. I hadn't meant for that part to come out. I had meant to say, "You lie and hide things from me."

Gabriel pried my fingers away from my lips. My hands trembled as stuff I'd been feeling for months tumbled from my tongue. "I know that
makes me neurotic and sad, but I can't figure out why you want to be with me. Every other woman in your life is exotic and beautiful and has all this history. And I'm just some drunk girl you followed home from a bar, some pathetic human you felt your usual need to protect, and you got stuck with a lifetime tie to her because she was dumb enough to get shot. I can't stand the idea that you feel obligated to me. I know I'm insecure and pushy and spastic, desperately inappropriate at times and just plain odd at others. And I can't help but wonder why you would want that when there are obviously so many other options. I can't help but feel that I'm keeping you from someone better."
I let out a loud, long ~ Molly Harper

Servant leadership teaches us that you have to lay your cards on the table. ~ Warren G. Bennis

Let me lay my cards on the table. If I were to give an award for the single best idea anyone ever had, I'd give it to Darwin, ahead of even Newton or Einstein and everyone else. In a single stroke, the idea of evolution by natural selection unifies the realm of life, meaning and purpose with the realm of space and time, cause and effect, mechanism and physical law. It is not just a wonderful idea. It is a dangerous idea. ~ Daniel Dennett

Unlike other relationships that have a purpose beyond themselves and are clearly delineated as such (dentist-patient, lawyer-client, teacher-student), the writer-subject relationship seems to depend for its life on a kind of fuzziness and murkiness, if not utter covertness, of purpose. If everybody put his cards on the table, the game would be over. The journalist must do his work in a kind of deliberately induced state of moral anarchy. ~ Janet Malcolm

I've enjoyed working on the TV series that I've worked on, in particular something like 'The Wire,' where there was so much time to tell the story and develop a character. I learned from that that it's best not to lay all your cards on the table straight away. ~ Aidan Gillen

If they'd caused you pain, I'd never have been able to live with myself," he said as he backed up a step.
"You might want to find another place to sit. Those idiots could cook up a plan for revenge."
"I can't leave." Green Eyes took a huge breath. "This is the only place where I get to see you." He looked like a man who'd just bet his entire fortune and laid his cards on the table. ~ Debra Anastasia

Love should not be a guessing game. In fact, it shouldn't be a game at all. One should lay all the cards on the table, and be honest with intentions and feelings. And while some may hide and bluff with their cards, the true winners are those that lay their cards down honestly and find what they are looking for because of it. ~ Carlos Salinas

Pressuring Abby was never a good idea, but unless I laid all my cards on the table, I stood a very good chance of losing the only pigeon I'd ever met. ~ Jamie McGuire

I never want to sort of put all the cards on the table all at once, because that's somehow there's always a journey to go on. There's always something to be revealed, in my mind, about characters. ~ Jeremy Northam

I am clean I am true I am playing with my cards on the table. ~ Elena Ferrante

These are my cards on the table. I think you're beautiful. I feel like I'm an idiot with dirt on his face sitting next to someone out of a painting. I think...I think I'm just plain stupid for you. I know that's not exactly sweet talk out of a play. Frankly, I'd kiss your shadow. I'd kiss dirt that had your heel print on it. I like feeling this way. I don't give a damn what you or anyone else thinks...this is how it feels every time I look at you. ~ Scott Lynch

Cards on the table, Ava. No fucking about, no more drunken confessions and no more holding out on me, Do you understand? ~ Jodi Ellen Malpas

What Evie needed was a little hair of the dog, but her parents had confiscated her hip flask. It was a swell flask, too - silver, with the initials of Charles Warren etched into it. Good old Charlie, the dear. She'd promised to be his girl. That lasted a week. Charlie was a darling, but also a thudding bore. His idea of petting was to place a hand stiffly on a girl's chest like a starched doily on some maiden aunt's side table while pecking, birdlike, at her mouth. Quelle tragédie. ~ Libba Bray

We have some nachos left." Carlos motioned to a plate on the table. "But I don't suppose you're interested."
"I already ate." Ian sat at the end of the table.
"Anyone we know?" Carlos's amber eyes twinkled. "Ouch." He glared at Toni. ~ Kerrelyn Sparks

Cookie dropped her purse and tried to catch it midair. In the process, she knocked over a vase. When she lunged for the vase, she slipped on the tile and overturned an entire table. A lovely handblown piece of glass flew in my direction, and all I could think as I caught it was, Really? Again? We were going to have to practice muscle control. ~ Darynda Jones

Card five hundred and thirty-four," repeated Artemis. "Of a series of six hundred standard inkblot cards. I memorized them during our sessions. You don't even shuffle."
Argon checked the number on the back of the card: 534. Of course. "Knowing the number doesn't answer the question. What do you see?"
Artemis allowed his lip to wobble. "I see an ax dripping with blood. Also a scared child, and an elf clothed in the skin of a troll."
"Really?" Argon was interested now.
"No. Not really. I see a secure building, perhaps a family home, with four windows. A trustworthy pet, and a pathway leading from the door into the distance. I think, if you check your manual, you will find that these answers fall inside healthy parameters."
Argon did not need to check. The Mud Boy was right, as usual. ~ Eoin Colfer

A short while later, they were all covered in flour.
"Anna, do you have to use so much flour?" her mother asked, waving a cloud of dust away from her face.
"I hate when the cookies stick, Ma, you know that." Anna sifted more flour onto the wooden table that doubled as a workspace. She loved flour and she used it liberally, but it did make cleanup much harder.
The bakery wasn't large and it wasn't bright; the windows were high up, just below the ceiling eaves. Anna had to squint to see her measurements. Spoons and pots hung on the walls, and the large wooden table stood in the middle of the room, where Anna and her mom baked bread, cinnamon rolls, and Anna's famous cookies. The majority of the bakery was taken up by the cast-iron stove. It was as beautiful as it was functional, and Anna was constantly tripping over it- or falling into it, hence the small burn marks on her forearms. Those also came from paddling the bread into and out of the oven. Her parents said she was the best at knowing when the temperature of the stove was just right for baking the softest bread. Maybe she was a little messy when she baked, but it didn't bother her. ~ Jen Calonita

We live in an era where opinion is currency. The pressure is on us to say 'I like this' or 'I don't like that', to make snap decisions and stick them on our credit cards. But when faced with something we cannot comprehend at once, which was never intended to be snapped up or whizzed through, perhaps 'I don't like it' is an inadequate response. Don't like Middlemarch? It doesn't matter. It was here before we arrived, and will be here long after we have gone. Instead, perhaps we should have the humility to say: I didn't get it. I need to try harder. ~ Andy Miller

I remember him watching me through the crack of a door singing with a hairbrush. I was in front of his mirror. I think he wanted me to sing. He would get me on the table and make me sing sometimes or play the piano. He was very encouraging on that front. ~ Lisa Marie Presley

The three cardinal tenets of rum drinking in Newfoundland. The first of these is that as soon as a bottle is placed on a table it must be opened. This is done to "let the air get at it and carry off the black vapors." The second tenet is that a bottle, once opened, must never be restoppered, because of the belief that it will then go bad. No bottle of rum has ever gone bad in Newfoundland, but none has ever been restoppered, so there is no way of knowing whether this belief is reasonable. The final tenet is that an open bottle must be drunk as rapidly as possible "before all to-good goes out of it. ~ Farley Mowat

I'M LOSING FAITH IN MY FAVORITE COUNTRY

Throughout my life, the United States has been my favorite country, save and except for Canada, where I was born, raised, educated, and still live for six months each year. As a child growing up in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada, I aggressively bought and saved baseball cards of American and National League players, spent hours watching snowy images of American baseball and football games on black and white television and longed for the day when I could travel to that great country. Every Saturday afternoon, me and the boys would pay twelve cents to go the show and watch U.S. made movies, and particularly, the Superman serial. Then I got my chance. My father, who worked for B.F. Goodrich, took my brother and me to watch the Cleveland Indians play baseball in the Mistake on the Lake in Cleveland. At last I had made it to the big time. I thought it was an amazing stadium and it was certainly not a mistake. Amazingly, the Americans thought we were Americans.

I loved the United States, and everything about the country: its people, its movies, its comic books, its sports, and a great deal more. The country was alive and growing. No, exploding. It was the golden age of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The American dream was alive and well, but demanded hard work, honesty, and frugality. Everyone understood that. Even the politicians.

Then everything changed.

Partly because of its proximity to ~ Stephen Douglass

Broken Melody

Broken melody - tear sparkling in the eye
Of a woman loved…
Please past,
Jewel lost,
A trampled dream
Lips unkissed
In the broken melody.

With silent sobs the naked shoulders shake,
Their whiteness dazzling…
Stabbed, stabbed with remorse
For the moments of mindlessness,
For her ruined fate,
For the happiness lost
In the broken melody.

Face hidden in her hands in shame,
Remorsefully the woman weeps,
With heart despairing
(A broken guitar,
A voice stifled
On lips kissed by pain
In the broken melody).
Silent he stands beside the woman weeping

Scolding tears of shame
That dim her eyes.
Some money on the table quickly lays
And goes away,
Leaving the woman lost
In the broken melody.
But when another comes, lust mounts again,

The heated blood
Pounds furiously through the veins,
Benumbing mind
… and only gasps
And grants are heard
In the horrid melody.

(Translated by R.Elsie) ~ Millosh Gjergj Nikolla (Migjeni)

The house was clean, scrubbed and immaculate, curtains washed, windows polished, but all as a man does it - the ironed curtains did not hang quite straight and there were streaks on the windows and a square showed on the table when a book was moved. ~ John Steinbeck

One thing about whoring: It put a chicken on the table. ~ Jeannette Walls

I rolled my eyes. "I feel like a zoo animal."

Travis watched me for a moment, noted those staring, and then stood up. "I CAN'T!" he yelled. I stared in awe as the entire room jerked their heads in his direction. Travis bobbed his head a couple of times to a beat in his head.

Shepley closed his eyes. "Oh, no."

Travis smiled. "get no….sa…tis…faction," he sang, "I can't get no….sat-is-fac-tion. 'Cuz I've tried…and I've tried…and I've tried…and I've tried…," he climbed onto the table as everyone stared, "I CAN'T GET NO!"

He pointed to the football players at the end of the table and they smiled, "I CAN'T GET NO!" they yelled in unison. The whole room clapped to the beat, then.

Travis' sang into his fist, "When I'm drivin' in my car, and a man comes on the…ra-di-o…he's tellin' me more and more…about some useless in-for-ma-tion! Supposed to fire my im-agin-a-tion! I CAN'T GET NO! ~ Jamie McGuire

My mom says, "Do you know what the AIDS memorial quilt is all about?"
Jump to how much I hate my brother at this moment.
I bought this fabric because I thought it would make a nice panel for Shane," Mom says. "We just ran into some problems with what to sew on it."
Give me amnesia.
Flash.
Give me new parents.
Flash.
Your mother didn't want to step on any toes," Dad says. He twists a drumstick off and starts scraping the meat onto a plate. "With gay stuff you have to be so careful since everything means something in secret code. I mean, we didn't want to give people the wrong idea."
My Mom leans over to scoop yams onto my plate, and says, "Your father wanted a black border, but black on a field of blue would mean Shane was excited by leather sex, you know, bondage and discipline, sado and masochism." She says, "Really, those panels are to help the people left behind."
Strangers are going to see us and see Shane's name," my dad says. "We didn't want them thinking things."
The dishes all start their slow clockwise march around the table. The stuffing. The olives. The cranberry sauce. "I wanted pink triangles but all the panels have pink triangles," my mom says. "It's the Nazi symbol for homosexuals." She says,"Your father suggested black triangles, but that would mean Shane was a lesbian. It looks like female pubic hair. The black triangle does."
My father says, "Then I wanted a green border, but it turns out that would mean ~ Chuck Palahniuk

He placed our stuff on the table and then sat, straddling the bench. Patting the spot next to him, he grinned.
I dropped my bag on the tan pavers and as I swung a leg over the bench, I stopped to look at him. He was watching me through thick lashes, head still tilted, grinning so that lone dimple was begging to be touched. I realized that this was the first moment Rider and I had been alone. No prying eyes. No adults watching over us. No one walking past us as there had been in the parking lot yesterday. We were alone, just him and me, like it had been so many times in the past.
I don't know why I did what I did next, but a decade of emotion swirled up inside me. Maybe it had to do with everything he'd done for me in the past. Maybe it was just because he was sitting right there and we were in the present.
And I never felt more present than I did in that moment.
Bending over, I wrapped my arms around his wide shoulders and I squeezed him. Probably the lamest hug in history, but it felt good. It felt magnificent when he rose up a little and circled his arms around my waist. His hug was better.
When I pulled back, his hands slid off my waist, to my hips, and lingered for a moment. A strange sensation curled low in my stomach. He let go, but the heated awareness remained. "What was that for?"
Shrugging, I sat, tucking both legs under the table. My face was hot. "I...I just wanted to."
"Well, you can do that whenever you want to. I don't mind. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Ajax blinked. Then he looked swiftly into her face. In her words, in her voice, was a sound he knew well. For the first time he saw the green ribbon. He looked around and saw the gleaming kitchen and the table set for two and detected the scent of the nest. Every hackle on his body rose, and he knew that very soon she would, like all of her sisters before her, put him to the death-knell question "Where you been?" His eyes dimmed with a mild and momentary regret. ~ Toni Morrison

Books. They are lined up on shelves or stacked on a table. There they are wrapped up in their jackets, lines of neat print on nicely bound pages. They look like such orderly, static things. Then you, the reader come along. You open the book jacket, and it can be like opening the gates to an unknown city, or opening the lid of a treasure chest. You read the first word and you're off on a journey of exploration and discovery. ~ David Almond

Unlike the traditional athlete, I've got to do more than just engage in my sport to put food on the table. When I'm done running, it's straight to the office. ~ Dean Karnazes

Rowan sighed. "Yes." She folded her hands before her on the table, sat gazing at them a moment. "But." She looked up at the Outskirter. "Bel, no matter how clever we are, no matter how much we can discover, I believe that the common folk will, at the end of this, need magic. Even if we defeat Slado, or kill him, Routine Bioform Clearance will have to be reestablished according to its proper use, and maintained, and intelligently so. ~ Rosemary Kirstein

This surprised him, her turning down his invitation to dine with him, and his face showed it. "Katie."
She rose. Their gazes locked for an extended moment. "Good luck, Shaw."
She hesitated for another second, long enough for him to say something to keep her there. Yet he remained quiet.
She turned and left.
Shaw sat there for several beats, a massive struggle going on inside his mind. Finally, he threw some euros on the table, hustled from the restaurant, and looked up and down the crowded street.
But Katie was already gone. ~ David Baldacci

I think that writers are made, not born or created out of dreams of childhood trauma - that becoming a writer (or a painter, actor, director, dancer, and so on) is a direct result of conscious will. Of course there has to be some talent involved, but talent is a dreadfully cheap commodity, cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work and study; a constant process of honing. Talent is a dull knife that will cut nothing unless it is wielded with great force - a force so great the knife is not really cutting at all but bludgeoning and breaking (and after two or three of these gargantuan swipes it may succeed in breaking itself…which may be what happened to such disparate writers as Ross Lockridge and Robert E. Howard). Discipline and constant work are the whetstones upon which the dull knife of talent is honed until it becomes sharp enough, hopefully, to cut through even the toughest meat and gristle. No writer, painter, or actor - no artist - is ever handed a sharp knife (although a few are handed almighty big ones; the name we give to the artist with the big knife is "genius"), and we hone with varying degrees of zeal and aptitude. ~ Stephen King

It came to pass, not long after the scene above recorded, that the Reverend Mr Dimmesdale, at noonday, and entirely unawares, fell into a deep, deep slumber, sitting in his chair, with a large black-letter volume open before him on the table. It must have been a work of vast ability in the somniferous school of literature. ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

As far as evil goes" - she shrugged one shoulder - "I've spent a dozen years studying the subject and there's one thing I know for sure." Her expression grew distant, breakable somehow. She blinked and seemed to push whatever had distracted her aside. "If you want to know what evil looks like, look in the mirror." She leaned down, flattened her hands on the table once more, and went face-to-face with Wells. "Any one of us is capable of evil, Detective. We all have a line. It's not crossing it that separates us from the Ed Geins and Charles Mansons of the world. ~ Debra Webb

She'd best get the hell outta here pretty damn quick.
Finally he stood and tossed some cash on the littered table then glanced at the pretty lady shifter. He frowned and gave Joe a look. "With the hunt going down tonight, it might be a good idea to give the little blonde a heads up. She needs to hit the road."
When Joe nodded, Mad shrugged, determined to put some distance between himself and the sexy stranger. "Best take off and see what's what, Joe. You take care now."
He felt the woman's eyes on him as he made his way to the door and stopped to return her stare.
A sound similar to white noise buzzed in his ears and fairly rattled his brain then stopped almost as soon as it started. Chills raced over his arms.
What the fuck? ~ Regina Carlysle

Imagine if you had baseball cards that showed all the performance stats for your people: batting averages, home runs, errors, ERAs, win/loss records. You could see what they did well and poorly and call on the right people to play the right positions in a very transparent way. ~ Ray Dalio

I stayed only two days in the capital. I was welcomed by a cheering citizenry, who threw flowers at my head. It was disconcerting to think I could have put almost any young man in my retinue on a white horse and they would have thrown flowers at him instead. It was not me they cared about, only what I meant to them: a cessation of hostilities, a chance for prosperity, food on the table. ~ Megan Whalen Turner

But common sense comes too late, because Logan is now moving away from the counter and marching in my direction.

"Hey, gorgeous." He slides in the seat across from me and places a chocolate-chip muffin on the table. "I got you a muffin."

Damn it, I guess he'd noticed me right when he'd walked in.

"Why?" I ask in suspicion, and without saying hi.

"'Cause I wanted to get you something, and you already have coffee. Ergo, muffin."

I raise one eyebrow. "Are you trying to buy your way into my good graces?"

"Yup. And excellent pun, by the way."

"I wasn't punning. My name just happens to be a homonym."

His blue eyes gleam as he downright smolders at me. "I love it when you talk homonyms to me."

"Uh-huh. ~ Elle Kennedy

We need to give you two a couple name," I said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Lucsey, perhaps?" Luc didn't bat an eyelash; he simply turned a page of the newspaper. "Call us what you want, Sentinel. We already have a name for you." That was alarming. Not that there was a way to avoid it, but I wasn't sure I wanted them discussing my relationship around the Ops Room table. "No, you don't." "Yes, we do." Lindsey stirred her spoon noisily around the walls of the yogurt cup to get the remaining drops. "You're Methan." "We're what?" "Methan. Merit and Ethan. Methan. ~ Chloe Neill

Verbal abuse is the use of language to shame, scare or hurt another. Dysfunctional parents routinely use name-calling, sarcasm, and destructive criticism to overpower and control their children. Verbal abuse is as commonplace in the American family as homework and table manners. It is modeled as socially acceptable in almost every sitcom on television. ~ Pete Walker

life. She leaned back in her chair, blinked back a tear and looked at her oak dining room table. The evening had taken her several hours to prepare. She concentrated on the two candles in the center. She watched as the flame flickered and wondered if one of them would go out. She heard the grandfather clock chime and one of the candles finally did burn out. More tears were stinging her eyes as she longingly looked at the door. She was becoming disconsolate and wanted to know what had become of her husband. Even on the most chaotic of days he had never forgotten their anniversary. He had always found a way ~ S.C. King

I sit down in front of Baz now, on the coffee table
which I carried up by myself. He hands me his cup, and I take a sip. "What is this?"
"Pumpkin mocha breve. I created it myself. ~ Rainbow Rowell

I still remember going to a smart restaurant in Los Angeles, and the maitre d' knew my name and showed me straight to a table even though we hadn't booked. I get stopped for autographs by people from Sweden on the tops of mountains. ~ Kevin Whately

Fred put vinegar on things, and no man who did that ate at Wolfe's table. Fred did it back in 1932, calling for vinegar and stirring it into brown roux for a squab. Nothing had been said, Wolfe regarding it as immoral to interfere with anybody's meal until it was down and the digestive processes completed, but the next morning he had fired Fred and kept him fired for over a month. ~ Rex Stout