Getting Under Someones Skin Quotes

Dear You, The odds of your reading this are slim to none. Who would choose uncertainty and vaguely worded warnings over a new life of wealth and luxury? I can only assume that you were put under a massive amount of stress, touched someone's skin, and they were paralyzed. Or blinded. Or lost the ability to speak. Or befouled themselves. Or one of several other effects that I won't outline right now. In any case, I know what it's like the first time it happens. It's like a door opening up inside of you, isn't it? Like you've been hit by a truck. It can't be ignored. So even if you would have preferred to open up the other box (which, by the way, would have had you living out the rest of your life as Jeanne Citeaux), I'm glad you made this choice. Take both suitcases with you and go to the address below. The key in this envelope will get you in, and you should be safe there. It has no connection to me, officially. Open the next envelope when you are established. Try not to be followed. ~ Daniel O'Malley

I waited in vain for someone like me to stand up and say that the only thing those of us who don't believe in god have to believe is in other people and that New York City is the best place there ever was for a godless person to practice her moral code. I think it has to do with the crowded sidewalks and subways. Walking to and from the hardware store requires the push and pull of selfishness and selflessness, taking turns between getting out of someone's way and them getting out of yours, waiting for a dog to move, helping a stroller up steps, protecting the eyes from runaway umbrellas. Walking in New York is a battle of the wills, a balance of aggression and kindness. I'm not saying it's always easy. The occasional "Watch where you're going, bitch" can, I admit, put a crimp in one's day. But I believe all that choreography has made me a better person. The other day, in the subway at 5:30, I was crammed into my sweaty, crabby fellow citizens, and I kept whispering under my breath "we the people, we the people" over and over again, reminding myself we're all in this together and they had as much right - exactly as much right - as I to be in the muggy underground on their way to wherever they were on their way to. ~ Sarah Vowell

When new artists come out and they're not being cosigned or some company doesn't have a stake in it, or someone's not getting paid under the table to produce the whole record or bring it to video, the artist really suffers. ~ Pharoahe Monch

You need to sac up, dude. Whenever you put yourself in a serious relationship, you run the risk of getting hurt. It's how it works." "But usually you trust the other person not to do it." He shrugged. "Yeah. And what makes you think she will? Because of last time? You mean when she was scared out of her mind with a life-or-death diagnosis right after breaking up with her boyfriend? You really think that's a time to judge how someone's going to act under more normal circumstances?" I swallowed, suddenly feeling like a dick myself. ~ Brenna Aubrey

I'm standing under a sign that says, 'Budweiser is king of beers,' and everybody's got their beers here today," I told them. "But I'm here to talk about the King of Kings. I know I might look like a preacher, but I'm not. Here's how you can tell whether someone's a preacher or not: if he gets up and says some words and passes a hat for you to put money in, that's a preacher. This is free. This if free of charge, which proves I'm not a preacher. ~ Phil Robertson

I yearned to get better; I told myself I was getting better. In fact, the depression was still there, like a powerful undertow. Sometimes it grabbed me, yanked me under; other times, I swam free. ~ Tracy Thompson

Stanley Kubrick was brilliant at getting under the audience's skin. He was very interested in the idea of, 'How can I tell this with just a camera?' ~ Tom Cruise

Three eternities passed before she ran a hand under her red nose and nodded. "Fine. I'll go." Alex's lungs expanded as he let the air back in. "But the first woman who makes a crack about my hair
"
"I'll punch her lights out." Alex pulled her to her feet.
"You're supposed to love me, so it needs to be more severe than that."
"I'll yank out her heart with ice tongs."
"Aw." Lucy patted his chest. "You would do that for me?"
He captured her hand, felt its warmth all the way through his shirt. "No amount of carnage is too much for my girl. ~ Jenny B. Jones

Most major domestic programs got more money this year, and they're used to reflect the priorities of the upcoming year. One good example is, the Secret Service is getting $268 extra dollars because it's a presidential election year and the agency's going to be under more demands. ~ Susan Davis

I'll turn my back, unless you think you need help getting dressed." Lord, he silently prayed, pleased don't test my chivalry that far!
"I can manage, thank you very much!" she returned tightly.
Turning his back, Rider grinned and lifted his eyes to heaven. "Thanks, big Fellah."
"Did you say something?" Willow inquired.
Rider kept a steady gaze on the trees. "Just talking to myself."
He heard her mumble something about crazy people talking to themselves before she announced it safe for him to turn around. He did and was given an immediate jolt. She wore not her usual shirt and pants,but a clean nightshirt and wrapper. However,it wasn't her scanty attire that startled him as much as her pain-glazed eyes.
"My God,what is it?" Stunned, his hands automatically came up under both her elbows to steady her. "Are you in pain?" A thought came to him then. He hesitated, studying his boots. "Is it...I've got sisters, so don't be embarrassed.Is it your woman's time?" Rider's ears reddened, but it was nothing compared to Willow's high color.
She jerked away from his touch, squeezed her eyes shut, and cradled her forehead in one hand. "And I wondered what else could go wrong," she muttered under her breath.
"What?"
"Dammit,Sinclair, men aren't suppose to talk to women about those things. ~ Charlotte McPherren

Artists frequently hide the steps that lead to their masterpieces. They want their work and their career to be shrouded in the mystery that it all came out at once. It's called hiding the brushstrokes, and those who do it are doing a disservice to people who admire their work and seek to emulate them. If you don't get to see the notes, the rewrites, and the steps, it's easy to look at a finished product and be under the illusion that it just came pouring out of someone's head like that. People who are young, or still struggling, can get easily discouraged, because they can't do it like they thought it was done. An artwork is a finished product, and it should be, but I always swore to myself that I would not hide my brushstrokes. ~ Matthew Weiner

I can't tell you how to live your life," Samuel said, "although I do be telling you how to live it. I know that it might be better for you to come out from under your might-have-beens, into the winds of the world. And while I tell you, I am myself sifting my memories, the way men pan the dirt under a barroom floor for the bits of gold dust that fall between the cracks. It's small mining
small mining. You're too young a man to be panning memories, Adam. You should be getting yourself some new ones, so that the mining will be richer when you come of age. ~ John Steinbeck

And her. What would she do without him?

She's not special, not like BB and Ghostly, who awe her with their intelligence and the things they're capable of, all their humbling potential. All she does is write - a lot - because it's fun. She's under no illusions, she's popular through quantity not quality, she's not bad but she is not Blackbindings and she never will be. She writes because it's fun. And she thinks about him, and what he does.

She works three jobs she hates, just to keep the bills paid. She wanted to get into journalism but she can't afford the internships. She already sees what her life will be like, she sees the path ahead, she knows there's no way off; she'll never not be working three dead end jobs she hates, she'll marry her boyfriend and unless there's an accident they'll decide almost too late that fuck it they'd better have those kids now or never, because they never will be able to afford them; she'll never do anything amazing, never be anything amazing, just a person in a world full of people, getting by.

But there's him. And every time she faces life and thinks she can't bear it, there's him. If he can be so brave, can't she manage the littlest bravery? Because - because her little pointless life that will never mean anything, that will have vanished beyond notice within hardly more than a hundred years if she has those kids to remember her, her dragging, struggling life of bills and broken pipes and fuck it it's anothe ~ Rainjoy

No, I didn't make it to New York. I fucking love New York, even though my version of the American dream is impossible there and their gross, floppy pizza is like eating someone's post–plastic surgery skin. ~ Samantha Irby

Her face went blank as she realized what she'd interrupted. "I'll, uh, go upstairs and watch a show," she said, not sounding like herself at all.
I scooted out from under Adam. "And Jesse saves the day," I said lightly. "Thank you, that was getting out of hand."
She paused, looking - surprised.
I wondered uncharitably how many times she'd walked in on her mother in similar situations and what her mother's response had been. I never had liked Jesse's mother and was happy to believe all sorts of evil about her. I let anger at the games her mother might have played surround me. When you've lived with werewolves, you learn tricks to hide what you're feeling from them - anger, for instance, covers up panic pretty well - and, out from under Adam's sensuous hands, I was panicking plenty.
Adam snorted. "That's one way to put it." To my relief, he'd stayed where we'd been, sinking facedown onto the mat.
"Even with my willpower, his lure was too great," I said melodramatically, complete with wrist to forehead. If I made a joke of it, he'd never realize how truthful I was being.
A slow smile spread across her face and she quit looking like she was ready to bolt back into the house. "Dad's kind of a stud, all right."
"Jesse," warned Adam, his voice muffled only a little by the mat. She giggled.
"I have to agree," I said in overly serious tones. "Maybe as high as a seven or eight, even."
"Mercedes," Adam thundered, surging to his feet.
I w ~ Patricia Briggs

I had the shotgun. I was also carrying my two pistols, two knives, and a derringer stuffed in the pocket of my jacket. It was a present from Edward. He had handed it to me with this advice: "It kicks like a sonofabitch, but press it under someone's chin, and it will blow their fucking head off." Nice to know. It ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

Grace under pressure isn't just about bullfighters and men at war. It's about getting up every day to face a job or a white boss you don't like but have to face to feed your children so they'll grow up to be a better generation. ~ Ernest Gaines

So if 1960 had occurred under the old convention system, Kennedy would have had a very hard time getting the Democratic nomination because he would have been rejected by all those people who had worked with him in Washington. ~ Michael Beschloss

The more I read, the more I was led to abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them in no other light than a band of successful robbers, who had left their homes, and gone to Africa, and stolen us from our homes, and in a strange land reduced us to slavery. I loathed them as being the meanest as well as the most wicked of men. As I read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would follow my learning to read had already come, to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish. As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that learning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched condition, without the remedy. it opened my eyes to the horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. in moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile to my own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was no getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound and seen in every thing. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing w ~ Frederick Douglass

These changes occurred just as the Spanish conquest of the Caribbean islands and the Portuguese settlement of the Brazilian subcontinent was getting under way and thus opened the American market for African slaves. The decimation of the native Arawak and Carib peoples in the Caribbean islands, the first major zone of European settlement, especially encouraged the early experimentation with African slave labor. ~ Herbert S. Klein

Be sure to do burning pots at least once a month to clean the physical atmosphere of your home. This is done by getting a small cooking pot and placing it on the floor with a plate under it. Place a half an inch of Epsom salt in the pot covered by an inch of rubbing alcohol. Then light a match to it. I call this the New Age campfire. This will clean whatever room you put it in 100% of all etheric, astral and mental negative energies. ~ Joshua Stone

Max.
God, but she was stubborn. And tough. And closed in. Closed off. Except when
she was holding Angel, or ruffling the Gasman's hair, or pushing something
closer to Iggy's hand so he could find it easily without knowing anyone had
helped him. Or when she was trying to untangle Nudge's mane of hair.
Or-sometimes-when she was looking at Fang.
He shifted on the hard ground, a half-dozen flashes of memory cycling
through his brain. Max looking at him and laughing. Max leaping off a cliff,
snapping out her wings, flying off, so incredibly powerful and graceful that
it took his breath away.
Max punching someone's lights out, her face like stone.
Max kissing that weiner Sam on Anne's front porch.
Gritting his teeth, Fang rolled onto his side.
Max kissing him on the beach, after Ari had kicked Fang's butt.
Just now, her mouth soft under his.
He wished she were here, if not next to him, then somewhere in the cave, so
he could hear her breathing.
It was going to be hard to sleep without that tonight. ~ James Patterson

A puma is not a bird," said Tobias, after a hundred paces. "It is a kind of cat - felis concolor. You may see it soon: it is moving along with us, on the right."
The word cat brought nothing into Jack's mind but a fleeting image of a shabby, brownish-black little creature called Tib that disgraced the drawing-room at home, and he plodded on in silence. Every hundred yards or so they changed shoulders, and during the third change there was a coughing noise to their right, a series of coughs, huge, deep, throaty coughs, that culminated in a shattering roar, unimaginably loud.
"Not a bird, Jack, you see," said Tobias.
"How big?" cried Jack, vividly alive now, with terror coursing up and down his spine.
"The size of an indifferent lion," said Tobias. "You can see him if you bend and look under the yellow bush. He is tearing up the earth, and biting it."
"Can he climb?"
"Oh, admirably."
"Toby, what shall we do?"
"Why, unless you wish to go and look at him, we had better go on. It is getting late. But do not hurry so, Jack, nor make jerking movements. If he should come out, take no notice of him, or look at him kindly - do not provoke him. He is not a froward puma, I believe. ~ Patrick O'Brian

May walked slowly around the body, studying it. Putrefaction had been halted in its advance, but the corpse's skin had turned green and black, producing an acrid odour. He found it hard to imagine that this man had recently been walking around, eating in restaurants, watching TV. He was someone's lover, someone's son, but there was almost nothing human left. Without a head his trunk bore an unsettling similarity to something you would find in a meat locker. How would his loved ones feel if they could see him like this? 'Get anything else?' 'It's tricky because the usual decay process has been interrupted by the relatively sterile storage of the body. Usually, after two to three days you get staining on the abdomen. The discolouration spreads, veins grow dark, the skin blisters after a week, tissue starts softening and nails fall off at around the three-week stage, and finally the face becomes unrecognisable as the skin liquefies - ~ Christopher Fowler

...but in 1917 we had no cares except the mundane ones of starvation and occupation and civil war, and for those of us in our armored trains traveling up and down the front waging brilliant campaigns, or for our young Natashas and Alyoshas experiencing the education and class steeling of the Komsomol for the first time, learning to ask in every historical situation: How many workers are there? how many peasants, intellectuals? how do they stand on this issue? it was a very exciting and romantic period; what I am getting at is that probably no one felt alone as Bug had felt alone; for everyone worked together and loved each other- oh, I hope that that was true. For if life is worth living at all you can have your cake and eat it, too (съесть ее тунцом as the Russians say, и ее мудак- literally to eat out her tuna and her asshole); when you fight together you feel together; love and politics go hand in hand, and I can demonstrate this feasibly with another linguistic point. A girl's cherry is her tsélka. Raskobót cya kak tsélochka, to pop like a little cherry, means in fact to crack under interrogation. I want to draw your attention, comrades, to that highly significant trope. ~ William T. Vollmann

I can't apologize for reacting the way I did, but I can guarantee you it will happen again. You seem to have the knack for getting under my skin like no one else. ~ Maya Banks

You make your whole existence dependant on another human being you're asking for a world of trouble. Think of every tragic love story ever written. And I didn't want to play Juliet to anybody's Romeo, not if I could help it. Even if the only candidate available was willing to die for me and sitting right beside me holding my hand and looking deeply into my eyes with the not-so-gah-now eyes the colour of melted chocolate. Plus being practically naked under those covers and possession the body of a Hollister dude ... but I'm not getting into all that. ~ Rick Yancey

He took the soap from me, and turned it in his hand to capture its lather. Then he ran his fingers up and down my scarred arm, gentle. It was, in some ways, even better than being kissed by him. He had no fragile illusions about my goodness, destined to shatter when he found out the truth. But he accepted me anyway. Cared about me anyway.
"Okay," I said. "I'm done, I think."
Akos stood, holding my hands, and lifted me as I came to my feet. Water ran down my legs and back. As I fastened the armor around my forearm again, he found a towel in one of the cabinets, then pieced together clothes for me--the pants from Isae, underwear from Cisi, one of his own shirts and a pair of his socks, my still-intact boots. I looked at the pile of clothes with some dismay. It was one thing for him to see me in my underwear, but to help me take it off…
Well. If that was going to happen, I wanted it to be under different circumstances.
"Cisi," Akos said. He was also staring at the pile of clothes. "Maybe you should help with this part."
"Thank you," I said to him.
He smiled. "It's getting really hard to keep my eyes on your face."
I made a face at him as he left. ~ Veronica Roth

Getting over someone doesn't happen by getting under someone. It just reminds you what you should have held on to. ~ Alison G. Bailey

I'm thinking about Bert.'
Without hearing any more about it, she knew what this meant: Wally had had his fun, and now he was getting ready to get out from under. She waited a moment or two, as she often did when angered, but in spite of her effort to sound casual, her voice had a vibrant sound to it. 'And what about Bert? ~ James M. Cain