Dead Heat Quotes

Who hurt you?" she asked, slicing through the two other conversations going on at the table. "He's dead," said Charles, his hand sliding up Anna's back reassuringly. "I killed him. If I could, I would bring him back to life so I could kill him again. ~ Patricia Briggs

His arm pulled her a little off balance, and paradoxically it steadied her at the same time. That was what Charles did to her heart, too. He knocked it off balance into what felt like the right position, a safe place that was still exciting, exhilarating, and terrifying. ~ Patricia Briggs

Toward the urn the three children raced in a dead heat, Jane still shouting . FOR CHURCHILL, NELSON, AND PRINCE WILLIAM! ~ Jeanne Birdsall

The race film had confirmed a dead heat. That was great. But even better, most of the New York press finally learned to spell my name correctly. ~ Louis Zamperini

Charles asked me to stay here, she said, rather than confronting Hosteen with his lie. "You aren't my Alpha-and even if you were, he can't make me do anything, either." She tappef herself in the chest with one of her needles and half sang, "Omega. Me." Dropping into her own voice she said, "As an Omega wolf, I don't have the urge to obey you. At all. Not even the tiniest bit. Don't worry, it makes the Merrick crazy too. ~ Patricia Briggs

If I'm not in the dead heat of working on something, I can end up spending tons and tons of time on the Web, and I hate it. I feel the same shame I did in grad school when I was pretty much addicted to reruns of 'Star Trek: The Next Generation'. I wish someone would make the Web just go away. Just remove it from the earth. ~ Susan Choi

Presidents lie all the time. Really great presidents lie. Abraham Lincoln managed to end slavery in America partially by deception. (In an 1858 debate, he flatly insisted that he had no intention of abolishing slavery in states where it was already legal  -  he had to say this in order to slow the tide of secession.) Franklin Roosevelt lied about the U.S. position of neutrality until we entered World War II after the attack on Pearl Harbor. (Though the public and Congress believed his public pledge of impartiality, he was already working in secret with Winston Churchill and selling arms to France.) Ronald Reagan lied about Iran-Contra so much that it now seems like he was honestly confused. Politically, the practice of lying is essential. By the time the Lewinsky story broke, Clinton had already lied about many, many things. (He'd openly lied about his level of commitment to gay rights during the '92 campaign.) The presidency is not a job for an honest man. It's way too complex. If honesty drove the electoral process, Jimmy Carter would have served two terms and the 2008 presidential race would have been a dead heat between Ron Paul and Dennis Kucinich. ~ Chuck Klosterman

I'm spending until dawn with you," I said firmly. "Don't bother to argue."
"God forbid," said Jesse, solemn.
I pushed past him into the cottage. He'd been waiting up for me, I could tell. There was a book spread facedown upon the table, a pair of lamps lit beside it.
"I thought you said you were resting tonight.
"Aye. I was. But then it occurred to me that the bed wasn't nearly so comfortable without you. So I got up and hoped."
I crossed my arms over my chest and dug my toes into the soft nap of the rug. The cottage had been built within a protective circle of birches; even during the heat of the day, it was never very warm.
"You hoped for me?" I asked, uncertain.
Jesse came close, put his arms around me, and buried his face in my hair. "As always. As ever."
"And I came," I whispered, closing my eyes, breathing him. The ache behind my forehead began to unbind.
"And you came," he agreed.
And he summoned the magic that was all his own, beyond stars and starfire. A magic of mortal lips and hands, of bristly new whiskers scraping my chin, of melting kisses that made the whiskers unimportant.
Our bodies entwined, or hearts. Our lives.
I think that was the night a very quiet, very powerful part of me began to comprehend how it was going to be. I think the part of me that was magic, that had broken away from the practical earth to slip along Jesse's celestial family of stars, to allow them to bind me in their spell…
Shana Abe

Mostly folk music is people with fruity voices trying to keep alive something old and dead. It's all a bit boring, like ballet: a minority thing kept going by a minority group. ~ John Lennon

Yet soil is miraculous. It is where the dead are brought back to life. Here, in the thin earthy boundary between inanimate rock and the planet's green carpet, lifeless minerals are weathered from stones or decomposed from organic debris. Plants and microscopic animals eat these dead particles and recast them as living matter. In the soil, matter recrosses the boundary between living and dead; and, as we have seen, boundaries-edges-are where the most interesting and important events occur. ~ Toby Hemenway

I'll hold the door as a shield, but you'll have to fire."
"Why can't you just slice them to pieces like that chopstick?"
"Because my telekinetic magic doesn't work on living things. I can throw something metal fast enough to slice an opponent to pieces. I can hurl a board at him, because cut wood is dead. I can choke him with his own clothes if they are loose enough. But I can't simply throw a body."
Oh. "So the best way to fight you is to strip naked and attack?"
His eyes flashed with wicked light. "Yes. You should try it and see what happens."
Well, I did walk right into that one. ~ Ilona Andrews

If things did not move on and vanish, we should see no beauty anywhere.

If youth had only the heat of movement, it would get parched and withered. But there is ever the hidden tear, which keeps it fresh.

The cry of the world is not only "I have," but also "I give." In the first dawning light of creation, "I have" was wedded to "I give." If this bond of union were to snap, then everything would go to ruin. ~ Rabindranath Tagore

What happens when you die? Well, we're not completely sure. But the evidence seems to suggest that nothing happens. You're just dead, your brains stop working, and then you're not around to ask annoying questions anymore. Those stories your heard? About going to a wonderful place called 'heaven' where there is no more pain or death and you live forever in a state of perpetual happiness? Also total bullshit. Just like all that God stuff. There's no evidence of a heaven and there never was. We made that up too. Wishful thinking. So now you have to live the rest of your life knowing you're going to die someday and disappear forever."
"Sorry. ~ Ernest Cline

Truth never yet fell dead in the streets; it has such affinity with the soul of man, the seed however broadcast will catch somewhere and produce its hundredfold. ~ Theodore Parker

Eternity is the light from dead stars. ~ Isbelle Razors

I couldn't believe I just blurted all that out. I let my head fall forward until I could bury my overheated face in his shoulder.
"This is mortifying."
His shoulders shook beneath my hands, and when he spoke, the laughter tinged his voice.
"Babe, look at me."
"No." I wiggled deeper into his arms. "I'm staying here until I die. And if I keep spilling my guts to you, that should happen in about two point two seconds when I drop dead of embarrassment. ~ Amy Lamont

The police up in the city had endless files filled with people who were so malevolent it was almost impossible to believe they were real. People for whom children were toys. When they were broken they were simply replaced.The internet helped these people connect. Helped them find the pictures to feed the habit, and then it helped them find what they wanted. Everything was available for a price. The fucking animals went online and ordered themselves a child to play with. They went online and found some other sicko who thought the same way they did and all of a sudden they weren't deranged or evil - they were just part of a special club. Pete could actually feel the blood in his arms heat up just thinking about it. ~ Nicole Trope

Why love the woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes in the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience. ~ Ray Bradbury

It is with an old love as it is with old age a man lives to all the miseries, but is dead to all the pleasures. ~ Francois De La Rochefoucauld

Rage was sometimes a useful ally in the heat of a fight, but it was a trickster. It made everything seem possible. ~ Jonathan Maberry

The more extreme and the more expressed that passion is, the more unbearable does life seem without it. It reminds us that if passion dies or is denied, we are partly dead and that soon, come what may, we will be wholly so. - ~ Kristin Hannah

And then there's its hair," Justin said, pushing the vegetables across to me. "Don't forget the hair. It's horrible."
"It's wearing a dead person's hair," Rafe informed me. "If you stick a pin in the doll, you can hear screaming coming from the graveyard. Try it."
"See what I mean?" Abby said, to me. "Wusses. It's got real hair. Why he thinks it's from a dead person - "
"Because your poppet was made in about 1890 and I can do subtraction. ~ Tana French

Be ahead of all parting, as if it had already happened,
like winter, which even now is passing.
For beneath the winter is a winter so endless
that to survive it at all is a triumph of the heart.

Be forever dead in Eurydice, and climb back singing.
Climb praising as you return to connection.
Here among the disappearing, in the realm of the transient,
be a ringing glass that shatters as it rings.

Be. And, at the same time, know what it is not to be.
The emptiness inside you allows you to vibrate
in full resonance with your world. Use it for once.

To all that has run its course, and to the vast unsayable
numbers of beings abounding in Nature,
add yourself gladly, and cancel the cost. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

History is not a dead thing or a sure thing. It lived with our choices and our dreams. It is the story of our glories and our sadnesses. It is at different times a lover, an enemy, a teacher, a prophet. It is always a collective memory as complicated and contradictory as people who lived it, but it is always a people's story. Let our tale be marked by our knowledge of what had to be done, and let it shine with the passion of our attempt. ~ Joan Nestle

The dead keep their secrets, and in a while we shall be as wise as they - and as taciturn. ~ Alexander Smith

Very few people know where they will die,
But I do; in a brick-faced hospital,
Divided, not unlike Caesarean Gaul,
Into three parts; the Dean Memorial
Wing, in the classic cast of 1910,
Green-grated in unglazed, Aeolian
Embrasures; the Maud Wiggin Building, which
Commemorates a dog-jawed Boston bitch
Who fought the brass down to their whipcord knees
In World War I, and won enlisted men
Some decent hospitals, and, being rich,
Donated her own granite monument;
The Mandeville Pavilion, pink-brick tent
With marble piping, flying snapping flags
Above the entry where our bloody rags
Are rolled in to be sponged and sewn again.
Today is fair; tomorrow, scourging rain
(If only my own tears) will see me in
Those jaundiced and distempered corridors
Off which the five-foot-wide doors slowly close.
White as my skimpy chiton, I will cringe
Before the pinpoint of the least syringe;
Before the buttered catheter goes in;
Before the I.V.'s lisp and drip begins
Inside my skin; before the rubber hand
Upon the lancet takes aim and descends
To lay me open, and upon its thumb
Retracts the trouble, a malignant plum;
And finally, I'll quail before the hour
When the authorities shut off the power
In that vast hospital, and in my bed
I'll feel my blood go thin, go white, the red,
The rose all leached away, and I'll go dead.
Then will the bu ~ L.E. Sissman

During World War II, there had been a project to sabotage the Nazi nuclear weapons program. Years earlier, Leo Szilard, the first person to realize the possibility of a fission chain reaction, had convinced Fermi not to publish the discovery that purified graphite was a cheap and effective neutron moderator. Fermi had wanted to publish, for the sake of the great international project of science, which was above nationalism. But Szilard had persuaded Rabi, and Fermi had abided by the majority vote of their tiny three-person conspiracy. And so, years later, the only neutron moderator the Nazis had known about was deuterium.

The only deuterium source under Nazi control had been a captured facility in occupied Norway, which had been knocked out by bombs and sabotage, causing a total of twenty-four civilian deaths.

The Nazis had tried to ship the deuterium already refined to Germany, aboard a civilian Norwegian ferry, the SS Hydro.

Knut Haukelid and his assistants had been discovered by the night watchman of the civilian ferry while they were sneaking on board to sabotage it. Haukelid had told the watchman that they were escaping the Gestapo, and the watchman had let them go. Haukelid had considered warning the night watchman, but that would have endangered the mission, so Haukelid had only shaken his hand. And the civilian ship had sunk in the deepest part of the lake, with eight dead Germans, seven dead crew, and three dead civilian bystanders. S ~ Eliezer Yudkowsky

If you break this door you will find me dead on the threshold."
And be easy, madame, you shall be revenged," said Bussy. ~ Alexandre Dumas

Fire bursts inside me. My lips part under his. Coming up on my toes, I fist my hands in his hair and kiss him back, sharing the flames that lick at my soul. I breathe as he breathes, liquid heat in my veins.
He kisses me like I am water and he is parched. He is gentle and rough, taking and giving. In that moment, his kiss is all I know, all I ever want to know.
I come up higher on my toes and my lips cling to his as he pulls away. I'm left shaken and out of my element. I've never been kissed like that. I never imagined such a kiss existed. ~ Eve Silver

To fight with demons, your intent must be pure. And even then, there's no guarantee you'll win. ~ Simon R. Green

Learn what not to expect. Irish catholic they get sh**** little rings. Irish women get crappy rings. Baptist get the worst because they get the rings under water. When it comes up, it's garbage. Jewish, big rings. Episcopalian big rings. Italians-the best, because they get them off of dead people, and second wives get the biggest rings of all. ~ Joan Rivers

The only real tyrants that humanity has known have always been the memories of its dead or the illusions it has forged itself. ~ Gustave Le Bon

You will find it less easy to unroot faults than to choke them by gaining virtues. Do not think of your faults, still less of others faults; in every person who comes near you look for what is good and strong; honor that; rejoice in it and as you can, try to imitate it; and your faults will drop off like dead leaves when their time comes. ~ John Ruskin

She's right, Kate's right, I'm right and you're wrong. If you drive her away from here it will be over my dead - chair, has it never occurred to you at on one occasion you might be consummately wrong? ~ William Gibson

Quiet down! You're supposed to be dead!" snapped a passing Union soldier.
"This is a private conversation," Margaret snapped back.
"This is a battle," he hissed.
"No, honey, this is called pretending. I hate to break it to you, but we're not really in the Civil War. If you'd like to feel a bit more authentic, I'd be happy to stick this bayonet up your ass. ~ Kristan Higgins

Accustom yourself to the belief that death is of no concern to us, since all good and evil lie in sensation and sensation ends with death. Therefore the true belief that death is nothing to us makes a mortal life happy, not by adding to it an infinite time, but by taking away the desire for immortality. For there is no reason why the man who is thoroughly assured that there is nothing to fear in death should find anything to fear in life. So, too, he is foolish who says that he fears death, not because it will be painful when it comes, but because the anticipation of it is painful; for that which is no burden when it is present gives pain to no purpose when it is anticipated. Death, the most dreaded of evils, is therefore of no concern to us; for while we exist death is not present, and when death is present we no longer exist. It is therefore nothing either to the living or to the dead since it is not present to the living, and the dead no longer are. ~ Epicurus

El Paso," Andrej echoed slowly. "You do know there's nothing in El Paso but dust, heat, and illegal aliens, right? ~ J. Fally

Come hell or high water, I will separate you from your man-business. I don't care how, or if you kill me. If it means me, dead, holding your junk, I'll take your junk. Got that? ~ Nicole Peeler

In the Second World War he took no public part, having escaped to a neutral country just before its outbreak. In private conversation he was wont to say that homicidal lunatics were well employed in killing each other, but that sensible men would keep out of their way while they were doing it. Fortunately this outlook, which is reminiscent of Bentham, has become rare in this age, which recognizes that heroism has a value independent of its utility. The Last Survivor of a Dead Epoch ~ Bertrand Russell

It was always easy, in open and lonely places, to be visited by Panic wilderness fear, but these are the urban fantods here, that come to get you when you are lost or isolate inside the way time is passing, when there is no more History, no time-travelling capsule to find your way back to, only the lateness and the absence that fill a great railway shed after the capital has been evacuated, and the goat-god's city cousins wait for you at the edges of the light, playing the tunes they've always played, but more audible now, because everything else has gone away or fallen silent. . . barn-swallow souls, fasioned of brown twilight, rise toward the white ceilings. . . the are unique to the Zone, they answer to the new Uncertainty. Ghosts used to be either the likeness of the dead or wraiths of the living. But here in the Zone categories have been blurred badly. The status of the name you miss, love, and search for now has grown ambiguous and remote, but this is even more than the bureaucracy of mass absence- some still live, some have died, but many, many have forgotten which they are. Their likenesses will not serve. Down here are only wrappings left in the light, in the dark: images of the Uncertainty. . ." 3:2 ~ Thomas Pynchon