Don T Even Think About It Quotes

He knew he was sounding a little Holden Caulfield-esque calling everyone a phony, but he really did think everyone was a phony. ~ Sarah Mlynowski

Witcher,' Three Jackdaws suddenly said, 'I want to ask you a question.'
'Ask it.'
'Why don't you turn back?'
The Witcher looked at him in silence for a moment. 'Do you really want to know?'
'Yes, I do,' Three Jackdaws said, turning his face towards Geralt.
'I'm riding with them because I'm a servile golem. Because I'm a wisp of oakum blown by the wind along the highway. Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don't break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don't throw stones from behind a fence. I'm riding with them for the same reason I rode with you to the log drivers' inn. Because it's all the same to me. I don't have a goal to head towards. I don't have a destination at the end of the road.'
Three Jackdaws cleared his throat. 'There's a destination at the end of every road. Everybody has one. Even you, although you like to think you're somehow different.'
'Now I'll ask you a question.'
'Ask it.'
'Do you have a destination at the end of the road?'
'I do.'
'Lucky for you.'
'It is not a matter of luck, Geralt. It is a matter of what you believe in and what you serve. No one ought to know that better than… than a witcher.'
'I keep hearing about goals today,' Geralt sighed. 'Niedamir's aim is to seize Malleore. Eyck of Denesle's calling is t ~ Andrzej Sapkowski

Even if he hadn't wanted to kiss her, Chase needed to kiss Bailey. As if reading his mind, Bailey parted her lips and took a slight inhale, pressing her chest against him more fully. He didn't think about it; it just happened, as naturally as her breath. ~ T.J. Kline

I think that the media and its influencers send out a negative message to young girls these days, when it comes to the relationship between power and money. The message that young girls receive these days, from watching reality t.v. shows and such, is that the more money you spend, the more powerful you are. But I'd like young girls everywhere to know that it's not about the money that you spend; but what it's really about is the money that you have! Financial power lies in actually having money and your intelligence is determined by how you spend it. And it's not even about buying only what you need, because we should have the things that we want, too, not only the things that we need! But it's more about knowing the value of material things because without the knowledge of the value, things aren't going to make you happy, because there's always something more that you can buy! So you've got to know how to buy what's really going to make you happy and not just buy things for the sake of spending. ~ C. JoyBell C.

Gordo: "Doubts? Then why are you even doing this?"
I said, "Not about him. About me. What if I'm not good enough for him? What if I can't be what he's going to need?"
He stopped his pacing and his shoulders sagged. "Ox, you can't think like that."
I snorted. "Yeah? It's actually pretty easy to."
"You're father did this to you," he said with a scowl. "I should have kicked his ass when I had the chance."
I looked up in surprise.
"I don't like any of this," Gordo siad, "At All. But I'm going to say it anyway, okay? Anyone should count their lucky stars if they got to call you their own, I am not giving you my approval because it doesn't matter to you anyway. Nothing I can say matters at this point." His voice cracked. :But he had better treat you like you hung the moon or I will tear him from this earth. ~ T.J. Klune

If God has given you a mission, you must be tough enough to handle what people say and still not be distracted while doing what you were created to do. Are you tough enough? God and the enemy know the truth about you, and remember even great people doing great things for great causes meet negative criticisms. All criticism is not bad, just like all flattery is not good. Many times people don't criticize you because they are evil; they do it because they have been trained to think anyone who doesn't perceive and see things in the same manner is an enemy. The critic is a prisoner to his own experiences and perspectives, erroneously believing his limited experiences are the sum of all truth. When you acknowledge your critics, you give them your power and validate their words. They are not important until you respond. ~ Bishop T. D. Jakes

She slid a slim volume of poetry off the shelf and returned to her chair, swishing her rather unnattractive skirts before she sat down.
Benedict frowned. He'd never really noticed before how ugly her dress was. Not as bad as the one Mrs. Cabtree had lent her, but certainly not anything designed to bring out the best in a woman.
He ought to buy her a new dress. She would never accept it,of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned...
"Mr. Bridgerton?"
But how could he manage to burn her dress? She'd have to not be wearing it, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself...
"Are you even listening to me?" Sophie demanded.
"Hmmm?"
"You're not listening to me."
"Sorry," he admitted. "My apologies. My mind got away from me. Please continue."
She began anew, and in his attempt to show how much attention he was paying her, he focused his eyes on her lips, which proved to be a big mistake.
Because suddenly those lips were all he could see, and he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her, and he knew- absolutely knew-that if one of them didn't leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he'd owe her a thousand apologies.
Not that he didn't plan to seduce her. Just that he'd rather do it with a bit more finesse.
"Oh, dear," he blurted out.
Sophie gave him an odd look. He didn't blame her. He sounded like a complete idiot. He didn't think he'd uttered t ~ Julia Quinn

Only people who've been discriminated against can really know how much it hurts. Each person feels the pain in his own way, each has his own scars. So I think I'm as concerned about fairness and justice as anybody. But what disgusts me even more are people who have no imagination. The kind T. S. Eliot calls hollow men. People who fill up that lack of imagination with heartless bits of straw, not even aware of what they're doing. Callous people who throw a lot of empty words at you, trying to force you to do what you don't want to. Like that lovely pair we just met." He sighs and twirls the long slender pencil in his hand. "Gays, lesbians, straights, feminists, fascist pigs, communists, Hare Krishnas-- none of them bother me. I don't care what banner they raise. But what I can't stand are hollow people. When I'm with them I just can't bear it, and wind up saying things I shouldn't. With those women--I should've just let it slide, or else called Miss Saeki and let her handle it. She would have given them a smile and smoothed things over. But I just can't do "do that. I say things I shouldn't, do things I shouldn't do. I can't control myself. That's one of my weak points. Do you know why that's a weak point of mine?"
"'Cause if you take every single person who lacks much imagination seriously, there's no end to it," I say. ~ Haruki Murakami

If one more person tells me that "all gender is performance," I think I am going to strangle them. Perhaps most annoying about that sound-bite is the somewhat snooty "I-took-a-gender-studies-class-and-youdidn't" sort of way in which it is most often recited, a magnificent irony given the way that phrase dumbs down gender. It is a crass oversimplification, as ridiculous as saying all gender is genitals, all gender is chromosomes, or all gender is socialization. In reality, gender is all of these things and more. In fact, if there's one thing that all of us should be able to agree on, it's that gender is a confusing and complicated mess. It's like a junior high school mixer, where our bodies and our internal desires awkwardly dance with one another, and with all the external expectations that other people place on us.

Sure, I can perform gender: I can curtsy, or throw like a girl, or bat my eyelashes. But performance doesn't explain why certain behaviors and ways of being come to me more naturally than others. It offers no insight into the countless restless nights I spent as a pre-teen wrestling with the inexplicable feeling that I should be female. It doesn't capture the very real physical and emotional changes that I experienced when I hormonally transitioned from testosterone to estrogen. Performance doesn't even begin to address the fact that, during my transition, I acted the same, wore the same T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers that I always had, yet once other pe ~ Julia Serano

Making your own T-shirts? Don't you have people for that?" I asked. "Like professionals?"
"Well,I usually travel with an army of professional T-shirt makers, but today I thought I'd go it alone."
Jack didn't take his eyes off me as Cole spoke. I wasn't sure he was even listening,or aware Cole was there.
"What are the screens for?" I asked.
"Elvis Presley as a corpse.You wanna come look?" Cole gave me a grin as if he'd just asked if I wanted to see rainbows being made.
"You had me at 'corpse.'"
Jack chuckled. "Saying good-bye here. Remember?"
I turned to Jack, rose up on my tiptoes, and kissed his lips lightly. "Two weeks,Jack. It'll fly by."
I started to back up,but Jack grabbed my hand and pulled me close. "No you don't," he said. "The corpse can wait."
He gave me a kiss that was not quite appropriate for public view,and I would've been embarrassed if I hadn't lost the ability to think straight. His arms reached around my back,and he pulled me in tight against him so that my feet were barely touching the ground. And things started disappearing around us,just like they did every time Jack kissed me.
He pulled back. "What were you saying about two weeks?"
"That it will feel like forever," I said, breathless.
"That's better." Jack lowered his head so his forehead was touching mine. "Miss you."
"Miss you too," I whispered. ~ Brodi Ashton

You aren't worried about tomorrow, are you?"
"What do you think?"
He propped himself up on his elbows and studied my face. "You told me last spring it was the easiest thing in the whole wide world. You could hardly wait to jump. Why, even when you got sick you worried you'd die without having a chance to do it."
"I must have been a raving lunatic," I muttered.
Theo scowled, but the sound of a Model T chugging up the driveway stopped him from saying more. Its headlamps lit the trees and washed across the house.
"It's John again," Theo said. "Papa will start charging him room and board soon."
Hidden in the shadows, we watched John jump out of the car and run up the porch steps. Hannah met him at the door. From inside the house, their laughter floated toward us as silvery as moonlight, cutting into my heart like a knife.
"Hannah has a beau." Theo sounded as if he were trying out a new word, testing it for rightness. He giggled. "Do you think she lets him kiss her?"
I spat in the grass, a trick I'd learned from Edward. "Don't be silly."
"What's silly about smooching? When I'm old enough, I plan to kiss Marie Jenkins till our lips melt." Making loud smacking sounds with his mouth, Theo demonstrated. Pushing him away, I wrestled him to the ground and started tickling him.
As he pleaded for mercy, we heard the screen door open. Thinking Mama was about to call us inside, we broke apart and lay still. It was Hannah and John.
"They ~ Mary Downing Hahn

I feel like I'm almost ready to write fiction about the border. But even after 10 years of writing nonfiction about it, I don't think I know quite enough to do it right. ~ William T. Vollmann

I don't know what's happening to me," she says, blinking through a veil of tears as she looks everywhere but at me. "I don't think I can do this anymore."
My heart plummets inside my chest, my lips still hovering over hers, my hands on her waist "do what anymore?" I don't want the answer, don't want to hear what follows my question, don't want to lose her.
"Fight it." Tears are still flowing from her eyes, but I think she stop crying. She sucks and several breaths when she looks at me, her eyes are clear that I anticipated. She's scared shitless - that's clear - but it's like she stop fighting the fear, giving into it instead.
Her lips apart and I'm a stop whatever she's about to say, silence her with my lips, but I don't, forcing myself to hear, needing to know what's got all worked up.
"I think I'm in love with you," she says, her chest heaving with every ravenous breath she takes, yet her voice is astonishingly even and she manages to maintain my gaze.
My voice however is the exact opposite of even, coming out all high-pitched like I'm a thirteen year old and going through puberty all over again. "What?"
She sucks and a breath, then releases is slowly, the fear in her eyes subsiding, as if she just won it. "I think I'm in love with you..." She bites on your lips and shakes her head. "No...I don't think. I know."
I gradually process her words and the full extent of what she's saying. I think I'd honestly believed that she might never say t ~ Jessica Sorensen

She blinked once before the most brilliant smile lit up her face. "Just when I think I can't possibly love you even more, you do something incredibly unexpected. Thank you."
The ground shifted beneath him the tiniest bit every time she told him she loved him. She'd confessed the first time two days after he'd saved her from Einar. He'd been waiting for the right moment but she'd beat him to it. The only positive thing to come out of that bastard Einar infiltrating the mountain sector was that they'd patched up a security hole. He still wasn't certain what the male had wanted; probably just to cause as much destruction as he could. It didn't matter now.
"I love you too." He moved toward her, planning to show her just how much.
But she shook her head and waved some wand thing at him. She used it to do something to her eyebrows.
Since she'd moved all her stuff into his room he'd discovered that females took up a lot of space. "I know that look. We don't have time." She disappeared into the bathroom once again.
This time he followed, his body already humming with the need to be inside her. "We have plenty of time."
She'd invited half a dozen females from their sector as well as their mates tonight to celebrate the unanimous change in the Ducereco law. They'd also started plans on her new project. Things were about to change for his people and he knew it was for the better.
Shaking her head, she turned away from him and faced the mirror. T ~ Savannah Stuart

When you see the dawn breaking, you think back to the darkness in a new way. "Sin" is not simply the breaking of a law. It is the missing of an opportunity. Having heard the echoes of a voice, we are called to come and meet the speaker. We are invited to be transformed by the voice itself, the word of the gospel- the word which declares that evil has been judged, that the world has been put to rights, that heaven and earth are joined forever, and that new creation has begun. We are called to become people who can speak and live and paint and sing that word so that those who have heard it's echoes can come and lend a hand in the larger project. That is the opportunity that stands before us, as a gift and a possibility. Christian holiness is not (as people often imagine) a matter of denying something good. It is about growing up and grasping something even better. ~ N. T. Wright

What do I think was modernism's subject, then? What was it about? No doubt you can guess my starting point. It was about steam - in both the Malevich and the de Chirico a train still rushes across the landscape. It was about change and power and contingency, in other words, but also control, compression, and captivity - an absurd or oppressive orderliness is haunting the bright new fields and the sunlit squares with their eternally flapping flags. Modernism presents us with a world becoming a realm of appearances - fragments, patchwork quilts of color, dream-tableaux made out of disconnected phantasms. But all of this is still happening in modernism, and still resisted as it is described. The two paintings remain shot through, it seems to me, with the effort to answer back to the flattening and derealizing-the will to put the fragments back into some sort of order. Modernism is agonized, but its agony is not separable from weird levity or whimsy. Pleasure and horror go together in it. Malevich may be desperate, or euphoric. He may be pouring scorn on the idea of collective man, or spelling the idea out with utter childish optimism. We shall never know his real opinions. His picture entertains both.

Modernism was certainly about the pathos of dream and desire in twentieth- century circumstances, but, again, the desires were unstoppable, ineradicable. The upright man will not let go of the future. The infinite still exists at the top of the tower. Even in the Picasso ~ T.J. Clark

I'm sorry l haven 't talked to you in so long.
I feel l've been lost... no bearings, no compass. I kept crashing into things, a little crazy, I guess. l've never been lost before. You were my true north.

l could always steer for home when you were my home. Forgive me for being so angry when you left. l still think some mistake's been made... and l'm waiting for God to take it back.

But l'm doing better now. The work helps me. Most of all, you help me.

You came into my dream last night with that smile that always held me like a lover... rocked me like a child. All l remember from the dream is a feeling of peace. l woke up with that feeling and tried to keep it alive as long as l could.

l'm writing to tell you that l'm on a journey toward that peace. And to tell you l'm sorry about so many things. l'm sorry l didn't take better care of you so that you never spent one minute being cold or scared or sick.

I'm sorry I didn't try harder to find the words to tell you what I was feeling.

I'm sorry I never fixed the screen door. I fixed it now.

I'm sorry I ever fought with you. I'm sorry I didn't apologize more.
I was too proud.

I'm sorry I didn't bring you more compliments on everything you wore and every way you fixed your hair.

I'm sorry I didn't hold on to you with so much strength that even God couldn't pull you away.


All my love. ~ Nicholas Sparks

Maybe you need to get a grip on your libido, Barrons!"
Fuck you, Ms. Lane!"
You just try. I'll kick the shit out of you!"
You think you could?"
Bring it on."

He grabbed a fistful of my T-shirt, and dragged me up against him until our noses touched.
I'll bring it on, Ms. Lane. But remember you asked for it. So don't even think about trying to tap out on the mat and quit the fight."
You hear anybody crying ‗Uncle' here, Barrons? I don't."
Fine."
Fine. ~ Karen Marie Moning

With a sigh of resignation, I dial Ryder's number.
Exactly seven minutes later, he knocks on the door. Ryder to the rescue. I resist the urge to look around for his white horse.
"Okay, where is he?" he asks with a frown. His hair is wet, his T-shirt clinging damply to his skin. I'd either caught him in the shower or in the pool. Probably the pool, since he smells vaguely of chlorine.
I hook a thumb toward the living room. "In there. Passed out on the couch."
He looks at me sharply. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"
He's lucky I don't slap him. "I was sitting upstairs in my room, minding my own business, when he showed up at the door. What do you think? Asshat," I add under my breath.
His brow furrows. "What was that?"
"Nothing. C'mon. Get him out of there before he makes a mess."
"What about his car?"
I shrug. "I'll drive it school tomorrow and get a ride home from Lucy or something."
"I'll drive you home," he offers. Correction: he asserts--arrogantly, as if he's used to giving orders. "We need to go get those tarps and sandbags anyway."
"How did you…?" I trail off as the answer dawns on me. "My dad e-mailed you, didn't he?"
"Called me, actually. We'll go after school tomorrow. After practice," he amends.
"Yeah. Fine, whatever." Truthfully, I wasn't looking forward to lugging sandbags by myself. I wasn't even sure how I was going to fit them in my little Fiat. Problem solved.
Now to solve my other pro ~ Kristi Cook

A word of advice about Ricky ..." Gabriel said as he swung his car from the end of the drive.

"Is it going to cost me?" I waved off his answer. "Whatever you're going to say, save your breath."

"I overheard him offering you a ride on his motorcycle. I don't believe you understand what that entails."

"Grass, gas, or ass. No one rides for free." I looked over at him. "I've seen the T-shirt."

"I don't think you're taking this seriously, Olivia. Do you know what a one-percenter is?"

I sighed. "Yes, Gabriel. It refers to the portion of bikers who belong to a professional motorcycle club. A gang. Ricky is one. As such, I'm going to guess that the only women who get to ride his bike are also riding him. Am I right?"

His mouth tightened as if he didn't appreciate the crass phrasing. "I'm afraid you're under some illusions about Ricky because he does not fit the stereotype."

"Oh, I'm not fooled. He may appear to be the heir to a criminal empire, but he's really an undercover cop, working tirelessly to overthrow his father's evil empire and restore justice and goodness to the land." I glanced over. "Am I close?"

Not even a hint of a smile. ~ Kelley Armstrong

Even after two days, I can see that there are so many sides to him ... There's times he exudes such strength that it threatens to knock me flat ... Those are the times that I do believe he is an angel, that I do believe he guards us as he says he does. Then there are his other sides, most specifically when he seems unsure, hesitant ... His wonder is almost childlike in its mien. He sees things I no longer can because it is as if he's experiencing everything for the first time ... And then there's the darker part of him. I will send you and yours into the black. I don't want to think about that part. I don't want to know what "the black" is. It's only been two days since he fell from the sky, but those two days have shown just how little I really know about the world. ~ T.J. Klune

I just make the best book that I can and try to not worry about audience or if it will sell. The odds are against you, so why abuse your talent for the sake of a chimera? The only real pleasure for me in writing comes from pleasing myself. What readers think is interesting and illuminating (and it may even be correct), but that is nothing compared to the excitement of seeing a world develop. Besides, even though I like most individuals I meet, I have a pretty low opinion of people in general. So if I were to write for people in general, I would have to drastically lower my estimation of the intelligence of my reader. Rather than doing that, I write the way it seems the book has to appear. I don't think that's egotistic. There are often things I would like to include in my books - things about me personally and other materials - that I feel I have to leave out because they aren't relevant to the book. I'm fairly ruthless along those lines, because I try to let nothing come in the way of what's best for the book. If that means that the book won't sell or that a publisher won't buy it, then that's my problem. I'll suffer for that, but I won't let the book suffer for it. ~ William T. Vollmann

Pudge/Colonel:
"I am sorry that I have not talked to you before. I am not staying for graduation. I leave for Japan tomorrow morning. For a long time, I was mad at you. The way you cut me out of everything hurt me, and so I kept what I knew to myself.

But then even after I wasn't mad anymore, I still didn't say anything, and I don't even really know why. Pudge had that kiss,

I guess. And I had this secret.
You've mostly figured this out, but the truth is that I saw her that night, I'd stayed up late with Lara and some people, and then I was falling asleep and I heard her crying outside my back window. It was like 3:15 that morning, maybe, amd I walked out there and saw her walking through the soccer field. I tried to talk to her, but she was in a hurry. She told me that her mother was dead eight years that day, and that she always put flowers on her mother's grave on the anniversary but she forgot that year. She was out there looking for flowers, but it was too early-too wintry. That's how

I knew about January 10. I still have no idea whether it was suicide.

She was so sad, and I didn't know what to say or do. I think she counted on me to be the one person who would always say and do the right things to help her, but I couldn"t. I just thought she was looking for flowers. I didn't know she was going to go. She was drunk just trashed drunk, and I really didn't think she would drive or anything. I thought she would ~ John Green

It's about feeling alive in the moment because your adrenaline is going, your thinking about that present moment, you're not somewhere else, you're not thinking about what's going to happen 10 minutes from now, and that's the reason why I love fighting, it's when I'm in there. I feel free, I feel like there's no other place I want t be. I can't even think of anything beyond that second. That's why I'm drawn to the fight, because I love the presence of it, where it brings me mentally, it's the purest thing for me. ~ Rashad Evans

It isn't just the idea of a woman in a truck. At this point, they're everywhere. The statisticians tell us today's woman is as likely to buy a truck as a minivan. One cheers the suffrage, but the effect is dilutive. My head doesn't snap around the way it used to. Ignoring for the moment that my head (or the gray hairs upon it) may be the problem, I think it's not about women in trucks, it's about certain women in certain trucks. Not so long ago I was fueling my lame tan sedan at the Gas-N-Go when a woman roared across the lot in a dusty pickup and pulled up to park by the yellow cage in which they lock up the LP bottles. She dismounted wearing scuffed boots and dirty jeans and a T-shirt that was overwashed and faded, and at the very sight of her I made an involuntary noise that went, approximately, ohf...! I suppose ohf...! reflects as poorly on my character as wolf whistle, but I swear it escaped without premeditation. Strictly a spinal reflex. [...] The woman plucking her eyebrows in the vanity mirror of her waxed F-150 Lariat does not elicit the reflex. Even less so if her payload includes soccer gear or nothing at all. That woman at the Gas-N-Go? I checked the back of her truck. Hay bales and a coon dog crate. Ohf...! ~ Michael Perry

Actually, the real game of Bigger and Better that Jesus is playing with us usually isn't about money or possessions or even our hopes. It's about our pride. He asks if we'll give up that thing we're so proud of, that thing we believe causes us to matter in the eyes of the world, and give it up to follow Him. He's asking us, Will you take what you think defines you, leave it behind, and let Me define who you are instead? ~ Bob Goff

But how…how am I a dragon? How are you a starman?"
"I don't think of myself as a starman, exactly," he said soberly, though I sensed he wanted to smile. His hand released mine, the bridge broken; he moved to hang the lantern on a shiny new hook dug into the wall behind us. "I was born here, on earth. Not even far from here, in fact. Just over in Devon. My parents died young, when I was only five. Hastings is my great-uncle and he took me in, and I've lived here ever since. But I've always known what I am, as far back as I can remember. I've always been able to do the things I do. The stars have always spoken to me."
"And you…speak back to them?"
"Yes," he said simply.
"But not to people."
"No. Just to Hastings, and to you."
A shiver took me; I crossed my arms over my chest. "What do the stars say?"
"All manner of things. Amazing things. Secret things. Things great and small, things profound and insignificant. They told me that, throughout time, there've been only a scattering of people like me, folk of both flesh and star. That even the whisper of their magic in my blood could annihilate me if I didn't learn to control it. That I'd crisp to ash without control. Or, worse, crisp someone else." His smile broke through. "And they told me about you. That you were born and would come to me when the time was right."
"Did you summon me here?" The muted echo of my voice rebounded against the firefly walls: here-here-here. "To Iverson, I mean?"< ~ Shana Abe

The city is designed to keep you in a state of perpetual adolescence. You never need to learn to drive if you don't want to. And even if you do drive you can go back to that bar you went to when you were twenty-one, and it will still be there, and it will still be called Molly's, and the older waitress there will still remember you and let you sit where you want. And five years later, when she is no longer there, when there is just a picture of her above the bar in a place of sad honor, and you know what that means and you don't want to think about it, guess what: you do not have to. Because no one is driving home, and you're back again, listening to "Fairytale of New York," which is still on every jukebox, falling into the same conversations you had with the same friends in the '90s: about how the internet is going to change culture, and what you are going to do when you grow up. ~ John Hodgman

Miss Gates is a nice lady, ain't she?"
Why sure," said Jem. "I liked her when I was in her room."
She hates Hitler a lot ... "
What's wrong with that?"
Well, she went on today about how bad it was him treating the Jews like that. Jem, it's not right to persecute anybody, is it? I mean have mean thoughts about anybody, even, is it?"
Gracious no, Scout. What's eatin' you?"
Well, coming out of the courthouse that night Miss Gates was
she was going' down the steps in front of us, you musta not seen her
she was talking with Miss Stephanie Crawford. I heard her say it's time somebody time somebody taught 'em a lesson, they were gettin' way above themelves, an' the next thing they think they can do is marry us. Jem, how can you hate Hitler so bad an' then turn around and be ugly about folks right at home
~ Harper Lee

I know what you are thinking. You can't now fathom ever forgetting to think about me. You're afraid that if you move forward, it will take you further away from me. This is a common misconception shared by many people and it delays their healing... It keeps you stuck in you grief and it's only because you are still clinging to me. You think if you stop grieving that you will lose me. Maybe you even feel if you let go of me that you are abandoning me; maybe you feel that you will hurt my feelings because if it were the other way around you would not ever want me to forget about you. You are afraid that if you love again that you will grow away from me.
I am Here! I am here, waiting to run to you when the time comes. It's unconditional. It's forever. ~ Kate McGahan

I wanted a guy who made my stomach flutter, who was polite and respectful to everyone because he didn't think of anybody as beneath him, a man who did good things not because of what he'd gain but simply because it was the right thing to do. I wanted someone that cared about the injustices of the world and tried to help even if the issue didn't affect his life. ~ Skyla Madi

Life doesn't begin with New Year nor does ends with it; it doesn't even stop when you lose someone you couldn't stay without. Life simply doesn't end or begin. Life is a going on. You Still Breathe, You Still Care, and You Still Live. ~ Arpit Vageria

One of the things I did to make myself feel better is that I kicked up my running even more. I knew that I had to stay active, that I had to keep living as if my life was actually going to unfold naturally because when you stop, when you freeze, and you think about it, that's when the demons come and can drag you down. ~ Dan Hill

And then I stand in front of God's Throne squinting up at His blazing glory and He says, 'You had your opportunities, boy. But did you listen? No. You went on heedlesly reading that garbagey magazine with pictures of naked girls in it. How juvenile! I gave geese more sense than that.'

Please, God. I'm only fourteen years old. A teenager. Have mercy. Be loving.

I was,' says God. 'For eons. And look at what it got me. You.'

God turns in disgust, just the way Daddy does. 'Sorry, but I'm the Creator. I take it personally. There are slugs and bugs and night-crawlers I feel better about having created - I mean, there are sparrows - I've got my eye on one right now. Is that sparrow consumed with lust? No. He mates in the spring and that's the end of it. Consider the lilies. Do they think about lily tits all the time? No. They look not and they lust not, and yet I say unto you that you will never be half as attractive as they. Therefore, I say unto you, think not about peckers and boobs and all that nonsense and your Heavenly Father will see that you meet a good woman and marry her, just as I do for the sparrow and walleye - yea verily, even the night-crawler and the eelpout. But I've told you this over and over for nineteen centuries. And now, verily, it's too late. Time's up, buster. Lights out! Game's over! ~ Garrison Keillor

The liberals were of the opinion that all men have the intellectual capacity to reason correctly about the difficult problems of social cooperation and to act accordingly. They were so impressed with the clarity and self-evidence of the reasoning by which they had arrived at their political ideas that they were quite unable to understand how anyone could fail to comprehend it. They never grasped two facts: first, that the masses lack the capacity to think logically and secondly, that in the eyes of most people, even when they are able to recognize the truth, a momentary, special advantage that may be enjoyed immediately appears more
important than a lasting greater gain that must be deferred. Most people do not have even the intellectual endowments required to think through the - after all very complicated - problems of social cooperation, and they certainly do not have the will power necessary to make those provisional sacrifices that all social action demands. The slogans of interventionism and of socialism, especially proposals for the partial expropriation of private property, always find ready and enthusiastic approval with the masses, who expect to profit directly and immediately from them. ~ Ludwig Von Mises

Told you I had some flavours," she said. "You like?"
Ross just gaped, and possibly trembled a little.
"You, er, made that yourself?"
"Yeah. That's what pisses me off about this place. You could be any incarnation of womanhood you an think of - so why do so many choose to conform to some fifteen-year-old dork's idea of it? Even in a world like Calastria, they'll still choose an appearance that's defined by sexuality. Do they think the guys try to look sexy when they're suiting up to fight dragons?"
"Er, not so much," Ross agreed, but her last remark had inadvertently channelled his inner fifteen-year-old dork. "There's going to be dragons?" he asked. ~ Christopher Brookmyre

I want you to know never have a bad day. there's never bad things that happen there is merely changes in direction on the road of live. You never come to a dead end just turn left or right you know and it's gonna be good. You'll still get where you want. You're going down the hallway, you're just gonna bounce of the walls a little bit.
The law of attraction, just like the law of gravity. You can't out-will the law of gravity and you cannot out-will the law of attraction. it's a real physical law, it?

Science has determent really exists the more you think about beautiful amazing things the reality is those things are gonna come right to you. The more you think about the things you fear, the more you start to think about things you don't want to happen, or you're scared of or whatever those things are gonna come to you.because you're dwelling on them, even if you're dwelling on the fact that you're scared of them, it's just putting those images out those frequencies from your brain,

Whenever you start to feel scared or fucked up, or it's a bad day , instantly think about great things, successful things, beautiful things, helping people,going out there and living the life that you want to. if it's snowing go outside and think about sun, if you're out of money go outside and think of being a billionaire, if you're horny go out there and think about..me, on top of you, completely naked, sweating just a little bit, and doing all the things to your body ~ Tom DeLonge

I had a dream about you. You were Ginger Rogers, and you were trying to teach me to dance, even though my movements were as stiff as a mannequin. I think you tolerated my abysmal rhythm because I was naked, and my body was so sexy it could be used to sell clothes. ~ Jarod Kintz

Certainly the most destructive vice if you like, that a person can have. More than pride, which is supposedly the number one of the cardinal sins - is self pity. Self pity is the worst possible emotion anyone can have. And the most destructive. It is, to slightly paraphrase what Wilde said about hatred, and I think actually hatred's a subset of self pity and not the other way around - ' It destroys everything around it, except itself '.

Self pity will destroy relationships, it'll destroy anything that's good, it will fulfill all the prophecies it makes and leave only itself. And it's so simple to imagine that one is hard done by, and that things are unfair, and that one is underappreciated, and that if only one had had a chance at this, only one had had a chance at that, things would have gone better, you would be happier if only this, that one is unlucky. All those things. And some of them may well even be true. But, to pity oneself as a result of them is to do oneself an enormous disservice.

I think it's one of things we find unattractive about the american culture, a culture which I find mostly, extremely attractive, and I like americans and I love being in america. But, just occasionally there will be some example of the absolutely ravening self pity that they are capable of, and you see it in their talk shows. It's an appalling spectacle, and it's so self destructive. I almost once wanted to publish a self help book saying 'How To Be Happy by Steph ~ Stephen Fry

Lies hold civilization together. If people ever seriously begin telling each other what they really think, there'd be no peace. Good-bye to tact. Good-bye to being polite. Good-bye to showing tolerance for other people's buffooneries. The fact that we claim to admire Truth is probably the biggest lie of all. But that's part of the charade, part of what makes us human, and we do not even think about it. In effect, we lie to ourselves. Lies are only despicable when they betray a trust. ~ Jack McDevitt

I just don't understand what you see in her," Sim said carefully. "I know she's charming. Fascinating and all of that. But she seems rather," he hesitated, "cruel."

I nodded. "She is."

Simmon watched me expectantly, finally said. "What? No defense for her?"

"No. Cruel is a good word for her. But I think you are saying cruel and thinking of something else. Denna is not wicked, or mean, or spiteful. She is cruel."

Sim was quiet for a long while before responding. "I think she might be some of those things, and cruel as well."

Good, honest gentle Sim. He could never bring himself to say bad things about another person, just imply them. Even that was hard for him.

He looked up at me. "I talked with Savoy. He's still not over her. He really loved her, you know. Treated her like a princess. He would have done anything for her. But she left him anyway, no explanation."

"Denna is a wild thing," I explained. "Like a hind or a summer storm. If a storm blows down your house, or breaks a tree, you don't say the storm was mean. It was cruel. It acted according to its nature and something unfortunately was hurt. The same is true of Denna."

"What's a hind?"

"A deer."

"I thought that was a hart?"

"A hind is a female deer. A wild deer. Do you know how much good it does you to chase a wild thing? None. It works against you. It startles the hind away. All you can do is stay g ~ Patrick Rothfuss

But what should he wear?
I thought about having him laid to rest in his uniform. But the truth is he hated wearing it. He really needed to be dressed in something he was comfortable in.
And that wasn't going to be in a suit, either: he hated being in a jacket and tie even more than in a uniform.
Tie? Ha!
I got a pair of his best pressed jeans. They had a nice crease in the pants leg, just like he liked. I found one of his plaid button-down shirts, another favorite.
Kryptek, which produces tactical gear and apparel and was one of Chris's favorite companies, had presented him with a big silver belt buckle that he loved. It was very cowboy, and in that way very much who Chris was.
"You think I can pull this off?" he'd asked, showing me how it looked right after he got it.
"Hell, yeah," I told him.
I made sure that was with him as well.
But if there was any item of clothing that really touched deep into Chris's soul, it was his cowboy boots. They were a reminder of who he was when he was young, and they were part of who he'd been since getting out of the military.
He had a really nice pair of new boots that had been custom made. He hadn't had a chance to wear them much, and I couldn't decide whether to bury him in those or another pair that were well worn and very comfortable.
I asked the funeral director for his opinion.
"We usually don't do shoes," he said. It can be very difficult to get them onto the body. "But if i ~ Taya Kyle

It seems to me that there is a good deal of ballyhoo about scientific method. I venture to think that the people who talk most about it are the people who do least about it. Scientific method is what working scientists do, not what other people or even they themselves may say about it. No working scientist, when he plans an experiment in the laboratory, asks himself whether he is being properly scientific, nor is he interested in whatever method he may be using as method. ~ Percy Williams Bridgman

I need to be casual but not too casual. Dressy but not too dressy. I need him to think I just threw on the first thing I found and that I'm not taking this too seriously or overthinking it or even that I was thinking about it at all. Because I'm not. I'm totally not thinking about him, and I don't want him to think I was thinking about him, but I don't want him to think that I'm not thinking about him, because clearly he thought about me enough to ask me out and it would be mean not to be thinking about him at all, so I need just the right amount of thinking, and I'm not sure if that means boots and a skirt or skinny jeans and ballet flats. Help! ~ Gemma Halliday