Finding My Way Back To You Quotes

My route, Sior Francis - and don't be surprised when you hear it - my route when I set out to find God... was... laziness. Yes, laziness. If I wasn't lazy I would have gone the way of respectable, upstanding people. Like everyone else I would have studied a trade - cabinet-maker, weaver, mason - and opened a shop; I would have worked all day long, and where then would I have found time to search for God? I might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack: that's what I would have said to myself. All my mind and thoughts would have been occupied with how to earn my living, feed my children, how to keep the upper hand over my wife. With such worries, curse them, how could I have the time, or inclination, or the pure heart needed to think about the Almighty?

But by the grace of God I was born lazy. To work, get married, have children, and make problems for myself were all too much trouble. I simply sat in the sun during winter and in the shade during summer, while at night, stretched out on my back on the roof of my house, I watched the moon and the stars. And when you watch the moon and the stars how can you expect your mind not to dwell on God? I couldn't sleep any more. Who made all that? I asked myself. And why? Who made me, and why? Where can I find God so that I may ask Him? Piety requires laziness, you know. It requires leisure - and don't listen to what others say. The laborer who lives from hand to mouth returns home each night exhausted and famished. He a ~ Nikos Kazantzakis

Two of us in this room, Ace, two keycards," he said and my eyes went to him. When they did, he jerked his hand, finger extended to the door. "Know what this is?"
"A door?" I asked stupidly.
"A peephole," he bit back then moved his hand to flick the security latch closed. "Know what that is?"
"Captain -"
He advanced and the aggressive way he did it made me retreat. It was dawning on me he was pissed and he wasn't pissed at Brad (that's her ex). He was pissed at me.
I stopped when my legs hit the chair to the desk. He stopped when he was in my space. I tilted my head way back to look at him.
"You got great hair, babe."
"Tate -"
"Thick."
"Tate -"
"Soft."
"Tate," I whispered.
"Shame it gets hacked off with a knife after some guy rapes you with that knife!" He finished on a roar.
My body jolted.
"Tate!"
"There's bad guys out there, Ace. Bad. Do things to you that'll make you glad you end up dead. You don't open a goddamned door not knowin' who's behind it."
"I thought it was you."
"Well it wasn't."
"Tate - ~ Kristen Ashley

Come here, Amanda." His voice was a low scrape of sound.
"Oh, I can't," she said unsteadily. "I-I think you should go now."
Jack leaned forward and caught her wrist gently in his fingers. "I won't hurt you," he whispered. "I won't do anything that you don't like. But before I leave you this evening, I'm going to hold you in my arms."
Confusion and desire swirled inside her, making her feel unanchored, helpless. She let him pull her forward until her short limbs rested stiffly against his much longer ones. He ran a large palm down her back, and she could feel a trail of sensation in its wake. His skin was hot, as if a fire burned right beneath the smooth golden surface.
Her breath shortened, and she closed her eyes, shivering, luxuriating in the feeling of being warm all the way down to her bones. For the first time in her life, she let her head fall into the waiting crook of a man's arm, and stared up at his shadowed face.
As he felt the trembling of her limbs, he made a crooning sound and cuddled her closer. "Don't be afraid, mhuirnin. I won't hurt you."
"What did you call me?" she asked in bewilderment.
He smiled down at her. "A small endearment. Did I neglect to mention that I'm half Irish?"
That explained his accent, the neat cultured tones tempered with a sort of musical softness that must be Celtic in origin. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Her clothes were almost dry by the time she reached the gatehouse. The portcullis was down and the gates barred, so she turned aside to a postern door. The gold cloaks who had the watch sneered when she told them to let her in. "Off with you," one said. "The kitchen scraps are gone, and we'll have no begging after dark."

"I'm not a beggar," she said. "I live here."

"I said, off with you. Do you need a clout on the ear to help your hearing?"

"I want to see my father."

The guards exchanged a glance. "I want to fuck the queen myself, for all the good it does me," the younger one said.

The older scowled. "Who's this father of yours, boy, the city ratcatcher?"

"The Hand of the King," Arya told him.

Both men laughed, but then the older one swung his fist at her, casually, as a man would swat a dog. Arya saw the blow coming even before it began. She danced back out of the way, untouched. "I'm not a boy," she spat at them. "I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if you lay a hand on me my lord father will have both your heads on spikes. If you don't believe me, fetch Jory Cassel or Vayon Poole from the Tower of the Hand." She put her hands on her hips. "Now are you going to open the gate, or do you need a clout on the ear to help your hearing? ~ George R.R. Martin

He kissed his way across my chest and down between my breasts, over my shirt. His fingers moved to the waistband of my panties and he slowly tried to peel them down my legs. Tried being the operative word because five pairs of underwear don't really fit the same way as one . . .

"What in the actual fuck - " he started to say, tugging at the fabric.

"Just . . . Oh my God, Will - " I curled on my side, laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. He managed the first pair, holding them up victoriously before he went back for the second.

"Jesus Christ," he said, attempting to pull them down without stretching them or damaging the elastic. "Are these on with some kind of adhesive?"

"No!"

"Okay . . . It's possible this wasn't my best plan. And will you hold still! It's like trying to peel a wiggly onion!"

"I'm going to die of laughter and when the police finally get here I'll still be wearing these hideous underwear. Why didn't you just take them all off at once?"

"You can't expect me to think when all my blood is in my dick! ~ Christina Lauren

Doan be scared, bébé," he rasped with a brief kiss to my lips. "I'm goan to take care of you." Staring down into my eyes, he began prodding deeper. "I've wanted you for so long." And deeper. "My God, woman!" When he was all the way in, a strangled groan burst from his chest.

Pain. I just stifled a wince, far from enamored with this.

Voice gone hoarse, he said, "You're mine now, Evangeline. No one else's."

He must be right - because Death's presence had disappeared completely.

Jack held himself still, murmuring, "Doan hurt, doan hurt."

"It's getting better."

"Ready for more?"

I nodded. Then regretted it. Pain.

Between gritted teeth, he said, "Evie, I got to touch you, got to kiss you. Or you woan like this." A bead of sweat dropped from his forehead onto my neck, tickling its way down to my collarbone.

"O-okay."

Still inside me, he raised himself up on his knees, his damp chest flexing. His hands covered me, cupped, kneaded, his thumbs rubbing. When I started arching my back for more, his body moved. And it was . . .

Rapture.

"Jack! Yes!"

In a strained tone, he said, "God almighty - I am home, Evangeline." Another thrust had me soaring. "Finally found the place . . . I'm supposed to be."

He leaned down, delivering scorching kisses up my neck and down to my br**sts, bringing me closer and closer to a just-out-of-reach peak.
Kresley Cole

I thumped her on the back, picked her up and dropped her on top of her dungarees. "Put them pants on," I said, "and be a man." She did, but she cried quietly until I shook her and said gently, "Stop it now. I didn't carry on like that when I was a little girl." I got into my clothes and dumped her into the bow of the canoe and shoved off.
All the way back to the cabin I forced her to play one of our pet games. I would say something - anything - and she would try to say something that rhymed with it. Then it would be her turn. She had an extraordinary rhythmic sense, and an excellent ear.
I started off with "We'll go home and eat our dinners."
"An' Lord have mercy on us sinners," she cried. Then, "Let's see you find a rhyme for 'month'!"
"I bet I'll do it … jutht thith onthe," I replied. "I guess I did it then, by cracky."
"Course you did, but then you're wacky. Top that, mister funny-lookin'!"
I pretended I couldn't, mainly because I couldn't, and she soundly kicked my shin as a penance. By the time we reached the cabin she was her usual self, and I found myself envying the resilience of youth. And she earned my undying respect by saying nothing to Anjy about the afternoon's events, even when Anjy looked us over and said, "Just look at you two filthy kids! What have you been doing - swimming in the bayou?"
"Daddy splashed me," said Patty promptly.
"And you had to splash him back. Why did he splash you?"
" 'Cause I spit mud through ~ Theodore Sturgeon

The first time I almost died was surfing: I got hit on the head with a board. I went under and started swimming until I hit the bottom of the ocean. I thought, 'Oh my God, I'm going the wrong way. Do I have enough air to get back up?' If you're a surfer, you know the feeling. ~ Robert David Hall

For those first days it had taken all my energy just to keep up and not embarrass myself. But the regular food, and the rest, had restored a lot of my energy, and with it came curiosity.
I said tentatively, "You know, I have one or two questions…"
Amol's eyelids lifted like he was thinking, Just one or two? and Snap took her underlip firmly between her teeth. She seemed to have the quickest temper, but she was also the first to laugh. Both of them turned expectantly to their captain, who said calmly, "Please feel free to ask, Lady Meliara. I'll answer what I can."
"Well, first, there's that dungeon. Now, don't think I'm complaining, but the last thing I remember is Shevraeth's knife coming between me and a hot poker, you might say. I wake up with you, and we're on the road, going north. Remalna-city is south. I take it I'm not on my way back to being a guest of Greedy Galdran?"
Snap's head dropped quickly at the nickname for the King, as if to hide her laughter, but Amol snickered openly.
"No, my lady," Nessaren said.
"Well, then, it seems to me we're just about to the border. If we're going to Tlanth, we ought to be turning west."
"We are not going to Tlanth, my lady."
I said with a deep feeling of foreboding, "Can you tell me where we are going?"
"Yes, my lady. Home. To Renselaeus."
Not home to me, I thought, but because they had been so decent, I bit the comment back and just shook my head. "Why?"
"I do not know that. ~ Sherwood Smith

I love the way you feel inside me," he said.

Ryder made a low, rumbling noise of contentment. "I love the way I feel inside you, too."

"I love that you did this for me because you wanted to give me something special." Luca started rocking back and forth on Ryder's cock. "I love that you've never done it for anyone else."

Ryder's brow creased. "Luca…"

Luca put his hand over Ryder's mouth, a domineering gesture that silenced Ryder instantly. He didn't know where the words were coming from, just that they were clawing at his throat, demanding to get out.

"I love the way you treat me," he said. "I love that you're so much stronger than me but you never make me feel weak. I love that you take care of me without implying that I can't take care of myself. I love that you let me take control but always call me on my bullshit."

Luca had to pause for a moment; the pleasure of their slow, rhythmic fucking was making it difficult for him to gather his thoughts. Ryder waited, eyes watchful.

"I love that you're always worried about doing the right thing, even when nobody else is." Certain that Ryder wouldn't interrupt now, Luca let go of his mouth and braced his hands on Ryder's chest. He bounced shallowly on Ryder's cock, soaking up his size, his strength, his steady, reassuring presence. "I love that I can trust you, and I love that I can rely on you, and – and I love you, Ryder, I do, I love you – "

~ Cordelia Kingsbridge

I am like God, Codi? Like GOD? Give me a break. If I get another letter that mentions SAVING THE WORLD, I am sending you, by return mail, a letter bomb. Codi, please. I've got things to do.

You say you're not a moral person. What a copout. Sometime, when I wasn't looking, something happened to make you think you were bad. What, did Miss Colder give you a bad mark on your report card? You think you're no good, so you can't do good things. Jesus, Codi, how long are you going to keep limping around on that crutch? It's the other way around, it's what you do that makes you who you are.

I'm sorry to be blunt. I've had a bad week. I am trying to explain, and I wish you were here so I could tell you this right now, I am trying to explain to you that I'm not here to save anybody or any thing. It's not some perfect ideal we're working toward that keeps us going. You ask, what if we lose this war? Well, we could. By invasion, or even in the next election. People are very tired. I don't expect to see perfection before I die. Lord, if I did I would have stuck my head in the oven back in Tucson, after hearing the stories of some of those refugees. What keeps you going isn't some fine destination but just the road you're on, and the fact that you know how to drive. You keep your eyes open, you see this damned-to-hell world you got born into, and you ask yourself, "What life can I live that will let me breathe in & out and love somebody or something and not run off ~ Barbara Kingsolver

...each day I sit down in purposeful concentration to write in a notebook, some sentences on a buried truth, an unnamed reality, things that happened but are denied. It is hard to describe the stillness it takes, the difficulty of this act. It requires an almost perfect concentration which I am trying to learn and there is no way to learn it that is spelled out anywhere or so I can understand it but I have a sense that it's completely simply, on the order of being able to sit still and keep your mind dead center in you without apology or fear. I squirm after some time but it ain't boredom, it's fear of what's possible, how much you can know if you can be quiet enough and simple enough. I move around, my mind wanders, I lose the ability to take words and roll them through my brain, move with them into their interiors, feel their colors, touch what's under them, where they come from long ago and way back. I get frightened seeing what's in my own mind if words get put to it. There's a light there, it's bright, it's wide, it could make you blind if you look direct into it and so I turn away, afraid; I get frightened and I run and the only way to run is to abandon the process altogether or compromise it beyond recognition. I think about Celine sitting with his shit, for instance; I don't know why he didn't run, he should've. It's a quality you have to have of being near mad and at the same time so quiet in your heart that you could pass for a spiritual warrior; you could probably ~ Andrea Dworkin

Involved. At least that was the right word, Alsana reflected, as she liftes her foot off the pedal, and let the wheel spin a few times alone before coming to a squeaky halt. Sometimes, here in England, especially at bus-stops and on the daytime soaps, you heard people say "We're involved with each other," as if this were a most wonderful state to be in, as if one chose it and enjoyed it. Alsana never thought of it that way. Involved happened over a long period of time, pulling you in like quicksand. Involved is what befell the moon-faced Alsana Begum and the handsome Samad Miah one week after they'd been pushed into a Delhi breakfast room together and informed they were to marry. Involved was the result when Clara Bowden met Archie Jones at the bottom of some stairs. Involved swallowed up a girl called Ambrosia and a boy called Charlie (yes, Clara had told her that sorry tale) the second they kissed in the larder of a guest house. Involved is neither good, nor bad. It is just a consequence of living, a consequence of occupation and immigration, of empires and expansion, of living in each other's pockets… one becomes involved and it is a long trek back to being uninvolved. And the woman was right, one didn't do it for one's health. Nothing this late in the century was done with health in mind. Alsana was no dummy when it came to the Modern Condition. She watched the talk shows, all day long she watched the talk shows - My wife slept with my brother, My mother won't stay out ~ Zadie Smith

Back home, Chris struggled to readjust, physically and mentally. He also faced another decision-reenlist, or leave the Navy and start a new life in the civilian world.
This time, he seemed to be leaning toward getting out-he'd been discussing other jobs and had already talked to people about what he might do next.
It was his decision, one way or another. But if I'd been resigned to his reenlistment last go-around, this time I was far more determined to let him know I thought he should get out.
There were two important reasons for him to leave-our children. They really needed to have him around as they grew. And I made that a big part of my argument.
But the most urgent reason was Chris himself. I saw what the war was doing to him physically. His body was breaking down with multiple injuries, big and small. There were rings under his eyes even when he had slept. His blood pressure was through the roof. He had to wall himself off more and more.
I didn't think he could survive another deployment.
"I'll support you whatever you decide," I told him. "I want to be married to you. But the only way I can keep making sense of this is…I need to do the best for the kids and me. If you have to keep doing what is best for you and those you serve, at some point I owe it to myself and those I serve to do the same. For me, that is moving to Oregon."
For me, that meant moving from San Diego to Oregon, where we could live near my folks. That would give our so ~ Taya Kyle

I'll go [racing] until my body won't let me any more. Someone said to me: "The day you stop, you won't be able to get back on the same way as when you did as a pro." I want to delay that kiss goodbye as long as possible. ~ David Millar

Stop looking so bloody fetching," he said.
He might as well have knocked her over, she was that surprised. He felt he'd been enticed into kissing her because of the way she looked?! What sort of nonsense was that?
Hurt,and more than a little frustrated to have such a pleasant kiss end that way, she snapped back, "Excuse me while I go smear mud on my face," she pushed him out of her way to stomp down the corridor.
"You'll find some in the backyard!" he called after her in what now sounded suspiciously like amusement.
"Thank you!" she shouted back, not the least bit amused herself. ~ Johanna Lindsey

Ms. Lane."Barrons' voice is deep, touched with that strange Old World accent and mildly pissed off. Jericho Barrons is often mildly pissed off. I think he crawled from the swamp that way, chafed either by some condition in it, out of it, or maybe just the general mass incompetence he encountered in both places. He's the most controlled, capable man I've ever known.
After all we've been through together, he still calls me Ms. Lane, with one exception: When I'm in his bed. Or on the floor, or some other place where I've temporarily lost my mind and become convinced I can't breathe without him inside me this very instant. Then the things he calls me are varied and nobody's business but mine.

I reply: "Barrons," without inflection. I've learned a few things in our time together. Distance is frequently the only intimacy he'll tolerate. Suits me. I've got my own demons. Besides I don't believe good relationships come from living inside each other's pockets. I believe divorce comes from that.

I admire the animal grace with which he enters the room and moves toward me. He prefers dark colors, the better to slide in and out of the night, or a room, unnoticed except for whatever he's left behind that you may or may not discover for some time, like, say a tattoo on the back of one's skull.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading," I say nonchalantly, rubbing the tattoo on the back of my skull. I angle the volume so he can't see the cover. If he se ~ Karen Marie Moning

In India, I was living in a little hut, about six feet by seven feet. It had a canvas flap instead of a door. I was sitting on my bed meditating, and a cat wandered in and plopped down on my lap. I took the cat and tossed it out the door. Ten seconds later it was back on my lap. We got into a sort of dance, this cat and I ... I tossed it out because I was trying to meditate, to get enlightened. But the cat kept returning. I was getting more and more irritated, more and more annoyed with the persistence of the cat. Finally, after about a half-hour of this coming in and tossing out, I had to surrender. There was nothing else to do. There was no way to block off the door. I sat there, the cat came back in, and it got on my lap. But I did not do anything. I just let go. Thirty seconds later the cat got up and walked out. So, you see, our teachers come in many forms. ~ Joseph Goldstein

He crouched down next to me. I put my hand on the hem of his jeans. It was the first time I'd touched him since that day in the cafeteria line.
"I've got so much to tell you," he said, so quietly I almost couldn't hear. "Been thinking about how to even start."
"Start anywhere," I whispered. "I just want to know."
"I feel like I've already told you everything, in a way. I've been talking to you in my head for eight years, writing epics and sequels to epics, and sequels to the sequels."
I let my fingers move down to the laces of his boots, then up to the top of his sock. One more millimeter and my fingertip would be against his skin. I moved it back down, resting on the knob of his ankle. "I'm here now," I said. "You can talk to me, right out loud."
Just then, two boys, eight or nine years old, crashed into the grove, leaping over the stream like we had. They froze when they saw us; I jerked my hand away from Cameron's ankle and sat up.
"Oh," one boy said, "hi."
"Hi," I said. "We were just leaving." I got up without Cameron's help, brushed myself off, and followed him back to the parking lot. ~ Sara Zarr

By the by ... " He glances at Jeb's back and leans closer, murmuring low. "Tumtum juice alters a person's inhibitions, magnifies their hunger. But it's not hunger for food. It's experiences they crave. Had it been me instead of your toy soldier, I would've found a means to slake your ravenous hunger without resorting to berries." His arrogance simmers my blood. "You don't have the equipment to satisfy anything. Moth. Remember?" He laughs, dark and soft, under his breath. "I am a man in every way that counts. Just like you are a woman, even if some people believe you're nothing more than a scared little girl in constant need of saving. ~ A.G. Howard

Good night, Jeremy," I said, and closed the door.
I stepped away, reached back and started unzipping my dress.
He pressed his hands to the glass. I could read his lips. "That's not fair."
I smiled and finished unzipping. The dress slid off my shoulders, but stayed there. I looked at him, his gaze fixed on me, eyes dark with lust.
"You wouldn't dare," he mouthed.
I turned, then let it fall off the rest of the way. And, once off, there was nothing else to remove.
"Jaime!"
I heard him though the glass, heard him say my name in a deep growl that made me shiver, but I didn't turn around, just lifted my fingers to wave over my shoulder, then strolled into the bathroom for a very long, very cold shower. ~ Kelley Armstrong

When we walk in, everybody turns to look at us. Pres looks down at our joined hands and then looks to Knox. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it.

Of course he does.

"Yo. Little announcement here. Violent Violet and I are together. She's my old lady and I'm her old man. Yada yada yada, we're getting married. So there's that."

I look at him, and I feel my jaw pop open. "Did you just yada yada your proposal to me?"

Knox shrugs like it's no big deal. "Wasn't going to let you tell me no."

The big scarred-up guy comes over and gives him a high five. "Best way to do it," he says and pats Knox on the back.

"About time you made an honest man out of him," Pres says, walking over and giving me a hug. I feel Knox's hand tighten, and he doesn't let it go while I awkwardly try to hug the guy back.

"We're all a family here now, and it's going to stay that way. We agreed that you're patched in, regardless if you marry this nerd or not."

I lean into Knox and laugh. "Thank you."

"Welcome to the Ghost Riders," Pres says, and suddenly I hear a champagne cork pop and we're all being sprayed with suds.

I try to turn into Knox's chest, but he holds me in front of him so I get covered.

As more champagne is popped and more bottles get poured, Knox spins me in his arms and raises me up so we are at eye level.

"I love you, baby," he says, kissing me on ~ Alexa Riley

Then what's wrong?"
He couldn't be that obtuse. "You're kidding, right?"
"Ah, yeah, gotcha. Modesty issue, huh?" He drove in a deceptively relaxed way. "Look, yours isn't the first tail I've ever seen, okay?"
Fury stole Priss's breath. She reacted without thinking, slugging his hard in the shoulder.
"Ow!" He grabbed her wrist and tossed her hand back at her. "I was trying to comfort you, woman."
"Comfort!" He couldn't be serious. No man could be that dense. "You're a . . . a Neanderthal!"
"Am not."
Flattened by his careless attitude, Priss stared at him in disbelief. He was a gorgeous guy, but still a jerk. Shaggy blond hair, darker and more unkempt than Trace's, piercing green eyes, a strong jaw and . . . she peeked at his naked chest . . . Built.
Her chin lifted. "Where in the world did they even find you?" It had to be under a rock. Or deep in a cave.
He glared at her. "They who?"
"Trace and Dare."
Giving her a cautious frown, Jackson rubbed at one bloodshot, swollen eye. "That's top secret."
That's top secret, she mouthed, making fun of him, lashing out in her embarrassment.
He went rigid with affront. "Goddamn it, woman, you blinded me, nutted me, and damn near clubbed me to death. Now you have to ridicule me, too?"
He dared to complain to her? "You snuck into my bathroom. You saw me naked!"
"Yeah." His mouth twitched. He nodded just a little. "Yeah, I did." As he turned on his headlights and pull ~ Lori Foster

For all the bachelors out there tonight, yeah for anybody who's never whistled this song.
Maybe you whistled it but you lost the sheet music.
Um...this is um...well actually I don't mind going to weddings or anything,
as long as there not my own I show up.
But I've always kinda been partial to calling myself up on the phone and asking myself out, you know?
Oh yeah, you call yourself up too huh? Yeah, well one thing about it, your always around.
Yeah I know, yeah you ask yourself out, you know, some class joint somewhere.
The Buretto King or something, you know. Well I ain't cheap you know.
Take yourself out for a couple of drinks maybe.
Then there'd be some provocative conversation on the way home.
Park in front of the house you know.
Oh yeah, you smoothly put a little nice music on,
maybe you put on like uh, you know, like shopping music,
something thats not too interruptive you know and then uh slide over real nice and say
'Oh I think you have something in your eye'.
Well maybe it's not that romantic with you but Christ I don't know, you know I get into it you know.
Take myself up to the porch, take myself inside or maybe uh,
or may get a little something, a brandy snifter or something.
'Would like you like to listen to some of my back records?
I got something here' Uh Well usually about 2.30 in the morning you've ended up taking advantage of yourself.
There ain't no way arou ~ Tom Waits

Choosing this gift. That means it's valuable. Lifesaving, even. I think back to last year, when I wanted water so badly, but he wouldn't send it because he knew I could find it if I tried. Haymitch's gifts, or lack thereof, carry weighty messages. I can almost hear him growling at me, Use your brain if you have one. What is it? I wipe the sweat from my eyes and hold the gift out in the moonlight. I move it this way and that, viewing it from different angles, covering portions and then revealing them. Trying to make it divulge ~ Suzanne Collins

I woke in bed, sweating and breathing heavily. It was the third time I'd had this nightmare: reliving that horrible feeling of falling, out of control, toward the ground.
I was now on month two of just lying there prone, supposedly recovering. But I wasn't getting any better.
In fact, if anything, my back felt worse.
I couldn't move and was getting angrier and angrier inside. Angry at myself; angry at everything.
I was angry because I was shit-scared.
My plans, my dreams for the future hung in shreds. Nothing was certain any more. I didn't know if I'd be able to stay with the SAS. I didn't even know if I'd recover at all.
Lying unable to move, sweating with frustration, my way of escaping was in my mind.
I still had so much that I dreamt of doing.
I looked around my bedroom, and the old picture I had of Mount Everest seemed to peer down.
Dad's and my crazy dream.
It had become what so many dreams become--just that--nothing more, nothing less.
Covered in dust. Never a reality.
And Everest felt further beyond the realms of possibility than ever.
Weeks later, and still in my brace, I struggled over to the picture and took it down.
People often say to me that I must have been so positive to recover from a broken back, but that would be a lie. It was the darkest, most horrible time I can remember.
I had lost my sparkle and spirit, and that is so much of who I am.
And once you lost that spirit, it is ha ~ Bear Grylls

(It's a weird thing, depression. Even now, writing this with a good distance of fourteen years from my lowest point, I haven't fully escaped. You get over it, but at the same time you never get over it. It comes back in flashes, when you are tired or anxious or have been eating the wrong stuff, and catches you off guard. I woke up with it a few days ago, in fact. I felt its dark wisps around my head, that ominous life-is-fear feeling. But then, after a morning with the best five- and six-year-olds in the world, it subsided. it is now an aside. Something to put brackets around. Life lesson: the way out is never through yourself.) ~ Matt Haig

Why do you care, anyway?" I say. "You can be either cruel instructor or concerned boyfriend." I tense up at the word "boyfriend." I didn't mean to use it so flippantly, but it's too late now. "You can't play both parts at the same time."

"I am not cruel." He scowls at me "I was protecting you this morning. How do you think Peter and his idiot friends would have reacted if they discovered that you and I were..." He sighs. "You would never win. They would always call you ranking a result of my favoritism rather than your skill."

I open my mouth to object, but I can't. A few smart remarks come to mind, but I dismiss them. He's right. My cheeks warm, and I cool them with my hands.

"You didn't have to insult me to prove something to them," I say finally.

"And you didn't have to run off to your brother just because I hurt you," he says. He rubs at the back of his neck.

"Besides- it worked, didn't it?"

"At my expense."

"I didn't think it would affect you this way." Then he looks down and shrugs. "Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you. That you are capable of being hurt."

I slide my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. A strange feeling goes through me- a sweet, aching weakness. He did what he did because he believed in my strength.

At home it was Caleb who was strong, because he could forget himself, because all the characteristics my parents valued came naturally to him. ~ Veronica Roth

You've been downgraded from a thrill-kill to a simple bill-kill. (Nykyrian)
Bill-kill? (Kiara)
Kill you any way possible and send the bill in for payment. (Nykyrian)
I can't believe that someone's life can be bartered and sold so easily. That it's so common that there are even names for the different ways to take a person's life. For torturing them? My God, what is wrong with you people? (Kiara)
We're not the ones who are sick, mu Tara. With us –the predators– you know what we'll do and why we do it. What we're capable of. We make no bones about it and we wear the uniform so that you can see us coming. The ones who are sickening are the cowards who masquerade as sheep. The ones who lull you into trusting them and smile at your face while they plot your downfall behind your back for any number of psychotic reasons. The friends who turn on you out of jealousy or greed. Who try to ruin you for no reason at all. They are the ones who should be put down. And they're the ones who are truly sickening. (Nykyrian) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

No matter where I went, I always knew my way back to you. You are my compass star. ~ Diana Peterfreund

Definitely as an actor, the experience you have, at least I'm talking for me, my experience as an actor is you go to the set and know what you're going to do, know your lines, you rehearse, you do your scene, you go back home. As a producer, for the first time I saw the whole picture in a completely different way. ~ Rodrigo Santoro

I didn't make it one goddamn block yesterday, Ruby." He swiped an impatient hand through his hair. "Look, we're both stubborn hotheads, and we're going to fight. Early and often. But I will never make it more than one block before I come back. That is my promise to you. And I don't break my promises, either." Hands on hips, he breathed deeply as if attempting to calm himself. "If I let my fear of losing you keep us apart, I get the same damn result. The only way I can fight that fear is if you fight it with me. ~ Tessa Bailey

Hades will be here in twenty minutes," Apollo announced from somewhere way too close to the bed. "Either speed this up or pick it up later, kids."
"Oh my gods," I whispered, horrified.
"Oh, and I hope you two are being responsible," Apollo added.
And then he was gone. There was a muffled, hoarse shout from a room nearby.
"Damn him," Aiden muttered, dropping his head onto my shoulder. He shuddered. "Damn him to the Underworld and back again."
My cheeks burned. "A bell - the first chance we get, we are buying him a bell. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Where the hell did you get those?" Bronagh asked me causing everyone's gaze to turn my way.

I grinned and proudly held up my flowers. "Mr. Pervert."

The lads all looked to Alec and laughed.

"How badly did you want to hit him?" Nico asked.

Alec growled, "I'm still contemplating going back inside and kicking his ass."

I rattled my head. "Relax, he was just being nice."

"Nice my ass," all four brothers said in unison, which cracked up the girls.

"They all share the same narrow mind," Aideen teased.

I fell into Alec and laughed.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Shut up," Kane deadpanned making me laugh harder. ~ L.A. Casey

Now. Bram, you are a good friend and an uptanding young man, but I'm afraid that tradition dictates I now attempt to scare you within an inch of your unlife."
"Understood," Bram said, taking his arm back as I got myself under control.
My father is a gentle-looking man. Thus, why I started laughing again as he attempted to look stern. "What are your intentions concerning my daughter?"
Bram cast a look my way, laughing himself, before clearing his throat and doing his best to look scared. "Why, to care for and protect her until I rot away, sir. ~ Lia Habel

He had kissed me. Put his demon tongue in my mouth. I had kissed him back. Yet I had a boyfriend. Adam. Who I believe I've mentioned. More than once.
Boyfriend named Adam, demon named Levi kissing me - that pretty much meant I had cheated on my boyfriend, didn't it?
Didn't mean to do that. Yikes.
I bit my fingernails and knocked on Brandon's door and tried to rationalize my way around it. It hadn't been a premeditated kiss. It hadn't been initiated by me. Did that really make it cheating? Or just a sort of accidental meeting of the mouths?
Shouldn't there be like a five-second rule, anyway? Like dropping food on the floor.
If you retrieve it immediately, you can still eat it. If the kiss lasted less than say, a minute, it didn't count. Right? ~ Erin Lynn

How bad will it hurt?" I ask suddenly as Cain pulls the car onto the road to head back to my house.
"How bad will what hurt?"
"The spankings, the torture, all the ways you want to punish me."
"I'm not a sadist, Evan. I don't get off on hurting women."
"So it won't hurt?"
"Oh, it will, but you'll love the way it hurts," he says, and as his words fall upon my ears in a harmony of exhilaration and foreboding, I think I'm beginning to understand. ~ Lilly Black

I'm mesmerized by lipstick prints on coffee cups.

By the lines of lips against white pottery. By the color chosen by the woman who sat and sipped and lived life. By the mark she leaves behind. Some people read tea leaves and others can tell your future through the lines on your palm. I think I'd like to read lipstick marks on coffee mugs.

To learn how to differentiate yearning from satiation. To know the curve of a deep-rooted joy or the line of bottomless grief. To be able to say, this deep blue red you chose and how firmly you planted your lips, this speaks of love on the horizon. But, darling, you must be sure to stand in your own truth. That barely-there nude that circles the entire rim? You are exploding into lightness and possibilities beyond what you currently know. The way the gloss only shows when the light hits it and the coffee has sloshed all over the saucer? people need to take the time to see you whole but my god, you're glorious and messy and wonderful and free. The deep purple bruise almost etched in a single spot and most of the cup left unconsumed? Oh love. Let me hold the depth of your ache. It is true. He's not coming back. I know you already know this, but do you also know this is not the end? Love. This is not the end.

I imagine that I can know entire stories by these marks on discarded mugs. Imagine that I know something intimate and true of the woman who left them. That I could take those mugs home one day and an entire ~ Jeanette LeBlanc