Forget Your Ex And Move On Quotes

TEN BREAKUP COMMANDMENTS:
1. Move out
2. You cannot be friends
3. Do not process this break-up together
4. Do not bad mouth your ex to other people
5. Get rid of anything that reminds of him
6. Start and exercise regimen
7. Pursue an interest you could not have pursued while you and your ex were together
8. Take a vacation
9. Embrace Change
10. Go on a date ~ Melissa Kantor

You're serious? You want me to go to school?"
"Why not?" he challenged. "So long as you take care of shit around here, I'm fine with it. Might want to move on that whole divorce thing too while you're at it. Club's got a lawyer, I'll set up an appointment for you. I can pretty much guarantee your ex won't put up a fight."
He smiled when he said it - not a nice smile.
"Okay, I'll go check it out," I said slowly. "This is weird, you get that? You kidnapping me, holding me hostage and then sending me to school? This isn't how things like this usually work."
Horse grinned at me, eyes lazy and satisfied.
"Just roll with it," he whispered. "And keep doing whatever exercises you do to make your cunt squeeze like that. They got a college degree for that? ~ Joanna Wylde

I'M SORRY

I am developing a new board game. It's called "I'm Sorry." It's also a form of "Self-Help Psychological Therapy!"

You take turns moving around the board like Monopoly. But if you land on a Yellow or Green "I'm Sorry Space"… you have to make a Phone call. Both green and yellow cards are labeled- the same with things like: Your Ex, Parental figure, friend, co-worker, boss, children, etc. You get the point…

If you land on the yellow space, the game stops, everyone gets quiet and you have to call that person up – on speakerphone. You apologize for something you've done in your past. Come on you know you are not perfect and you probably screwed up, hurt or disappointed everyone in your past at one time or another. So you call and you apologize. You explain what you did to them wrong if they forgive you, you move forward 10 places and everyone cheers! No forgiveness back- you move back to the beginning.

If you land on the green space- it's similar. But you call the person up and you try to explain to them how, in someway, they hurt you in the past. If they apologize… cheers and you move forward 10 spaces. No apology… move backward ten spaces. They curse at you- game over.

In the original packaging of the yellow and green cards, are mixed in a set of "I'm Sorry Cards." If you are lucky enough to get to pick up an "I'm Sorry Card," it's like a Get Out of Jail Free Card, and you don't have to make the call.

Th ~ Jose N Harris

If your ex is making things up about you, he's obviously miserable. It's just like, 'Wow, this person really cares to go out of their way to start a rumor about me.' I've dealt with it so much, obviously. The first couple of times, it really sucks. But then [they] just come out with something else. If you dwell on it, it's going to make you miserable. Just move on and laugh it off. ~ Brody Jenner

I matched him glare for glare and refused to back down. I'd learnt that much, working with the guys we recruited for protection work. Forget your average heavy ... we used the elite. Ex-commandos used to living behind enemy lines on nothing more than fresh air and dung beetles, and who could zero in on a target using mouse farts three miles away. ~ Mina Carter

I've had enough
I'm sick of seeing and touching
Both sides of things
Sick of being the damn bridge for everybody

Nobody
Can talk to anybody
Without me
Right?

I explain my mother to my father
my father to my little sister
My little sister to my brother
my brother to the white feminists
The white feminists to the Black church folks
the Black church folks to the ex-hippies
the ex-hippies to the Black separatists
the Black separatists to the artists
the artists to my friends' parents…

Then
I've got to explain myself
To everybody

I do more translating
Than the Gawdamn U.N.

Forget it
I'm sick of it.

I'm sick of filling in your gaps

Sick of being your insurance against
the isolation of your self-imposed limitations

Sick of being the crazy at your holiday dinners

Sick of being the odd one at your Sunday Brunches

Sick of being the sole Black friend to 34 individual white people

Find another connection to the rest of the world
Find something else to make you legitimate
Find some other way to be political and hip

I will not be the bridge to your womanhood
Your manhood
Your humanness

I'm sick of reminding you not to
Close off too tight for too long

I'm sick of mediati ~ Kate Rushin

A man who isn't into you, isn't into you. Don't force it - let him go. Maybe he's already got a partner. Maybe the timing's wrong. Maybe he's got deep ambivalence about whether he wants a relationship. Maybe he's hoping he can use you for sex - then give up in disgust when you aren't had so easily. Maybe he just doesn't love you. Maybe he's dealing with anxiety, or job loss, or the ex he can't forget. The truth is, none of that matters! The reason is not the important thing. The behavior is. No matter why, when a man doesn't want you, give up on him - he is saving you from wasting your time and emotions. ~ Duana Welch

A pale, slightly luminescent form materialized in front of us. Mason. He looked the same as ever-or did he? The usual sadness was there, but I could see something else, something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. Panic? Frustration? I could have almost sworn it was fear, but honestly, what would a ghost have to be afraid of.
"What's wrong?" asked Dimitri.
"Do you see him?" I whispered.
Dimitri followed my gaze. "See who?"
"Mason."
Mason's troubled expression grew darker. I might not have been able to adequately identify it, but I knew it wasn't anything good. The nauseous feeling within me intensified, but somehow, I knew it had nothing to do with him.
"Rose...we should go back..." said Dimitri carefully. He still wasn't on board with me seeing ghosts.
But I didn't move. Mason's face was saying something else to me-or trying to. There was something here, something important that I needed to know. But he couldn't communicate it.
"What?" I asked. "What is it?"
A look of frustration crossed his face. He pointed off behind me, the dropped his hand.
"Tell me," I said, my frustration mirroring his. Dimitri was looking back and forth between me and Mason, though mason was probably only and empty space to him.
I was too fixated on Mason to worry what Dimitri might think. There was something here. Something big. Mason opened his mouth, wanting to speak as in previous times but still unable to get the words out. Ex ~ Richelle Mead

For me to give my advice to somebody who's thinking about going back to an ex or keeps on going back to their ex, you'll know when you're done. You'll know when you're finished with that person. You'll know when you're over them and ready to move, but nobody else can tell you that. ~ Sevyn Streeter

Just then a word floated out through the buzz saw of Zapata-speak: Nefertari. Dan tuned back in.
"...the most beautiful tomb in Egypt," Ms. Zapata was saying. "You probably know the queen because there's a famous bust of her."
A photo flashed on the screen.
Dan raised his hand. "That's Nefertiti," he said. "Different queen."
Ms. Zapata frowned. She looked at her notes. "You could be right, Dan. Uh...let's move on."
Another slide flashed on-screen. "Now, this is the inner chamber of the tomb, where she was laid to rest."
Dan's hand rose again. Ms. Zapata closed her eyes.
"Actually? That's the side chamber."
"Really." Ms. Zapata's lips pressed together. "And how do you know this, Dan?"
"Because..." Dan hesitated. Because I was there. Because I was locked inside the tomb with an ex-KGB spy, so I got to know it pretty well.
"Especially since the tomb is closed for conservation," Ms. Zapata said.
Yeah. But we had this connection to an Egyptologist? Except he turned out to be a thief and a liar, so we captured him. I came this close to smashing him with a lamp... ~ Jude Watson

I think sometimes the bits of your life happen in the wrong order, or all at the same time and you waste time feeling angry about it, but that's the way it is, it's real life. You meet the person who you think could make you happy the rest of your life, but at the same time your ex-girlfriend who's told you umpteen times she never wants to see you again tells you you're going to be a dad.'
Elle took up the story.
'And then you move to another country and then the next time you see that person, even though its like no time has passed, you sleep together and then - your mum dies'
She gave a short, sad laugh.
'Yep that's rubbish timing ~ Harriet Evans

When was the last time you were kissed?" he went on easily. "And I'm not talking about the dry, noncommittal, meaningless kiss you forget about as soon as it's over."

I scrambled out of my stupor long enough to quip, "Like last night's kiss?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "That so? I wonder, then, why you moaned my name after you drifted to sleep."

"I did not!"

"If only I'd had a video recorder. When was the last time you were really kissed?" he repeated.

"You seriously think I'm going to tell you?"

"Your ex?" he guessed.

"And if he was?"

"Was it your ex who taught you to be ashamed and uncomfortable with intimacy? He took from you what he wanted, but never seemed to be around when you wanted something back, isn't that right? What do you want, Britt?" he asked me point-blank.
"Do you really want to pretend like last night never happened?"

"Whatever happened between me and Calvin isn't your business," I fired back.

"For your information, he was a really great boyfriend. I-I wish I was with him right now!" I exclaimed untruthfully. My careless comment made him flinch, but he recovered quickly.

"Does he love you?"

"What?" I said, flustered.

"If you know him so well, it shouldn't be a hard question. Is he in love with you? Was he ever in love with you?"

I tossed my head back haughtily. "I know what you're doing. You' ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

If my ex-husband could move on, I could, too. I would search for my gardener, someone who would help me to grow and bloom, but who would recognize the fragility of a new flower just starting to poke out of the ground.
If I was lucky, he'd have a long cultivator. ~ Tracy H. Tucker

... I will take a long shower, as the shower is the only place I will have any privacy. In the stall I will get down on my knees and weep, letting the water run over my body, praying to get better, praying not to hurt myself any more than I'm already hurting, praying that this loss, that this whole time, will move over me, through me, like a dark storm passing over a great plane. A great plain which is, essentially, my soul. A soul which is neither light nor dark, neither wholly alone nor wholly with any other, certainly not with God, just flat, open, deathless, and free. Curled up in a wet ball on the tile floor I will hear myself say, something in me is dying. I no longer know to whom I'm talking. ~ Maggie Nelson

There's an old poem by Neruda that I've always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says "love is so short, forgetting is so long." It's a line I've related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we're trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren't the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren't really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. ~ Taylor Swift

His eyes darkened in frustration.
"I'm tired of waiting, Thalia. I'm not a patient person. You have to know."
"What do you mean, Keal? You know I like Joss." I tried to move away again, but his hands on either side of me pinned me in. Keal's determination scared me.
"You know what we share is infinitely more powerful than ... that. And you feel this between us, too," he growled. "You melt when I kiss you. You watch me when you think I'm unaware. You can't sleep unless I'm near. Tell me none of that is true."
I swallowed nervously and licked my lips. "No, that's all true."
"I promised your father I'd give you time, but I'm tired of waiting. Tired of watching Joss try and win your heart from me."
"Keal, I don't understand. Ho is joss keeping you from me, when you and I don't think of one another that way?
"Don't think
Thalia! You and I are lifemates. ~ Chanda Hahn

You don't understand people like me, like us, the other ones. You're like a bird that flies in the air, a fish that swims in the sea. You move, you look about you, you want things. There are others who live on earth and move just a little and don't look
~ Iris Murdoch

The mind of one meditating on a single object becomes one-pointed. And one-pointedness of mind leads to abidance in the self. Real attainment is to be fully conscious, to be aware of surroundings and the people around, to move among them all, but not to merge consciousness in the environment. One should remain in inner independent awareness. ~ Ramana Maharshi

Our bones only ache while the flesh is on them. Stretch it thin as the temple flesh of an ailing woman and still it serves to ache the bone and to move the bone about; and in like manner the night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in a torment. We will find no comfort until the night melts away; until the fury of the night rots out its fire. ~ Djuna Barnes

It's an unfortunate word, 'depression', because the illness has nothing to do with feeling sad, sadness is on the human palette. Depression is a whole other beast. It's when your old personality has left town and been replaced by a block of cement with black tar oozing through your veins and mind. This is when you can't decide whether to get a manicure or jump off a cliff. It's all the same. When I was institutionalised I sat on a chair unable to move for three months, frozen in fear. To take a shower was inconceivable. What made it tolerable was while I was inside, I found my tribe - my people. They understood and unlike those who don't suffer, never get bored of you asking if it will ever go away? They can talk medication all hours, day and night; heaven to my ears. ~ Ruby Wax

Actively deciding to give to causes that move you deeply is far more fulfilling than the momentary gratification derived from signing a check and mailing it to a nonprofit about which you know little more than what's on the brochure they sent you. ~ Laura Arrillaga-Andreessen

What is there more real, for instance, in our universe than a man's life, and how can we hope to preserve it better than a realistic film? But under what conditions is such a film possible? Under purely imaginary conditions. We should have to presuppose, in fact, an ideal camera focused on the man day and night and constantly registering his every move. The very projection of such a film would last a lifetime and could be seen only by an audience of people willing to waste their lives in watching someone else's life in great detail. Even under such conditions, such an unimaginable film would not be realistic for the simple reason that the reality of a man's life is not limited to the spot in which he happens to be. It lies also in other lives that give shape to his--lives of people he loves, to begin with, which would have to be filmed too, and also lives of unknown people, influential and insignificant, fellow citizens, policemen, professors, invisible comrades from the mines and foundries, diplomats and dictators, religious reformers, artists who create myths that are decisive for out conduct--humble representatives, in short, of the sovereign chance that dominates the most routine existences. Consequently, there is but one possible realistic film: one that is constantly shown us by an invisible camera on the world's screen. The only realistic artist, then, is God, if he exists. All other artists are, ipso facto, unfaithful to reality. ~ Albert Camus

Max," she said. He turned and briefly closed his eyes as the girl continued.
There was once a strange, small man,"she said. Her arms were loose but her hands were fists at her side. "But there was a word shaker,too."

One of the Jews on his way to Dachau had stopped walking now. He stood absolutely still as the others swerved morosely around him, leaving him completely alone. His eyes staggered, and it was so simple. The words were given across from the girl to the Jew. They climbed on to him.

The next time she spoke, the questions stumbled from her mouth. Hot tears fought for room in her eyes as she would not let them out. Better to stand resolute and proud. Let the words do all of it. "Is it really you? the young man asked," she said. " Is it from your cheek that I took the seed.?"
Max Vandenburg remained standing.
He did not drop to his knees.
People and Jews and clouds all stopped. They watched.
As he stood, Max looked first at the girl and then stared directly into the sky who was wide and blue and magnificent. There were heavy beams-- planks of son-- falling randomly, wonderfully to the road. Clouds arched their backs to look behind as they started again to move on. "It's such a beautiful day," he said, and his voice was in many pieces. A great day to die. A great day to die,like this.
Liesel walked at him. She was courageous enought to reach out and hold his bearded face. "Is it really you,Max?"
Such a brilliant ~ Markus Zusak

Those evangelicals who have been raised and shaped by forms of Christianity that are roughly "fundamentalist" will either: a. become taken with the modern moral order and thus sort of replay the excarnational development of modernity, just now a few centuries later, sort of catching up with the wider culture; so under the guise of the "emerging church" or "progressive" evangelicalism, we'll be set on a path to something like Protestant liberalism, a new deism; or b. recognize the disenchantment and excarnation of evangelical Protestantism, and also reject the Christianized subtraction stories of liberal Christianity, and feel the pull of more incarnational spiritualities, and thus move toward more "Catholic" expressions of faith - and these expressions of faith will actually exert more pull on those who have doubts about their "closed" take on the immanent frame. ~ James K.A. Smith

You know what love is?"
Creed asked that and my eyes shot from the hair on his forehead to his.
"I ... " I swallowed again then, holding his eyes, I whispered, "Yes. I do. I know what love is, Creed."
I felt his big hand curl warm on the side of my face before I felt the pad of his thumb sweep across my lips again. He watched it move as he replied, "I do too, baby." His eyes came to mine. "I absolutely do. ~ Kristen Ashley

An old Gordita reflex, dating back to shortly after the Second World War, when a black family had actually tried to move into town and the citizens, with helpful advice from the Ku Klux Klan, had burned the place to the ground and then, as if some ancient curse had come into effect, refused to allow another house ever to be built on the site. The lot stood empty until the town finally confiscated it and turned it into a park, where the youth of Gordita Beach, by the laws of karmic adjustment, were soon gathering at night to drink, dope, and fuck, depressing their parents, though not property values particularly. ~ Thomas Pynchon

She was halfway to deep sleep when the door creaked, a noise loud enough to rouse her, yet soft enough to doubt her having heard anything. She lay motionless, listening but hearing only the wind outside, the clock, the sounds of an ancient building. Normal sounds, but still her skin prickled. Pressure built in her head. Her pulse beat in her ears. The feeling of pressure thickened, stealing over her, a sense of envelopment, a shift in perception. Not her pulse, but footsteps. Someone pacing. Ten steps toward the fireplace. Ten back to the foot of her bed. The susurration of fabric against fabric. Metal sliding along metal, a low ringing sound, and mixed with that a murmuring. She peered into the darkness but saw nothing. No moving shadows, no figure approaching her bed, just the inert shapes of furniture and the resulting shadows. The resonance in her head grew, half convincing her she heard footsteps and the low, regular sound of breathing. The murmuring began again, a breath, then a whisper.

My love.

Steps paced near, and she swore she could feel the air thicken. Pain lanced along her temple.

My heart.

Unendurable pressure. She tried to move, but couldn't. Her limbs were frozen, trapped in her nightmare. More footsteps. A breath on her cheek. Cold air wafted through the room.

My own.

A face flashed before her eyes. She tried to breathe and couldn't get air into her lungs. She screwed her eyes shut, but the fa ~ Carolyn Jewel

Definitions are vital starting points for the imagination. What we cannot imagine cannot come into being. A good definition marks our starting point and lets us know where we want to end up. As we move toward our desired destination we chart the journey, creating a map. We need a map to guide us on our journey to love
starting with the place where we know what we mean when we speak of love. ~ Bell Hooks

The world is one unending chess match, my dear, and I am the one playing it how I please. I poke and prod to move my pieces to places I find desirable. And the defiant ones who resist me I simply remove from the board." He pulled up his right sleeve, showing Laura a sheathed dagger strapped to his arm. "But you, Laura, are not of this chess match at all. You walked unexpectedly onto my board, scattering my pieces out of the way, the ones that I had worked on so tirelessly to arrange to perfection. ~ J.S. Bailey

One of the key components of your mistake recovery strategy is to just stop, learn, get rid of the emotion and the feeling of shame and burden, and move on. ~ Carla Harris

Sometimes, in order to achieve our goals, we have to change ourselves. Sometimes we have to change ourselves just to survive. We might worry that we're becoming an entirely different person. But this is often what's required to move on to the place we want to be.

If the goal is passion, the kind of passion that leads to love, you can pretty much guarantee that the journey is going to change you. But the one thing that never changes is the heart. And since the heart wants what the damn heart wants, be prepared to probably get the shit kicked out of you for a while to make it happen.

But if you can hold tight and white-knuckle the turbulence, it's usually a worthwhile trip.

Because the destination is fucking fabulous. ~ Darien Cox

Something about his hands suggested brutality ... he had interesting hands and an incredible smile.In a powerful ,almost frightning way he was handsome.kezia found herself watching hinm probing hungry for details.He held her long and grasped of his eyes and let his glance move away.It had been a strange sensation,like biengbacked against a wall with a hand at your throat,another stroking your hair ..you wanted to cringe in fear and melt with pleasure..and then it dawned on her.This was whom she was afraid to meet.This was lucas johns! ~ Danielle Steel

I focus on the moment and move from task to task. ~ Tyler Seguin

Jacques was so impressed with the beauty of the curve known as a logarithmic spiral (Figure 37; the name was derived from the way in which the radius grows as we move around the curve clockwise) that he asked that this shape, and the motto he assigned to it: "Eadem mutato resurgo" (although changed, I rise again the same), be engraved on his tombstone.

The motto describes a fundamental property unique to the logarithmic spiral-it does not alter its shape as its size increases. This feature is known as self-similarity. Fascinated by this property, Jacques wrote that the logarithmic spiral "may be used as a symbol, either of fortitude and constancy in adversity, or of the human body, which after all its changes, even after death, will be restored to its exact and perfect self. ~ Mario Livio

When I think about what it would take to achieve freedom from all psychological stuff, the response that comes is this: life is about stuff. Stuff is part of being alive. There is no way out of this while you are still living. There will be confusion, pain, miscommunication, misinterpretation, maladaptive patterns of behavior, unhelpful emotional reactions, weird personality traits, neurosis and possibly much worse. There will be power plays, twisted psychological games, people with major personality disorders (which may include you), and craziness. The injuries continue right along with the healing and eventually the injuries win and we die. This is a fundamental teaching of the Buddha. I wish the whole Western Buddhist World would just get over this notion that these practices are all about getting to our Happy Place where nothing can ever hurt us or make us neurotic and move on to actually mastering real Buddhist practice rather than chasing some ideal that will never appear. ~ Daniel M. Ingram

Johnson released a harsh breath. "Well. Guess I'll go on home and see if a ball game is on. See ya." Johnson turned to leave. "The Braves are on tonight," Ronowski called out to Johnson's back. God had to close his mouth, gaping open in surprise. Johnson turned and wasted no time asking the blond beauty if he wanted to watch the game with him. Ronowski flushed when all their attention was focused on him. "Uhm. Sure. I just need to get my stuff. I'll be r-right back," he stammered and walked quickly toward the precinct. God saw Johnson watch Ronowski's ass move as he walked; not taking his eyes off him until he was inside the building. Johnson turned back toward him and waggled his eyebrows. "Well my night is looking brighter." God ~ A.E. Via

As I get on and films take four years to complete, I tend to have a hankering for very short projects so you can move on to the next idea. It's the ideas I'm interested in. What comes out of your head. ~ Nick Park