Dance As If You Got Lost Quotes

Dance as if you got lost in the mystery and beauty of life. ~ Debasish Mridha

Writers of the world, if you've got a story, I want to hear it. I promise it will follow me to my last breath. My soul will dance with pleasure, and it'll change the quality of all my waking hours. You will hearten me and brace me up for the hard days as they enter my life on the prowl. I reach for a story to save my own life. Always. It clears the way for me and makes me resistant to all the false promises signified by the ring of power. In every great story, I encounter a head-on collision with self and imagination. ~ Pat Conroy

I didn't mean to mess things up, I don't know what got into me-"
He rubs his temples. "Please don't apologize.It's not your fault."
"But if I hadn't dragged you out to dance-"
"Anna." Etienne speaks slowly. "You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do."
My face grows hot as the knowledge explodes inside of me like dynamite.
He likes me.Etienne really does like me. ~ Stephanie Perkins

Jason turned to Leo. "Do you think you can fly this thing?"
"Um ... " Leo put his hand on the side of the helicopter, concentrating hard, as if listening to the machine.
"Bell 412HP utility helicopter," Leo said. "Composite four-blade main rotor, cruising speed twenty-two knots, service ceiling twenty-thousand feet. The tank is near full. Sure, I can fly it."
Piper smiled at the ranger again. "You din't have a problem with an under-aged unlicensed kid borrowing your copter, do you? We'll return it."
"I-" The pilot nearly choked on the words, but she got them out: "I don't have a problem with that."
Leo grinned. "Hop in kids, Uncle Leo's gonna take you for a ride. ~ Rick Riordan

But you have fought and you have scraped and you have committed in a way that very few can. No one in any company has come as far as you have this year. No one. There's a princess in you, Evie, and a cracking good one. You've simply got to allow yourself the chance to be great." He began to pack away sewing supplies into wooden tubs. "Surviving the Academy only becomes more difficult next year. If you're planning to be here through the end, there is one thing you must absolutely understand. No victim has ever graduated from this Academy." She studied his bulbous back as he shuffled to the storeroom, letting his words linger. "You are not a victim in this world unless you choose to be. And if that's your choice, then you'll never be more than a frightened girl lost in the woods." He paused in the doorway, rubbing his back with the heel of his hand. "But the nature of choices is that there is always another." And a great, mischievous smile crawled across his face. ~ M.A. Larson

I never believed in Santa Claus. None of us kids did. Mom and Dad refused to let us. They couldn't afford expensive presents and they didn't want us to think we weren't as good as other kids who, on Christmas morning, found all sorts of fancy toys under the tree that were supposedly left by Santa Claus.
Dad had lost his job at the gypsum, and when Christmas came that year, we had no money at all. On Christmas Eve, Dad took each one of us kids out into the desert night one by one.
"Pick out your favorite star", Dad said.
"I like that one!" I said.
Dad grinned, "that's Venus", he said. He explained to me that planets glowed because reflected light was constant and stars twinkled because their light pulsed.
"I like it anyway" I said.
"What the hell," Dad said. "It's Christmas. You can have a planet if you want."
And he gave me Venus.

Venus didn't have any moons or satellites or even a magnetic field, but it did have an atmosphere sort of similar to Earth's, except it was super hot-about 500 degrees or more. "So," Dad said, "when the sun starts to burn out and Earth turns cold, everyone might want to move to Venus to get warm. And they'll have to get permission from your descendants first.
We laughed about all the kids who believed in the Santa myth and got nothing for Christmas but a bunch of cheap plastic toys. "Years from now, when all the junk they got is broken and long forgotten," Dad said, "you'll still have your stars. ~ Jeannette Walls

There was a lot of stress on both of us, and one night we had a fight over some detail about the house. The cause is lost to me, but I know I got really mad-mad enough to knock my papers off the kitchen table, and then take a bowl of macaroni and cheese and fling it against the wall.
That's very mad, especially for me.
I also remember the solution. Sitting alone after Chris went to bed, I called a girlfriend and poured out my heart. I knew that I had gone too far, but I didn't know how to fix it.
"You love him, right?" she asked finally.
"Yes."
"Then go in there, wake him up, and give him some hot sex."
So I did. We didn't talk, but we sure did make love.
Chris seemed apprehensive when he left the next morning. I later found out that he couldn't quite figure out why his mad fiancée would come to him for hot sex and no talk. He was afraid he would come home and I would be gone.
He didn't mention it, though, because he didn't want to risk a talk when maybe I was over it. If he was wrong and I was gone, he would find me and fix it. Avoiding a "talk" was worth the risk of damage control later. He was his usual confident self, taking life as it came and handling the consequences IF they came.
On my side, I would have panicked if I thought he was going to leave me. ~ Taya Kyle

I think that frequently, many times in the beginning of our path as artists, we do have to deal with our upsets and our negativeness - in regard to, mostly, ourselves. We may be taking it out on our loved ones or people close to us, but really we're just mad at ourselves for not giving ourselves the time to devote to our inner development and doing the soul work through our art work. So there's a certain amount of working through that. You may have to cry, you may have to dance, you may have to get the energy moving in whatever way you can, and if you need to scream as you work that's as much of a prayer as the more refined kinds of artist's prayers. Sometimes it's a more direct kind of thing. You can scream in rage, you can scream your need for God, whatever's there for you. You've got to start where you're at. If you think that you can just start making spiritual art without addressing all the build-up of shadow material that you may be carrying around with you, and it's leaking out at the borders, then I don't think that's any good. You've got to be true. So wherever you're at, that's where you start.
And as far as the artist creating spiritual or visionary art, I think that it's obvious and important that the artist experience the transpersonal states prior to them trying to bring it out in their work, otherwise they're just doing imitative or derivative kind of work. It has to be from some authentic inner experience, and as long as you've had some experience of you ~ Alex Grey

To me, summer has always been about potential. This was especially true when I was in high school. Those 3 or so months between 1 school year and the next always meant change. People got taller or wider or smaller. They broke up or came together, lost friends or gained them, had life experiences that you could tell had transformed them even if you didn't know what they were. In the summer, the days were long, stretching into each other. Out of school, everything was on pause and yet happening at the same time, this collection of weeks when anything was possible. As a teenager, I was always hoping to change, to become someone other than who I was. Each summer, I felt I had the chance to do that. All I had to do was wait and see what happened. ~ Sarah Dessen

He had lived his life as a good father but now Oscar Mendoza saw again his life as a boy. A daughter was a battle between fathers and boys in which the fathers fought valiantly and always lost. He knew that one by one each of his daughter would be lost, either honorably in the ceremony of marriage or, realistically, in a car pointed out towards the ocean well after dark. In his day, Oscar himself had made too many girls forget their better instincts and fine training by biting them with tender persistence at the base of their skull, just where the hairline grew in downy wisps. Girls were like kittens in this way, if you got them right at the nape of their neck, they went easily limp. Then he would whisper his suggestions, all the things they might do together, the wonderful dark explorations for which he was to be their guide. His voice traveled like a drug dripped down the spiraling canals of their ears until they had forgotten everything, until they had forgotten their own names, until they turned and offered themselves up to him, their bodies sweet and soft as marzipan. ~ Ann Patchett

If I may, Miss," Sands said. "What you call 'a mascot' is more what should be termed 'an icon.' A subject not just of morale but of veneration or even worship. These men are United States Marines, yes, and they will continue to do their duty. But they are Marines who have lost everything. Family, friends, buddies, country. We are one and all lost and adrift on a darkling sea. You, Miss Smith, have become not their pin-up girl but their heart and soul. They would follow me into hell. Charge any shore, face any fire. I am their Gunny. That's what Marines do. If you hinted that Satan had a case of ammo you particularly liked, they would charge in without a bucket of water. As Staff Sergeant Januscheitis said when he, separately, brought the idea up: 'The only thing we've got left, Gunny, is Faith. ~ John Ringo

I had the taste of you in my mouth, so sweet, for four years. Your grudge and you hatin' me made that taste as bitter as it was sweet. Didn't get it, what I was feelin', not until I heard you were gettin' hitched. Then I knew I was gone for you. Don't know how it happened, just know it did. Seein' you with another guy cut deep. Then you lost him, and I felt it. And when you called me, I realized if I didn't get my shit together it would be empty pussy and parties for the rest of my life, and I'd never have a woman who was lost without me." His hand moved from my waist to frame the side of my face and his voice got quiet when he said, "Just to be clear, the point of findin' that is not makin' a woman be lost without me like Rosalie will be for a while until she moves on. The point of findin' that is to have the feeling, be able to give that gift, to work at keepin' it good so my woman never feels list because she knows she'll never be without me. ~ Kristen Ashley

Some bruises you wear like badges of honour: when you got it playing rugby, or quad racing, or falling off something while drunk, no opportunity is lost to show off a good contusion. A bruise inflicted by someone else, however, is a whole other story: it's like a big flashing arrow marking you out as punchable, and before long there'll be boys queuing up to add bruises of their own, as if they'd just been waiting for somebody to show them it could be done. ~ Paul Murray

She was lost in that deep and certain sense that there was nothing beyond her own experience. As if there were only one way things could go, the years leading you down a corridor to the room where your inevitable self waited--embryonic, ready to be revealed. How sad it was to realize that sometimes you never got there. That sometimes you lived a whole life skittering across the surface as the years passed, unblessed. ~ Emma Cline

To more applause and whistling, Lavinia approached the rostrum and got her new badge of office. She hugged Frank and Hazel, which wasn't the usual military protocol, but no one seemed to care. Nobody clapped louder or whistled more shrilly than Meg. I know because she left me deaf in one ear.
'Thanks, guys,' Lavinia announced. 'So, Fifth Cohort,, first we're going to learn to tap-dance. Then -'
'Thank you, Centurion,' Hazel said. 'You may be seated.'
'What? I'm not kidding -'
'On to our next order of business!' Frank said, as Lavinia skipped grumpily (if that's even possible) back to her seat. ~ Rick Riordan

If this is possible - to have space and togetherness both - then the winds of heaven dance between you. Love one another, but make not a bond of love. It should be a free gift, given or taken, but there should be no demand. Otherwise, very soon you are together but you are as apart as faraway stars. No understanding bridges you; you have not left the space even for the bridge. Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Don't make it something static. Don't make it a routine. Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. If freedom and love together can be yours, you don't need anything more. You have got it - that for which life is given to you. ~ Osho

He wrote all the time except during those late-afternoon hours between night and day when he didn't know what to do with himself. When work was over and the evening hadn't yet begun. He saw people going about their business, on their way home on the streetcars, walking with the evening newspaper in their hands. He looked at the dull gray of the city as it settled to dark, the clatter of dishes, children's heads bent over books, cooking smells -- chicken, stews, soups -- drifting into the street.
It was in the pauses, in the space between notes, in the slips and breaks, a kind of slow steady interval as if one thing could lead to the next. As if you could go to sleep and wake up and it would be a new day and somehow things would be different than they'd been before. But Benny knew otherwise. Life didn't get better as it went along. It got narrower as if you were walking through a tunnel that was closing in on you, toward a distant beam of light that kept receding. Life got slower and the pauses got longer. Benny didn't mind the day when he was busy, and he waited for the night when he'd go somewhere and listen or play if they let him. It was the in-between time when he felt lost. ~ Mary Morris

Okay, Dr. Milligan," he says. "Go ahead."
"Well, my boy, I just wanted to let you know that I received the results back for the DNA tests. Emma is definitely half human."
Galen winks at me. "You don't say?"
I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. Rudeness should never be contagious.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. That said, I'm not sure if she even has the capability of forming a fin."
Galen laughs. "We sort of already went along with that assumption, Dr. Milligan. Then the Archives confirmed it. There's a painting of people who look just like Emma in Tartessos."
Dr. Milligan sighs. "You could have called me."
"I'm sorry, Dr. Milligan. I've been...busy."
"Did Emma figure out her lineage, then?"
Galen shakes his head, though the reaction is lost on Dr. Milligan in Florida. "As far as we can tell, Emma's father was a Half-Breed. He's got the coloring, he wore contacts, he loved seafood and the ocean. He obviously knew about Emma's physical issues." He tells Dr. Milligan about his theory that some of the half-breeds survived the destruction of Tartessos.
Dr. Milligan is quiet for a few seconds. "What else?"
Galen gives me a quizzical look. I return a shrug. "What do you mean?" he says.
"I mean, my boy, what other evidence do you have to go on? The man you just described could be me. I used to have blond hair before the gray took over. I wear contacts. I happen to love seafood and the beach, if where I live is any indication. I also ~ Anna Banks

The light changed slightly. Mari looked up and over at one wall. There was now a narrow, roughly door-shaped hole in it. Standing in the hole was Mage Alain.
Mari stood up, realizing that her mouth was hanging open. That wall was solid. I felt it. There wasn't any opening. She watched as the Mage took two shaky steps into the cell, then paused, some of the strain leaving his face. She blinked, wondering what she had just seen, as the hole in the wall vanished as if it had never been. One moment it was there, the next it was gone. ...
Mari took a long slow breath. 'They use smoke and mirrors and other 'magic' to make commons think they can create temporary holes in walls and things like that. It's all nonsense.' "Mages actually can make real holes in walls."
"No."
Her head hurting with increased intensity, Mari glowered at the Mage. "You didn't make a hole in the wall?"
"I made the illusion of a hole in the illusion of the wall."
Mari looked at Mage Alain for what felt like a long time, trying to detect any sign of mockery or lying. But he seemed perfectly sincere. And unless she had completely lost her mind, he had just walked through that solid wall. ...
"We can get out the same way that you got in?" Mari asked. "Through imaginary holes in the imaginary wall?" She wondered how her guild would feel about seeing that in her report. Actually, she didn't have to wonder, but she wasn't about to turn down a chance at escape.
The Mage took ~ Jack Campbell

How happily we explored our shiny new world! We lived like characters from the great books I curled up with in the big Draylon armchair. Like Jack Kerouak, like Gatsby, we created ourselves as we went along, a raggle-taggle of gypsies in old army overcoats and bell-bottoms, straggling through the fields that surrounded our granite farmhouse in search of firewood, which we dragged home and stacked in the living room. Ignorant and innocent, we acted as if the world belonged to us, as though we would ever have taken the time to hang the regency wallpaper we damaged so casually with half-rotten firewood, or would have known how to hang it straight, or smooth the seams. We broke logs against the massive tiled hearth and piled them against the sooty fire back, like the logs were tradition and we were burning it, like chimney fires could never happen, like the house didn't really belong to the poor divorcee who paid the rates and mortgage even as we sat around the flames like hunter gatherers, smoking Lebanese gold, chanting and playing the drums, dancing to the tortured music of Luke's guitar. Impelled by the rhythm, fortified by poorly digested scraps of Lao Tzu, we got up to dance, regardless of the coffee we knocked over onto the shag carpet. We sopped it up carelessly, or let it sit there as it would; later was time enough. We were committed to the moment.




Everything was easy and beautiful if you looked at it right. If someone was angry, we walked d ~ Claire Robson

She is pissed off all the time," he mumbled and I remained silent, letting him ramble. "She wants chocolate ice cream, I go in search of chocolate, but the time I get back she's pissed because she wants strawberry instead. I can't win."
He looked me straight in the eyes and I swear his expression was one of desperation.
"It wasn't like this before. With Liam she was so sweet. But I swear the damn devil has possessed my wife and she might kill me in my sleep one night."

It was then I laughed.


"What the hell is so funny?" he asked. "I sleep with one eye open and one leg hanging off the bed touching the floor at my side. This way if I have to move fast I feel I'm one step closer."

He didn't smile. There was absolutely no humor in his words.

"Weren't you the one that said you wanted five kids?" I asked.

"I changed my mind. After this one, we're done. I want Trinity back."

Again, complete seriousness. Poor guy looked lost. And it was the best damn thing to witness. Within four months of having Liam, Trinity was pregnant again. And this time she was cranky as hell. Everyone noticed it, but she directed all that aggravation toward the man she said was to blame. And the rest of us loved to witness his hell.

"Go home, Chase," I told him and he looked as if he wanted to argue. "Stop at the store and pick up every flavor of ice cream they got," I told him. "Tell her she's beautiful and r ~ C.A. Harms

Dear Bill, I came to this black wall again, to see and touch your name. William R. Stocks. And as I do, I wonder if anyone ever stops to realize that next to your name, on this black wall, is your mother's heart. A heart broken fifteen years ago today, when you lost your life in Vietnam. And as I look at your name, I think of how many, many times I used to wonder how scared and homesick you must have been, in that strange country called Vietnam. And if and how it might have changed you, for you were the most happy-go-lucky kid in the world, hardly ever sad or unhappy. And until the day I die, I will see you as you laughed at me, even when I was very mad at you. And the next thing I knew, we were laughing together. But on this past New Year's Day, I talked by phone to a friend of yours from Michigan, who spent your last Christmas and the last four months of your life with you. Jim told me how you died, for he was there and saw the helicopter crash. He told me how your jobs were like sitting ducks; they would send you men out to draw the enemy into the open, and then, they would send in the big guns and planes to take over. He told me how after a while over there, instead of a yellow streak, the men got a mean streak down their backs. Each day the streak got bigger, and the men became meaner. Everyone but you, Bill. He said how you stayed the same happy-go-lucky guy that you were when you arrived in Vietnam. And he said how you, of all people, should never have been the one to ~ Eleanor Wimbish

Maybe I . . . shouldn't tell him what I thought I'd heard. Not until I knew more. How exactly would I put the revelation anyway? Jack's alive, but apparently he kept that little detail secret. Ah, but Matthew spilled the beans! Buying myself time, I waved Aric on.

I was scarcely listening as he began talking about Paul, of all people. How the EMT had grown worried when I'd been shut in with my grandmother for so long. How I had lost weight and become listless. The man had pleaded with me to get a checkup, even offering to source contraception after Aric and I had started sleeping together.

Wait. I glanced up. "After?"

Aric nodded. "He said you told him you had no need of contraception."

The hell? "I went to him and got a shot prior to us getting together. I told you about it."

"As I told him in turn, but he swears that never happened."

Real? Unreal? Had I . . . imagined my meeting with Paul? I'd already feared gaps in my memory; Gran had told me things that I'd had no recollection of. Was I now inventing memories?

Had I invented Jack's return?

In a soothing voice, Aric said, "I'm not angry, love. Just talk to me." He wasn't the first person to look at me as if I'd gone insane, like I was trouble with the possibility of rubble.

Won't be the last.

No. I refused this. I had heard Jack, and I had gotten that shot. "It did happen, which means Paul's a liar." But why would ~ Kresley Cole

I'm not sure if sex is supposed to make you feel like you've just lost a part of yourself to the person inside you, but that's exactly what it felt like. It felt as if the second we joined together, a tiny piece of our souls got confused and a piece of his fell into me and a piece of mine fell into him. It was by far the single most intense moment I've ever shared with another person. ~ Colleen Hoover

Are these black cats like the hare?"

"No. They're smaller; they only want me to play with them. Fly away with them to a place on the other side of the moon. There's a garden there, all silvery-gold, and the cats and hares dance and jump round and round. They can jump so much farther than they can on earth; it's like flying, and they love it so. Sometimes I've felt as if I'd like to dance and jump through the air too, they looked so happy, and I've thought maybe if I did I wouldn't be afraid any more, but when I look they're all dancing round a Figure that sits still in the middle of the garden. A big black Figure with a hood on. And It hasn't got any face. Its face is so awful that It keeps it covered. And then I get so terribly afraid. And everything stops."

"And you see all that in the picture?"

"I don't know." She hesitated again. "I think it's partly dreams. After I've thought they were at the windows - the cats and the big hare. They sit there and watch, you see, after I've gone to sleep. But they don't come often. I don't usually know what's there."

She came closer and whispered, her blue eyes earnest and weird, "I don't think it's an animal hare. I think it's Aunt Sarai's hare, that maybe it came from hell. It isn't swearing to say that word just as the name of a place, is it? That's why people used to be so scared of witches' black cats, isn't it, because they thought they weren't earth-cats, they were from the devil? Mothe ~ Evangeline Walton

God isn't the son of Memory; He's the son of Immediate Experience. You can't worship a spirit in spirit, unless you do it now. Wallowing in the past may be good literature. As wisdom, it's hopeless. Time Regained is Paradise Lost, and Time Lost is Paradise Regained. Let the dead bury their dead. If you want to live at every moment as it presents itself, you've got to die to every other moment. ~ Aldous Huxley

What if - " I stopped, swallowing hard. Nope. I couldn't even say it aloud. We'd figure something else out because we had to. Time for a subject change before I lost it. "What did your mom say?"
"Mostly that she thinks my hair is getting too long and I should cut it."
"That's not helpful."
"That's my mom for you." He was trying for humor but his voice caught, and I wondered if he was thinking about how if she left and he didn't, he'd never ever see her again.
"So," I said, sitting on the floor against the wall as close to the kitchen doorway as I could get without Lend dropping like a rock, "do you want your Christmas present?"
"You got me something?" He sounded surprised.
"I've been working on it for a while."
"I, uh, didn't find you anything yet. I was actually setting up for your party, not Christmas shopping like I said."
"Being kidnapped by the Dark Queen and then cursed gets you off the hook for a lot. Besides, my birthday party totally counted."
"This isn't how I wanted our first Christmas to go. We were going to go all out, pick out a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, decorate it, watch cheesy holiday movies, drink hot chocolate, let my dad make his eggnog and then complain about how disgusting it was, then I was going to deck out my entire room in mistletoe . . ."
"Wait, you mean you didn't plan for us to be stuck in different rooms for the holidays?"
"Well, that part's kind of nice." I heard his head bang against ~ Kiersten White

So your theory is that Nancy plans to marry Samuel, pass off as her own the child he fathered on her maid, and then raise it, assuming it's a boy, to be heir to the title. That doesn't gain Nancy much, does it? It's not her son, and she's not Samuel's only lover. He and his mistress and the son get everything; she gets only the privilege of knowing she's married to a seducer."
Dom ignored the fact that some of what she said made sense. "She gains an exalted rank as mother to the new viscount. She gains a husband she's always coveted. And she might not even care if Samuel was having an affair with her maid--you said yourself that Nancy wasn't fond of the intimate side of marriage."
The moment Jane paled, he realized what he'd said. Something highly inappropriate. Something that revealed just how frank he and Jane had been in their conversations. God only knew what Blakeborough would make of that.
Bloody hell. Whatever it was, it wouldn't help Dom's situation with Jane any. Not that any of this would. Damn Nancy for coming between them yet again.
Jane's gaze turned stormy as she poked him in the chest. "You've got it all figured out, don't you? But as usual, you ignore all the ways that your theory doesn't fit."
He stared her down. "Such as what?"
Again she poked him in the chest. "Why did Samuel mention coming to London to see a doctor if they were sure that Nancy had lost the baby?" Another poke. "Why did she leave York in such strange circumstan ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Not in order to justify, but simply in order to explain my lack of consistency, I say: Look at my present life and then at my former life, and you will see that I do attempt to carry them out. It is true that I have not fulfilled one thousandth part of them [Christian precepts], and I am ashamed of this, but I have failed to fulfill them not because I did not wish to, but because I was unable to. Teach me how to escape from the net of temptations that surrounds me, help me and I will fulfill them; even without help I wish and hope to fulfill them.

Attack me, I do this myself, but attack me rather than the path I follow and which I point out to anyone who asks me where I think it lies. If I know the way home and am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way because I am staggering from side to side! If it is not the right way, then show me another way; but if I stagger and lose the way, you must help me, you must keep me on the true path, just as I am ready to support you. Do not mislead me, do not be glad that I have got lost, do not shout out joyfully: "Look at him! He said he was going home, but there he is crawling into a bog!" No, do not gloat, but give me your help and support. ~ Leo Tolstoy

So, are you going to tell me what I did to piss you off that year? Because I'm coming up totally blank."
I turn on him. "Seriously? You're coming up blank?"
"Why don't you help me out here?"
I just stare at him uncomprehendingly.
"C'mon, Jemma," he taunts. "Use your words."
I rise, my hands curled into fists by my sides. "Oh, I'll use my words all right, douchebucket. Remember the eighth-grade dance? Is that ringing any bells for you?"
He scratches his head, looking thoughtful for a moment. And then…"You mean the graduation dance? If I remember correctly, you didn't even show up."
"Is that what you think? That I didn't show up?" I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it--Ryder trying to act like the injured party, as if I'd stood him up.
"You got a better explanation?" he asks.
"I shouldn't have to explain it to you. Jerk," I add under my breath. And then, "I'm going for a walk."
He rises, towering over me now. "So you're just going to storm off? Really, Jem?"
"Yes," I say, nodding furiously. "That's exactly what I'm going to do. How clever of you to figure it out."
I can feel Ryder's eyes boring a hole in my back as I flounce down the stairs and hurry down the drive with as much dignity as I can muster. ~ Kristi Cook

Sit down and have a cup of coffee
With your firm conviction that they're out to get you
Sit down and have a cigarette with your awful fear of death
I saw Milarepa at the all-night diner sharing a table with his personal demons
He said You've got to invite them in with compassion on your breath

Stop running away, 'cause nobody runs as fast as pain and sorrow
Stop pushing away, you're just making it hard
Stop putting it off, 'cause it'll be back to kick your ass tomorrow
Breathe in, breathe out, let down your guard

Sit down and start shooting the shit
With the fear that you'll never measure up to your ideals
Sit down and have a bottle of beer with the ache of all you've lost
I saw Milarepa at the coffee house having a Danish with his hurts and hatreds
He said You've got to invite them in, or you pay ten times the cost.

Stop running away, 'cause nobody runs as fast as fear and loathing
Stop pushing away, you're just making it worse
Stop putting it off, cause it'll be back again in different clothing
Just pop the clutch and go into reverse

Invite them in and let them be there while you learn to stand it
Invite them in and give them room to stomp and shout
When they can come and go
They won't be always pounding on your door
If you let them in you can let them out.

Sit down and have a conversation
With the loneliness that's eating yo ~ Allison Lonsdale

There's more, Anna. When we first got to California," she says, "you asked me if I remembered your birthday party." I nod, picking at a thread on her comforter. "I did remember. Matt was acting like such a space cadet that night after we got home – like he was floating. I can't believe I didn't figure it out, but of all the things that he could have been thinking about, you were the last – I mean, my mind just didn't even go there. You were like our sister."
"But I–"
"Wait – let me get this out." She looks at me hard, her broken wing eyebrow trembling to keep the tears back. "After I brushed my teeth, I walked into his room. He was sitting on his bed, playing with that blue glass necklace he always wore, a big smile on his face. Remember the necklace?"
The necklace.
"Of course."
"I asked him what was so funny. He jumped a little, not knowing I'd been watching him smile there like a goofy little kid. He said it was nothing – just that he had fun at the party. And I believed him, all the way up until the day I read your journal. That's when it all made sense. All the times he'd ask me about who you liked at school, or who wanted to take you to whatever dance."
She's quiet as I digest her story, putting the pieces together to form a complete whole from the missing half that's haunted me since that night – how did he really feel about me? Was it just one stupid moment, perpetuated a little too long, only to be forgotten as quickly as it came? A ~ Sarah Ockler

Scott gave my knee an affectionate squeeze. "You'll never hear me admit this again, so listen up. You look good, Grey. On a scale from one to ten, you're definitely in the top half."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're not the kind of girl I would have chased after when I was in Portland, but I'm not the same guy I was back then either. You're a little too good for me, and let's face it, a little too smart."

"You've got street smarts," I pointed out.

"Stop interrupting. You're going to make me lose my place."

"You've got this speech memorized?"

A smirk. "I've got a lot of time on my hands. As I was saying--hell. I forgot where I was."

"You were telling me I can rest assured that I'm better-looking than half the girls at my school."

"That was a figure of speech. If you want to get technical, you're better-looking than ninety percent. Give or take."

I laid a hand over my heart. "I'm speechless."

Scott got down on his knee and clasped my hand dramatically. "Yes, Nora. Yes, I'll go to the homecoming dance with you. ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

She reached for the milk and honey soap, then poured it into the puff, but when she started washing him with it, he chuckled.
"Uh, sweetheart?"
"Hmm?" Candice mumbled as she stared at some interesting spot on his arm.
"Real men don't use puffs," he said, amused and turned on by having Candice's undivided attention.
She finally managed to drag her gaze away from his forearm and stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You can't be serious?" When he only shrugged, she rolled her eyes. "What does it matter what I use, so long as you're clean?"
"It matters, believe me." Blade knew he sounded absurd but he couldn't help it. It was bad enough he'd let her put bandages on a few measly cuts; if word got out he'd let her use a peach-colored puff and milk-and-honey bath soap he'd never hear the end of it.
A man had to put his foot down somewhere. ~ Anne Rainey

It's all about the sensuality of movement, every movement you make. That's why I love doing action movies. It's all about movement, dance - even if you're hitting someone in the face. You've got to sell it all with great passion. There's a narrative to the body. It's exactly the same as dance. ~ DeObia Oparei

The generations before you failed. They didn't stay up all night. They got distracted and lost sight of the fact that life is a miracle every moment of your existence. Nature beckons you to be on her side. You couldn't ask for a better boss. The most unrealistic person in the world is the cynic, not the dreamer. Hope only makes sense when it doesn't make sense to be hopeful. This is your century. Take it and run as if your life depends on it. ~ Paul Hawken

I suddenly knew that religion, God - something beyond everyday life - was there to be found, provided one is really willing. And I saw that though what I felt in the church was only imagination, it was a step on the way; because imagination itself can be a kind of willingness - a pretense that things are real, due to one's longing for them. It struck me that this was somehow tied up with what the Vicar said about religion being an extension of art - and then I had a glimpse of how religion can really cure you of sorrow; somehow make use of it, turn it to beauty, just as art can make sad things beautiful.

I found myself saying: 'Sacrifice is the secret - you have to sacrifice things for art and it's the same
with religion; and then the sacrifice turns out to be a gain.' Then I got confused and I couldn't hold on to what I meant - until Miss Blossom remarked: 'Nonsense, duckie - it's prefectly simple. You lose yourself in something beyond yourself and it's a lovely rest.'

I saw that, all right. Then I thought: 'But that's how Miss Marcy cured her sorrow, too - only she lost herself in other people instead of in religion.' Which way of life was best - hers or the Vicar's? I decided that he loves God and merely likes the villagers, whereas she loves the villagers and merely likes God - and then I suddenly wondered if I could combine both ways, love God and my neighbor equally. Was I really willing to? ~ Dodie Smith

Her body twitched from his magic. "What is this feeling?" She panted as she asked the question. Her body felt pleasantly soft. His motions slowed and became languid.
"It's called an orgasm," he replied in that slow, silky way of his. She loved his voice when it got thick like honey. Most of the time he spoke so quickly that she lost track. She liked it when his tone got deep and husky. "You should have one every time a man touches you. If you don't, punch him in the face. ~ Sophie Oak

After a while Mary said, "Zsadist?"

"Yeah?"

"What are those markings?"

His frowned and flicked his eyes over to her, thinking, as if she didn't know? But then . . . well, she had been a human. Maybe she didn't. "They're slave bands. I was . . . a slave."

"Did it hurt when they were put on you?"

"Yes."

"Did the same person who cut your face give them to you?"

"No, my owner's hellren did that. My owner . . . she put the bands on me. He was the one who cut my face."

"How long were you a slave?"

"A hundred years."

"How did you get free?"

"Phury. Phury got me out. That's how he lost his leg."

"Were you hurt while you were a slave?"

Z swallowed hard. "Yes."

"Do you still think about it?"

"Yes." He looked down at his hands, which suddenly were in pain for some reason. Oh, right. He'd made two
fists and was squeezing them so tightly his fingers were about to snap off at the knuckles.

"Does slavery still happen?"

"No. Wrath outlawed it. As a mating gift to me and Bella."

"What kind of slave were you?"

Zsadist shut his eyes. Ah, yes, the question he didn't want to answer. For a while it was all he could do to force himself to stay in the chair. But then, in a falsely level voice, he said,
"I was a blood slave. I was used by a female for blood."

The quiet after ~ J.R. Ward

Hey," he said, his hand gently rubbing my back. I heard the diesel rattle of vehicles driving away from the scene.
"Hey," I replied, sitting up and looking at my watch. It was 5:00 A.M. "Are you okay?"
"Yep," he said. "We finally got it out." Marlboro Man's clothes were black. Heavy soot covered his drawn, exhausted face.
"Can I go home now?" I said. I was only halfway kidding. And actually, I wasn't kidding at all.
"Sorry about that," Marlboro Man said, still rubbing my back. "That was crazy." He gave a half-chuckle and kissed my forehead. I didn't know what to say.
Driving back to his house, the pickup was quiet. My mind began to race, which is never good at five in the morning. And then, inexplicably, just as we reached the road to his house, I lost it.
"So, why did you even take me there, anyway?" I said. "I mean, if I'm just going to ride in someone's pickup, why even bring me along? It's not like I was any help to anyone…"
Marlboro Man glanced over at me. His eyes were tired. "So…did you want to operate one of the sprayers?" he asked, an unfamiliar edge to his voice.
"No, I just…I mean…" I searched for the words. "I mean, that was just ridiculous! That was dangerous!"
"Well, prairie fires are dangerous," Marlboro Man answered. "But that's life. Stuff like this happens."
I was cranky. The nap had done little to calm me down. "What happens? You just drive right into fires and throw caution to the wind? I mean, people could ~ Ree Drummond

At least she was good at archaeology, she mused, even if she was a dismal failure as a woman in Tate's eyes.
"She's been broody ever since we got here," Leta said with pursed lips as she glanced from Tate to Cecily. "You two had a blowup, huh?" she asked, pretending innocence.
Tate drew in a short breath. "She poured crab bisque on me in front of television cameras."
Cecily drew herself up to her full height. "Pity it wasn't flaming shish kebab!" she returned fiercely.
Leta moved between them. "The Sioux wars are over," she announced.
"That's what you think," Cecily muttered, glaring around her at the tall man.
Tate's dark eyes began to twinkle. He'd missed her in his life. Even in a temper, she was refreshing, invigorating.
She averted her eyes to the large grass circle outlined by thick corded string. All around it were make-shift shelters on poles, some with canvas tops, with bales of hay to make seats for spectators. The first competition of the day was over and the winners were being announced. A woman-only dance came next, and Leta grimaced as she glanced from one warring face to the other. If she left, there was no telling what might happen.
"That's me," she said reluctantly, adjusting the number on her back. "Got to run. Wish me luck."
"You know I do," Cecily said, smiling at her.
"Don't disgrace us," Tate added with laughter in his eyes.
Leta made a face at him, but smiled. "No fighting," she said, shaking a fin ~ Diana Palmer

Harrison, you're an idiot. An idiot who tries hard, but still."
I'd widened my eyes, questioning.
"You've back-burnered your love life for so long that you have no idea what it actually means to date. Most of the guys you've been with...at least the ones you've let me meet? Shit, they would have loved to have used your home like a luxury hotel. But this Luke guy sounds like he came from nothing, and everything he has, he's fought for."
I nodded. He had.
"You meant well. I know that. But he needs to work. To feel useful. When he lost that, instead of listening to him while he figured things out, you tried to give him a handout he couldn't pay back in a million years. How was that gonna make him feel, honey?"
< But he gave me so much when I needed it.>
She brushed some hair off my forehead in that maternal way she sometimes had. "He was doing his job, Paine. I'm sure he enjoyed it, and it sounds like the connection between you got real, but he probably didn't see it as a transaction. Taking care of you was his duty. You don't owe a man for doing what he's called to do."
< He's being stubborn. He helps me, I help him.>
She shrugged and laughed. "Men need to be stubborn sometimes. You pushed too hard, babe. He just needed an ear and a shoulder. Maybe if you'd given him that, it would have taught him to trust you, made him comfortable enough to be the right kind of vulnerable." She took my hand, squeezing it between hers. ~ Peter Styles

Lockwood sat up awkwardly, adjusting his Bubble-Wrapped loops of chain. 'We're in good shape,' he said. 'We've lost the heavy duty chains and the stuff in the bags, but we've got our rapiers, iron, and silver seals. And we've found what we wanted now.'
I stared at the clean, calm surface of the door. 'Why couldn't it come after us? Ghosts can pass through walls.'
Lockwood shrugged. 'In some cases a Visitor is tied so completely to the room where it met its death that it no longer has any conception of there being any adjacent space at all. So ... when we left its hunting ground, it was as if we ceased to exist, as if we ceased to be ... '
I looked at him. 'You haven't really got a clue, have you?'
'No. ~ Jonathan Stroud

So anyway, change of subject; why would your parents name you Rosie if your surname was Right? I mean, that's just a little cruel," I asked, pretending to be serious.

She looked at me as if I'd lost the plot a little. "I'm not Rosie Right, I'm Rosie York."

I recoiled, faking shock. "Seriously? Damn it, I could have sworn you were Miss Right."

She rolled her eyes as she got it. "Nice. Didn't see that one coming so good job."

"You like that? I made that up on the spot, just for you. ~ Kirsty Moseley