Dont Care About Anyone But You Quotes

After watching - with a twinge of satisfaction - the letters burn to ashes in the fireplace, Evie felt sleepy. She went to the master bedroom for a nap. In spite of her weariness, it was difficult to relax while she was worried about Sebastian. Her thoughts chased round and round, until her tired brain put an end to the useless fretting and she dropped off to sleep.
When she awakened an hour or so later, Sebastian was sitting on the bed beside her, a lock of her bright hair clasped loosely between a thumb and forefinger. He was watching her closely, his eyes the color of heaven at daybreak. She sat up and smiled self-consciously.
Gently Sebastian stroked back her tumbled hair. "You look like a little girl when you sleep," he murmured. "It makes me want to guard you every minute."
"Did you find Mr. Bullard?"
"Yes, and no. First tell me what you did while I was gone."
"I helped Cam to arrange things in the office. And I burned all your letters from lovelorn ladies. The blaze was so large, I'm surprised no one sent for a fire brigade."
His lips curved in a smile, but his gaze probed hers carefully. "Did you read any of them?"
Evie lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant half shrug. "A few. There were inquiries as to whether or not you've yet tired of your wife."
"No." Sebastian drew his palm along the line of her thigh. "I'm tired of countless evenings of repetitive gossip and tepid flirtation. I'm tired of meaningless encounters with wom ~ Lisa Kleypas

Children write essays in school about the unhappy, tragic, doomed life of Anna Karenina. But was Anna really unhappy? She chose passion and she paid for her passion - that's happiness! She was a free, proud human being. But what if during peacetime a lot of greatcoats and peaked caps burst into the house where you were born and live, and ordered the whole family to leave house and town in twenty-four hours, with only what your feeble hands can carry?... You open your doors, call in the passers-by from the streets and ask them to buy things from you, or to throw you a few pennies to buy bread with... With ribbon in her hair, your daughter sits down at the piano for the last time to play Mozart. But she bursts into tears and runs away. So why should I read Anna Karenina again? Maybe it's enough - what I've experienced. Where can people read about us? Us? Only in a hundred years?
"They deported all members of the nobility from Leningrad. (There were a hundred thousand of them, I suppose. But did we pay much attention? What kind of wretched little ex-nobles were they, the ones who remained? Old people and children, the helpless ones.) We knew this, we looked on and did nothing. You see, we weren't the victims."
"You bought their pianos?"
"We may even have bought their pianos. Yes, of course we bought them."
Oleg could now see that this woman was not yet even fifty. Yet anyone walking past her would have said she was an old woman. A lock of smooth old woman's ~ Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

We don't even know what's going on in the rest of the world. All we can do is-is play Scooby-Doo in the cellar."
"That's not all we can do, Sophie," Archer said.
Whenever Archer used my first name, I knew he was serious. "What do you mean?"
He backed up a few steps. "Look, you want the Casnoffs gone and these kids saved, or at least…well, put out of their misery, I guess. You don't want anyone to raise demons ever again. There are other people who want those things, too."
"Please tell me you are not talking about The Eye."
He looked away and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm just saying that you and The Eye have a common goal here."
I wasn't sure if I was stunned, or angry, or disgusted. It was kind of a mixture of all three. "Okay, is there a gas leak down here? Or did you hit your head on the tunnel? Because that's really the only excuse for you saying something so freaking stupid."
"Oh, you're right, Mercer," he said. "The idea of a trying to fight an army of demons with a bunch of trained soldiers is beyond ridiculous. Maybe we can go get Nausicaa and see if she'll give us some faerie dust to make the problem go away."
"Don't be a jackass," I snapped.
"Then don't be naïve," he retorted. "This is too big for us to handle, Sophie. This is too big for Prodigium to deal with on their own. But if we could all work together, there's a chance that-"
"What do you think, Cross? That we'll ask The Eye to help us, and they'll be ~ Rachel Hawkins

Being men of a particular world, you'd think love wouldn't play a part in it.
Love is weakness.
Love is a target.
Though if you ask anyone in the mafioso, they will say they're motivated by only love.
It is about the power, war and money, sure.
But love plays a huge part in this life.
Coveting it.
Protecting it.
Using it, in some cases. ~ V. Theia

I had no patience with anyone who put down other kids because of their race, religion, or sexuality. But that's just one kind of open-mindedness. There's another kind, too, the kind that's willing to see people for who they really are and admit when you were wrong about them. ~ Kelley Armstrong

Just hanging with some friends," I say vaguely.

"What friends? All your friends are here - " He waves a hand around the rink. "And I know for a fact you weren't with any of them."

I shrug. "You don't know these friends." Then I shift my gaze back to the ice as Dean grumbles beside me.

"Jesus fuck, you're worse than Antoine and Marie-Thérèse."

My head swings back. "Excuse me?"

"Forget it," he mutters.

Who the fuck are Antoine and Marie-Thérèse? Just like Dean knows all my friends, I know all of his, and I'm pretty sure we don't know anyone with those names. But whatever. I don't want him pushing me for answers, so I'm not about to push him. ~ Elle Kennedy

The problem with every sacred text is that it has human readers. Consciously or unconsciously, we interpret it to meet our own needs. There is nothing wrong with this unless we deny that we are doing it, as when someone tells me that he is not 'interpreting' anything but simply reporting what is right there on the page. This is worrisome, not only because he is reading a translation from the original Hebrew or Greek that has already involved a great deal of interpretation, but also because it is such a short distance between believing you possess an error-free message from God and believing that you are an error-free messenger of God. The literalists I like least are the ones who do not own a Bible. The literalists I like most are the ones who admit that they do not understand every word God has revealed in the Bible, though they still believe God has revealed it. I can respect that.

I can respect almost anyone who admits to being human while reading a divine text. After that, we can talk - about we highlight some teachings and ignore others, about how we decide which ones are historically conditioned and which ones are universally true, about who has influenced our reading of scripture and how our social location affects what we hear. The minute I believe I know the mind of God is the minute someone needs to tell me to sit down and tell me to breathe into a paper bag. ~ Barbara Brown Taylor

Notice in Acts 4 that there were "no needy persons among them." Why? Because they shared with "anyone one who had need." The expression of neediness in the community allowed the economy of love to flow. But in churches in America and other places where affluence poses special problems, the situation is very different. These cultures are enslaved to the fear of death and death avoidance holds serious sway. In these cultures the expression of need is taboo and pornographic. What results is neurotic image-management, the pressure to be "fine." The perversity here is that on the surface American churches do look like the church in Acts 4 - there are "no needy persons" among us. We all appear to be doing just fine, thank you very much.

But we know this to be a sham, a collective delusion driven by the fear of death. I'm really not fine and neither are you. But you are afraid of me and I'm afraid of you. We are neurotic about being vulnerable with each other. We fear exposing our need and failure to each other. And because of this fear - the fear of being needy within a community of neediness - the witness of the church is compromised. A collection of self-sustaining and self-reliant people - people who are all pretending to be fine - is not the Kingdom of God. It's a church built upon the delusional anthropology we described earlier. Specifically, a church where everyone is "fine" is a group of humans refusing to be human beings and pretending to be gods. Such a "church ~ Richard Beck

Instructions for Dad.

I don't want to go into a fridge at an undertaker's. I want you to keep me at home until the funeral. Please can someone sit with me in case I got lonely? I promise not to scare you.
I want to be buried in my butterfly dress, my lilac bra and knicker set and my black zip boots (all still in the suitcase that I packed for Sicily). I also want to wear the bracelet Adam gave me.
Don't put make-up on me. It looks stupid on dead people.
I do NOT want to be cremated. Cremations pollute the atmosphere with dioxins,k hydrochloric acid, hydrofluoric acid, sulphur dioxide and carbon dioxide. They also have those spooky curtains in crematoriums.
I want a biodegradable willow coffin and a woodland burial. The people at the Natural Death Centre helped me pick a site not for from where we live, and they'll help you with all the arrangements.
I want a native tree planted on or near my grave. I'd like an oak, but I don't mind a sweet chestnut or even a willow. I want a wooden plaque with my name on. I want wild plants and flowers growing on my grave.
I want the service to be simple. Tell Zoey to bring Lauren (if she's born by then). Invite Philippa and her husband Andy (if he wants to come), also James from the hospital (though he might be busy).
I don't want anyone who doesn't know my saying anything about me. THe Natural Death Centre people will stay with you, but should also stay out of it. I want the people I love to ge ~ Jenny Downham

Well, I saved you today, didn't I? Just like I saved you before. You walked out of the Bastion free, without a scratch, and if any Cokyrian but me had caught you with that dagger, you might be drawn and quartered by now."
"You didn't save me from that butcher," I said irritably. "But you're right. About today, I mean." I could sense his satisfaction, which irritated me all the more. "So accept my thanks, but stay away from me. We're not friends, you know."
I was nearing my neighborhood and didn't want anyone to see me with him. He stepped in front of me, forcing me to stop.
"We're not friends yet. But you've thought about it. And you just thanked me."
"Are you delusional?"
"No. You just said thank you to the faceless Cokyrian soldier who arrested you."
"Don't you ever stop?" I demanded, trying in vain to move around him.
"I haven't even started."
"What does that mean?"
There was silence as Saadi glanced up and down the street. "I want to know where you got that dagger. Or at least what story you told."
"Why don't you ask Commander Narian? The two of you seemed fairly close."
"Quit making jokes."
"I haven't made a single one."
"Well?"
"It was my father's," I said, clinging to the lie Queen Alera had provided, whether by mistake or not.
"Oh." This seemed to take Saadi aback.
"And now, because of you, I don't have it anymore." I knew I was pressing my luck, but I wanted to make him feel bad.
"I' ~ Cayla Kluver

But why bother? Why exert all this effort to focus totally on the boring prattlings of a six-year-old?
First, your willingness to do so is the best possible concrete evidence of your esteem you can give your child. If you give your child the same esteem you would give a great lecturer, then the child will know him- or herself to be valued and therefore will feel valuable. There is no better and ultimately no other way to teach your children that they are valuable people than by valuing them.
Second, the more children feel valuable, the more they will begin to say things of value. They will rise to your expectation of them.
Third, the more you listen to your child, the more you will realize that in amongst the pauses, the stutterings, the seemingly innocent chatter, your child does indeed have valuable things to say. The dictum that great wisdom comes from "the mouths of babes" is recognized as an absolute fact by anyone who truly listens to children. Listen to your child enough and you will come to realize that he or she is quite an extraordinary individual. And the more extraordinary you realize your child to be, the more you will be willing to listen. And the more you will learn.
Fourth, the more you know about your child, the more you will be able to teach. Know little about your children, and usually you will be teaching things that either they are not ready to learn or they already know and perhaps understand better than you.
Finally, the more ch ~ M. Scott Peck

Since the day we met, I haven't wanted anyone but you, never looked at another woman, never thought about one. It's always been you Olivia. ~ Nina Lane

I've got evil in me as much as anyone, some desires that scare me. Even if I don't give in to them, just having them scares the living bejesus out of me sometimes. I'm no saint, the way you kid about. But I've always walked the line, walked that goddamned line. It's a mean mother of a line, straight and narrow, sharp as a razor, cuts right into you when you walk it long enough. You're always bleeding on that line, and sometimes you wonder why you don't just step off and walk in the cool grass. ~ Dean Koontz

No one really
knows anyone. That's the thing
about relationships - people are
always saying, "I want to know you,
I want to know who you are." But
it is so hard for anyone to even
know themselves. Who I am is
always changing, so how can anyone
else share in that? ~ Richard Linklater

It was just really, really tough getting anything when you were a female. Basically, I just took advantage of everything I could. But when people are going to flat out tell you they're not going to hire anyone that's female, there's not much you can do about it. ~ Shannon Lucid

Greatness is a life mission being the best is not about being better than anyone else but striving to be the best that you can and bringing out the best in others ~ Dominick Cruz

Oh, you must be part of the underground no one's ever heard about."
"I don't belong to any group outside of my friends."
"That's a real bridge builder."
But it was a pretty hollow response. I wasn't part of any group either, and not just because my wiring was shot and I cried all the time, but because I had never met anyone in any political organization that I liked. ~ Vanessa Veselka

I often feel like nobody," Skip says. "I ask myself: Why would you want to talk to me? Why would anyone want to talk to me? It comes on me suddenly, this feeling that I'm not anything...a person who has spent a lot of time in bed, who doesn't want to be anything."

I know what he is talking about, and this time, I tell him that. For years, I could not understand why anyone took me seriously. I could not understand how I managed to get into MIT or Harvard, why anyone would offer me a postdoctoral fellowship or a job. I could not understand why people kept turning to me after September 11. I didn't see myself as a person who couldn't get out of bed, but as a salesgirl in a coffee shop - the job I had as a teenager who was afraid to apply to college. My identity was stuck there for year.

"Inside me there is the person who wants to be dead," he says. "I can't advocate for myself. I can advocate very strongly for others, but not for myself...Sometimes I'm not sure that I exist. Is this really me - this person whom people want to consult about clergy sexual abuse? Or am I really the person who can't get out of bed? I've gotten better - I spend more of my time living in the present. But it takes a lot of effort to stay in the present - a lot of yoga and meditation. (195) ~ Jessica Stern

Look, it's easy to outsmart a werewolf or a vampire," Jace said. "They're no smarter than anyone else. But faeries live for hundreds of years and they're as cunning as snakes. They can't lie, but they love to engage in creative truth-telling. They'll find out whatever it is you want most in the world and give it to you - with a sting in the tail of the gift that will make you regret you ever wanted it in the first place."
He sighed. "They're not really about helping people. More about harm disguised as help. ~ Cassandra Clare

[Howard Roark] was asked for a statement, and he received a group of reporters in his office. He spoke without anger. He said:
'I can't tell anyone anything about my building. If I prepared a hash of words to stuff into other people's brains, it would be an insult to them and to me. But I am glad you came here. I do have something to say. I want to ask every man who is interested in this to go and see the building, to look at it and then to use words of his own mind, if he cares to speak.'
The Banner printed the interview as follows:
'Mr. Roark, who seems to be a publicity hound, received reporters with an air of swaggering insolence and stated that the public mind was hash. He did not choose to talk, but seemed well aware of the advertising angles of the situation. All he cared about, he explained, was to have his building seen by as many people as possible. ~ Ayn Rand

The problem with a lot of people who read only literary fiction is that they assume fantasy is just books about orcs and goblins and dragons and wizards and bullshit. And to be fair, a lot of fantasy is about that stuff.

The problem with people in fantasy is they believe that literary fiction is just stories about a guy drinking tea and staring out the window at the rain while he thinks about his mother. And the truth is a lot of literary fiction is just that. Like, kind of pointless, angsty, emo, masturbatory bullshit.

However, we should not be judged by our lowest common denominators. And also you should not fall prey to the fallacious thinking that literary fiction is literary and all other genres are genre. Literary fiction is a genre, and I will fight to the death anyone who denies this very self-evident truth.

So, is there a lot of fantasy that is raw shit out there? Absolutely, absolutely, it's popcorn reading at best. But you can't deny that a lot of lit fic is also shit. 85% of everything in the world is shit. We judge by the best. And there is some truly excellent fantasy out there. For example, Midsummer Night's Dream; Hamlet with the ghost; Macbeth, ghosts and witches; I'm also fond of the Odyessey; Most of the Pentateuch in the Old Testament, Gargantua and Pantagruel.

Honestly, fantasy existed before lit fic, and if you deny those roots you're pruning yourself so closely that you can't help but wither and die. ~ Patrick Rothfuss

You don't want some tacky Vegas fly-by. You're serious. You're serious about friendships, about your work, your family. You're serious about Star Wars, and you active dislike of Jar Jar Binks
"
"Well, God. Come on, anyone who
"
"You're serious," she continued before he went on a Jar Jar rant, "about living your life on your terms, and being easygoing doesn't negate that one bit. You're serious about what kind of kryptonite is more lethal to Superman."
"You have to go with the classic green. I told you, the gold can strip Kryptonians' powers permanently, but
" ...
... "Mkae all the lists you want, Cilla. Love? It's green kryptonite. it powers out all the rest. ~ Nora Roberts

I love the way I miss you, the way I die for your presence but, the fact that you're closer to me than anyone else on this Earth does comfort me. I love the way I feel when your name appears on my phone. The way I get excited when I receive a text but then get disappointed when I realize that it's not from you. The point is, I love everything about you ~ Ismaaciil C. Ubax

On the Hunger Games Fan Race fail and the portrayal of POC in fantasy literature:
It is as if the POC in the text are walking around with a great big red sign over them for some editors and it reads I AM NOT A REAL CHARACTER. I AM A PROBLEM YOU MUST DEAL WITH. The white characters are permitted to saunter about with their physical descriptions hanging out all over the place, but best not make mention of dark skin or woolly/curly hair or dark eyes (Unless, of course, that character is white. None of my white-skinned dark-eyed characters had any problem being described as such. And I'm pretty sure that Sól's curly hair never gave anyone a single pause for thought.) As I said, I understand the desire not to define a POC simply by their physical attributes, and I understand cutting physical descriptions if no other character is described physically – but pussyfooting about in this manner with POC is doing nothing but white wash the characters themselves. It's already much too hard to get readers to latch onto the fact that some characters may not be caucasian, why must we dance about their physical description as if it were some kind of shameful dirty little secret. You know what it reminds me of? It reminds me of the way homosexuality used to only ever be hinted at in texts. It was up to the reader to 'read between the lines' or 'its there if you look for it' and all that total bullshit which used to be the norm. ~ Celine Kiernan

You don't do so well with marriage. I don't think you've begun to realize all there is for you to love. And I know you better than anyone & here's what I know about you: You have so much love to give! But I feel like you're all the time digging in the tomato bin, saying, Where are the apples? ~ Elizabeth Berg

Why is it that women are the only ones who will write perfect men into fiction? It's strange. If a man portrayed his fictional men as archangels, the feminists would throw back their heads and howl, "UNFAIR!" but we women will create our own Mr. Darcy's and Mr. Knightley's and defy anyone who would point out their unrealistic points. The men aren't the ones crazy about Pride and Prejudice. Obviously they don't find perfect men realistic and honest enough to bother reading about. We don't write perfect women characters, do we? No. Our women all have bad tempers, or resentful hearts, or scabby pasts, or hidden fears--things that make them real. It's because we're easy on ourselves and aren't trying to boast perfection because we know we don't measure up. Then why do we hold men to a different standard?..... I'd caution all writers to make sure that your male "hero" in your story has his own flaws. You don't want a one-dimensional character. You don't want a perfect man that will drive away other men from reading the book.

Look to the men in your life. The men around you. Look to your brothers and fathers and pastors and neighbors. Your uncles and the guy down the street. Goodness--look to Taylor the Latte Boy if you must, but let's cast aside the Perfect-Man syndrome. ~ Rachel Heffington

I meant what I said. I don't ever want anyone else but you, Jess."
"I don't want anyone else either. Only you."
Shane's fingers threaded into his hair. He pulled Jesse's head back and kissed him again, slow and tender and sweet.
"I want to tell the guys," Shane whispered against Jesse's lips. It wasn't the first time he'd mentioned it. "I wanna be with you for real, Jess, out in the open. We shouldn't have to hide."
Jesse closed his eyes. He wanted that too. He was just so nervous about what Nicky and Dre would think, what their parents would think. As much as he wanted it - to be out and proud and tell everyone that Shane was his - he just wasn't ready to take that last step. The thought of it was too scary. "Give me some time, okay? I just…I need a little more time."
He felt Shane's nod. "Okay. But soon, Jess. I'm tired of pretending."
"I know. I promise, Shane. Soon."
He fell asleep to the sound of Shane's heartbeat in his ear. They had the rest of their lives. Shane had said so before. They both wanted the same thing. A few more weeks couldn't cause any harm.
Soon. ~ Piper Vaughn

That's what you do. Whenever you get excited about something, you bounce all over him like he's some kind of trampoline. But Fletcher isn't springy like that - he just absorbs it. And you never see the dents you leave behind."

She sniffled, and this time she didn't try to hide it. That had to be one of the cruelest things Sean had ever said to her. She would never hurt anyone like that - especially Fletcher. "I don't leave dents. ~ Tamara Morgan

There is such a thing as a shy extrovert. People think extroverts are all loud and mouthy, like Rebecca Forman, but that's not true. The definitions of extrovert and introvert have do with how you process the world and from where you draw your energy. I'm shy, but I process my world by talking about it. Which makes me an extrovert. But I don't talk about it with just anyone. I have to talk about it with Zoe. ~ Wendy Wunder

She wrapped her arms around his head and hugged him to her abdomen. "Why are you so nice to me?"
His chuckle was muffled against her belly. "I have ulterior motives."
"Such as?"
"Making you mine." Shit. Why had he said that? He was showing his cards much too soon.
She slapped his shoulder. "Don't say it if you don't mean it." He wished he could say he didn't mean it. He didn't particularly want to be so far gone. Ah, what the fuck - he liked her. A lot. She was just going to have to learn to live with it. If he could admit it, surely she could accept it.
"I mean it, Toni." He untangled his head from her grasp so he could look up at her. "I really do like you. And it isn't just lust." For once in his dick-led life. "I can't stop thinking about you. Even when you're not in my bed, you're in my head. It's driving me crazy. I'm not sure how to handle it."
She smiled, and he saw her feelings displayed clearly in her eyes. "You're going to break my heart someday." She released a sigh and stared over his head as she spoke. "I really like you too, Logan. But maybe it's best if we pretend the only thing between us is lust. If I fall for you . . ." She shook her head and closed her eyes.
"You don't trust me with your heart."
"Should I?"
He wanted to say she should, wanted to say that he'd never hurt her, but he, more than anyone, was aware of his track record with women.
"That's something you'll have to decide on your own. ~ Olivia Cunning

I'm not a Wiccan. I'm not big on churches of any kind, despite the fact that I've spoken, face-to-face, with an archangel of the Almighty.
But there were some things I believed in. Some things I had faith in. And faith isn't about perfect attendance to services, or how much money you put on the little plate. It isn't about going skyclad to the Holy Rites, or meditating each day upon the divine.
Faith is about what you do. It's about aspiring to be better and nobler and kinder than you are. It's about making sacrifices for the good of others
even when there's not going to be anyone telling you what a hero you are.
Faith is a power of its own, and one even more elusive and difficult to define than magic. ~ Jim Butcher

I can't quite shake this feeling that we live in a world gone wrong, that there are all these feelings you're not supposed to have because there's no reason to anymore. But still they're there, stuck somewhere, a flaw that evolution hasn't managed to eliminate yet. I want so badly to feel bad about getting pregnant. But I can't, don't dare to. Just like I didn't dare tell Jack that I was falling in love with him, wanting to be a modern woman who's supposed to be able to handle the casual nature of these kinds of relationships. I'm never supposed to say, to Jack or anyone else, 'What makes you think I'm so rich that you can steal my heart and it won't mean a thing?' Sometimes I think that I was forced to withdraw into depression, because it was the only rightful protest I could throw in the face of a world that said it was all right for people to come and go as they please, that there were simply no real obligations left. Deceit and treachery in both romantic and political relationships is nothing new, but at one time, it was bad, callous, and cold to hurt somebody. Now it's just the way things go, part of the growth process. Really nothing is surprising. After a while, meaning and implication detach themselves from everything. If one can be a father and assume no obligations, it follows that one can be a boyfriend and do nothing at all. Pretty soon you can add friend, acquaintance, co-worker, and just about anyone else to the long list of people who seem to be part of your li ~ Elizabeth Wurtzel

His voice dropped to a low murmur, and he leaned down so that he was almost whispering in her ear. "You see, there's this woman."
She wasn't going to look at him. She wasn't.
"Normally, one might say that there was a beautiful woman - but I don't think she qualifies as a classical beauty. Still, I find that when she's around, I'd rather look at her than anyone else."
He set two fingers against her cheek, and Minnie sucked in a breath. She was not going to look at him. He'd see the longing in her eyes, and then ...
"There's something about her that draws my eye. Something that defies words. Maybe it's her hair, but I tried to tell her that, and she told me I was being ridiculous. I suppose I was. Maybe it's her lips. Maybe it's her eyes, although she so rarely looks at me. ~ Courtney Milan

Write what is important to you, regardless of fashion or marketability or anything like that – all those things are so far out of your control that you may as well not think about them. Of course, this may mean you'll never be published but that's a risk we all take every single time we set hands to keyboard or pen to paper. For me, if I can sit back at the end of a project and say, 'yes, I stayed honest, I said what I wanted to say, and I made it sing to the best of my ability', then I'm happy enough. Of course, if anyone wants to buy the damned thing off me when I'm done, that's jam I won't refuse. ~ Celine Kiernan

Don't compare yourself with anyone else. The world is full of runners, so you'll probably see one every time you circle the block or your favorite park. Some will be thinner than you, some smoother-striding, some faster. But don't let this get you down. There's only one runner who really counts: you. Running is your activity. Make it work for you, and don't worry about anyone else. ~ Amby Burfoot

Eleanor reached over and stroked his foreman.
"Was I fair?" Henry whispered.
She nodded. "Very. Besides, I think our Ranulf gave you the justification for some of the changes you have been considering.Perhaps a court of law is needed."
"He did.And besides it was all highly entertaining.I had to bite my tongue when Craven started all that nonsense about Ranulf trying to kill him with an arrow."
"So you knew from the beginning..." Eleanor murmured in partial disbelief and admiration.
"That Ranulf was up to something? The man would never let anyone-even me-insult his honor without response. It was hard to wait until the oaf finished everything Ranulf needed him to say...and come to think of it...it was very convenient for Lady Bronwyn to be in disguise. How is it that you did not inform me earlier of what was to happen?"
"I did not know," Eleanor rejoined quickly. "I met with his wife, who never owned to her true identity...but I liked her and suspected she would enjoy the night much better as one of my ladies-in-waiting.It is a great honor,you know."
"And the idea of coming in masquerade?"
"Well,it has been dull lately."
"And you never knew who she was.Never thought to tell me you suspected Lady Bronwyn was not whom she professed to be."
"I only knew for sure that I liked her and that she was Laon's daughter. And as for the masquerade, I did it for you, my king."
"Me?"
"Mmm-hmmm," Eleanor purred against his ear. "I kno ~ Michele Sinclair

I wasn't afraid of being alone, but I was afraid of what people would think about my solitary state. People, even well-intentioned people, were always trying to take away our quiet little successes and joys and replace them with big, overarching fears. At this school, the worst thing was trying to rise above the limits set for you by the minds of others. Each girl was an island of her own dreams and insecurities, thoughts that made us different in a deeper way than the differences of musical taste, clothes or even culture. Thoughts about the best way to be stoic, how to live with very little control in life, how to make the most of a miserable time doing something that you were supposed to love. And if people thought that fifteen-year-old girls never thought about these sorts of things, it was only because we didn't have the words to express them.
We talked all the time, but we hadn't yet learned the words to link thoughts and ideas with any depth of feeling, because we didn't really talk to adults. We talked only to each other. And within this little world, we imprisoned one another. You could be anyone you wanted, Linh– until you were judged and held captive by everyone else's thoughts. Nothing has a stronger hold over a girl than the fear of the thoughts of her peers– thoughts that change five times in a day. No wonder things are so complicated with teenagers. ~ Alice Pung

But just then, as if to avoid a certain awkwardness, Seaman began to talk not about Newell but about Newell's mother, Anne Jordan Newell. He described her appearance (pleasing), her work (she had a job at a factory that made irrigation systems), her faith (she went to church every Sunday), her industriousness (she kept the house as neat as a pin), her kindness (she always had a smile for everyone), her common sense (she gave good advice, wise advice, without forcing it on anyone). A mother is a precious thing, concluded Seaman. Marius and I founded the Panthers. We worked whatever jobs we could get and we bought shotguns and handguns for the people's self-defense. But a mother is worth more than the Black Revolution. That I can promise you. In my long and eventful life, I've seen many things. I was in Algeria and I was in China and in several prisons in the United States. A mother is a precious thing. This I say here and I'll say anywhere, anytime, he said in a hoarse voice. ~ Roberto Bolano

Tina was hosting. She's a thirty-five-year-old version of Sienne, only bottle blonde.Same blind-you lipstick, same taste in clothes,same complete disregard for anyone else's opinion on anything.
They hate each other.
"You hate me!" Sienna wailed.
It wasn't Tina's voice that snapped back, but Dad's, "Oh,no. I am not playing that game with you. Do you have any idea what a hundred pounds of filet is gonna cost me? And now you want lobster?"
"But it's my wedding! Daddy-"
"Don't you Daddy me, princess! I'm already five grand in the hole for the damned hotel,not to mention two for the dress, and every time I turn around, you and your mother have added a new guest, bridesmaid,or crustacean!"
First of all,Dad was yelling.Almost. Second,he was swearing.Even damn is fighting talk for him.I set down my pizza and debated the best route for a sealthy escape.
I'd seen the dress.Pretty, in a Disney-princess, twenty-yards-of-tulle, boobs-shaped-into-missiles sort of way. Sienne looked deliriously happy in it. She looked beautiful.The less said about the bridesmaids' dressed, I'd decided, on seeing the purple sateen,the better.
"No lobster!" he yelled.
There was a dramatic howl, followed by the bang of the back door. When I peeked out,it was like a photo. Everything was frozen.Dad was standing over the massive pasta pot, red-faced and scowling, wooden spoon brandished like a sword. Leo and Ricky had retreated to the doorway of the freezer. Nonna ha ~ Melissa Jensen

Prefer spacious interactions with fewer people. And it means that, when you converse, you are more interested in sharing ideas than in talking about people and what they're doing. In a conversation with someone sharing gossip, the introvert's eyes glaze over and his brow furrows as he tries to comprehend how this conversation could interest anyone. This is not because the introvert is morally superior - he just doesn't get it. As we've discussed, introverts are energized and excited by ideas. Simply talking about people, what they do and who they know, is noise for the introvert. He'll be looking between the lines for some meaning, and this can be hard work! Before long, he'll be looking for a way out of the conversation. But when an introvert is hanging out ~ Laurie A. Helgoe

We as a people have become so addicted to DYSFUNCTION that we don't recognize PEACE (man or woman) when it enters our energetic space.

We call PEACE soft, too nice, pushover, doormat and other names because PEACE respects you. PEACE cares about & for you. PEACE doesn't want to argue, PEACE speaks it's mind with healthy discussion & at the end of the day, PEACE says I Love you. PEACE keeps their word. PEACE enjoys spending time with you & treating you better than anyone else ever has but because of our addiction, we say this is too good to be true. We wait for the other shoe to drop. We check PEACE phone, follow PEACE home or just dismiss PEACE altogether because something just ain't right!" LEAVE that phone alone, STOP looking for a reason, and CHANGE your mindset. "Once you have begun down this new path, your vibrations will change & PEACE will start to walk with you, YOU will attract his siblings-Love, Joy, Kindness, Happiness & your relationships will become everything you inwardly desired but secretly believed you were not worthy of attaining. ~ Sanjo Jendayi

Then he was striding toward me. His mesmerizing gaze pinned me in place as he cupped my face. When his lips covered mine, I gasped. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, groaning into the contact. His hands tightened on my face. His sexy groans made my toes curl, muddling my thoughts.
Block that out! I was Aric's wife. I'd wronged him in the past, had consigned him to misery for hundreds - no, thousands - of years. I needed to make this right. Like penance.
There was something vaguely threatening about his words. Misgivings about this arose. Too fast.
"If you have feelings for him, fight them," Aric commanded me. "By going to him, you'd be stoking them once more. Don't you understand? He can find another woman - I cannot. If you choose him, you'll be consigning me to a hellish fate. As you've done again and again. No, this will be even worse, because I've had a greater glimpse of what I'll be missing."

"I just want to talk to him. I'm leaving this weekend," I said in an unwavering voice.

"No, you will not." His arrogant demeanor back in place, he said, "Understand me, I'm not surrendering the one woman who was born for me alone. Not to a human, not to anyone."

"You can't keep me here against my will any longer. What are you going to do? Put that cuff back on me?"
I held up my hand to stop him. "I understand why you did it. But I won't be a prisoner anymore."

He snatched up his shirt, threading his arms into ~ Kresley Cole

I've been thinking," he said huskily.
A tremulous smile curved her lips. "About what?"
"Trust. When I told you I couldn't count on someone loving me..."
"Yes, I remember."
"I realized that before I can have trust... actually feel it... I'll have to start doing it. Trusting blindly. I'll have to learn how. It's... difficult."
Her beautiful eyes shimmered. "I know, darling," she whispered.
"But if I'm ever going to try it with anyone, it has to be you."
Phoebe inched closer to him. Her eyes were so bright, they were like bottled lightning. "I've been thinking, too."
"About?"
"About surprises. You see, there was no way of knowing how much time Henry and I would have together before his decline started. As it turned out, it was even less time than we'd expected. But it was worth it. I would do it again. I wasn't afraid of his illness, and I'm not afraid of your past, or whatever might leap out at us. That's the chance everyone takes, isn't it? The only ironclad guarantee is that we'll love each other." Her voice thickened with emotion. "And I do, West. I love you so very much. ~ Lisa Kleypas