Quotes About Giving Him Another Chance
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The worst thing women can do for men, is spoil them. I see this all around. A woman thinking that the way to keep a man is by showering him like a baby, giving more than any other woman around could give. It disables men, it creates babies out of men, it removes their ability to be doers and givers. It turns them into sitting ducks. It is the worst thing women can do for men: spoil them. Yes, it ruins them for any other woman; but, not for the good reasons. I never want a woman to come into my son's life and spoil him. I will not let that happen to him. I always tell him: you be with a woman who is your equal, someone you can run with, someone who enables you to be a doer, a giver. Another wolf: someone you can run with. ~ C. JoyBell C.
I bent over him and, before I could say anything, he grabbed me by the back of my head, dragged my mouth down and kissed me. Kissed me, with no drama and no explanation, like it was just something we did.
Knowing in a half-forgotten way that he kissed like a demon was one thing; experiencing it all over again was quite another. There was no refined seduction- Pritkin kissed openmouthed, hard and hungry, until I could hear nothing over the pounding of my heart, until I could taste my blood on his lips as his tongue thrust into me. ~ Karen Chance
If these weren't the worst odds he had ever faced,they came damn close.Still, he sensed the wings of panic moving through the riders and thought he might have a decent enough chance.
Thought but was destined never to know, for just then a great fluttering shattered the forest stillness,a sound somewhere between the howl of wind and the throb of drums.A terrible beating that grew louder and louder as the air thickened,becoming almost solid,and the men began to scream.
Ravens filled the sky.They swarmed from the surrounding trees,darting at the riders,going for their eyes. Even as they did,out into the clearing before the lodge ran a band of stout little men, weirdly dressed,sporting long beards, and looking as though they had just crawled from beneath a bridge. They seized the bridles of the horses and whispered to the animals, causing them to rear so violently that the riders were tumbled from their saddles and fell one after another to the ground. The birds swooped lower, still attacking,as the men huddled,arms wrapped around their heads,thrashing frantically.Before Dragon's startled gaze,the little men loosed the horses and turned to go.One,who looked somehow familiar, gave him a cocky grin and waved.
Friends in high places...and low. ~ Josie Litton
"I gave up a world for you."
He glared at me, not giving me anything.
I kept right on going. "I thought, perhaps, when I learned I had powers, I might be able to use them to go home," his eyes flashed but that was all I got so I kept on going, "but not for good. My father isn't dead." Another flash. "He's alive and at home and living maybe with a fake Circe. He'll know the difference, though, I KNOW it. He's out of his mind with worry, I know that too. He's wondering where I am and if I'm okay and how to get me back. I also know that. I know that and I know that my life was good. I loved my life. I loved my home. I loved my job. I had a lot of people who loved me that loved me back." I sucked in a breath and then whispered, "But as much as your world scared me, as much as our practices repulsed me, I still chose you."
His torso jerked, it was almost imperceptible, but I caught it.
I kept at him. "I gave up my world for you, Lahn. I sat at your side through things people in my world would find loathsome and I did it with my head held high. I even felt 'pride' that I could endure, that I could be a good queen to you.......Everything I did in this fucking place, even before I fell in love with you, was for...fucking...YOU." ~ Kristen Ashley
In another life, another timeline, he would have cared as a son does for his mother. If she'd been born different. But as he accepted, they were who they were. She'd regretted giving birth to him and he's resented living ever since. ~ V. Theia
And down the street―I'm not averting my eyes now―a man in a patched jumper is painting the door to his house sky blue. Two small boys, who have been walloping one another with sticks, are begging him to let them help. He is giving them a tiny brush apiece. So―perhaps there is an end to war. ~ Mary Ann Shaffer
He had tried so hard so many times, and she had always rejected him. He would not give her another chance, she knew.
-Sky ~ Melissa De La Cruz
You can not die of grief, though it feels as if you can. A heart does not actually break, though sometimes your chest aches as if it is breaking. Grief dims with time. It is the way of things. There comes a day when you smile again, and you feel like a traitor. How dare I feel happy. How dare I be glad in a world where my father is no more. And then you cry fresh tears, because you do not miss him as much as you once did, and giving up your grief is another kind of death. ~ Laurell K. Hamilton
I believe that when a woman is given the chance to come to the defense of another woman, that is an opportunity that she should take in behalf of not only that woman; but in behalf of herself and all other women, everywhere. Men don't have low opinions of women because women are sluts and whores; but men have low opinions of women because they see how women compete with one another, pull one another down in order to rise above and backbite one another endlessly. There are men who have low opinions of women because of how women treat other women. They see that and they think, "What kind of a species can do that to their own species?" So if you really want the guy, why not get him by showing him what a true friend you are to your girlfriends? Or by showing him how happy you are for the good fortune of another woman and how much you admire her? And if he doesn't appreciate that then he doesn't deserve you! I know we've got a long, long way to go before we change the way our gender treats one another; but it's got to start somewhere and I suggest we start right now. ~ C. JoyBell C.
From the beginning, the gospel message has had a profound eschatological component. The compelling challenge for every person is the inevitability of the ultimate catastrophe of death. It haunts us particularly as we age and realize as parents die and out peers depart that we are, in some sense, "next." Man was not created to die. God placed eternity in his heart and an immortal spirit that cannot comprehend the end of life. Fear of our mortality lurks in the background of our lives, dampening our joys, and in sober moments, bringing us to an awareness of our overwhelming fragility. Much of modern life is an attempt to live as though we will be here forever. It is a fantasy of denial, supported by the pleasures of the moment, which collectively serve as a narcotic, dulling the awareness of death's certainty and near proximity.
The message of the gospel is the message of life for us, a life out of death, provided in the person of our substitute, Jesus Christ. As the only one qualified to face the foe, He took all that death could give – energized by Satan's rage – and came out the victor, providing immortality to all who would believe in Him. His victory was not simply the means of our return to Eden's joys, with their attendant vulnerability to the possibility of yet another fall. It closed the door forever to another intrusion of sin and death by giving perfect, sinless immortality to those who are His own. He gave them the absolute promise of eternal perfection, the u ~ John E. Hartman
Bring her back,hell,Grant thought, dragging a hand through his hair. He'd beg,plead,grovel, whatever it took to make her give him another chance. It was her fault, he decided with a quick switch back to fury. Her fault, that he was acting like a maniac. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in over two weeks.And the solitude he'd always prized was threatening to smother him.If he didn't find her soon, he'd lose what was left of his mind. ~ Nora Roberts
He regretted his surliness when she had refused. She was the only person he'd met in his adult life who had any understanding of his past, the only woman he wanted to remain connected to. He didn't want to leave it up to chance to find her again, didn't want to share her with another man. That last day in Volterra he had searched for a way to tell her these things. She had not accused him, as Franca had, of his own cowardice, of his inability to form attachments. But Hema's refusal to accuse him made him feel worse, and without her he was lost. ~ Jhumpa Lahiri
Very well." He sat cross-legged on the floor of the cage. "You haven't run off so you want to talk. I will hear your explanation now."
"Really, Your Majesty? So good of you to condescend. I'll try to use small words and go slow."
"You're wasting my time. I know Jim betrayed me and you're covering for him. This is your chance to dazzle me wih your brillance or baffle me with your bullshit. You won't get another. When I get out, I won't be in the mood to listen. ~ Ilona Andrews
June 28, 1983 Mianus River Bridge Greenwich, Connecticut George Tesla was drunk. This wasn't new for him, but the reason was. He was going to be a father. Fifty years old, and he'd knocked up a thirty-year-old carnie. Someone careful enough to live through a trapeze act ought to be careful enough to not get pregnant. But she hadn't been. Tatiana flat-out refused to talk about abortion or adoption or any sensible solution to the problem. She was perfectly willing to talk about leaving him to raise the baby alone, but nothing else. Her mind was set. He leaned against the cold side of the bridge and took a long sip of Jack Daniel's from his silver hip flask. He'd bought the flask when he was first made professor of mathematics at New York University. Another thing that would have to change, since Tatiana had told him she had no intention of giving up performing to move to New York ~ Rebecca Cantrell
inside me, the liquor feels like fire and I like it. "Maybe it should be you," I say matter-of-factly as I pull up a chair. "You hate life, anyway." "Very true," says Haymitch. "And since last time I tried to keep you alive . . . seems like I'm obligated to save the boy this time." "That's another good point," I say, wiping my nose and tipping up the bottle again. "Peeta's argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in ~ Suzanne Collins
Sometimes, war being the unjust and drastic creature it is, those in whom he invested hopes took an arrow in the chest, the useless, by chance, thrived to irritate him another day. ~ Paul Hoffman
Drustan raked a hand through his hair and fumbled in the dark for the door. When it didn't budge, a part of him was unsurprised. Yet another part of him met the fact with a kind of glad resignation.
She wanted battle? Battle she would get. It would be a pleasure to have it out with her finally. Once he'd ripped the door from the framing, he would exact vengeance upon her wee body with gleeful abandon. No more honorable I-won't-touch-you-because-I'm-betrothed. Nay he'd touch her. Any damn place and any damn way he wanted to. As many times as he wanted to. Until she begged and whimpered beneath him. She'd been trying to drive him mad? Well, he was giving in to it. He would act like the animal she made him feel like being. The hell with Anya, the hell with duty and honor, the hell with discipline. He needed to tup. Her. Now. ~ Karen Marie Moning
Matthias nodded to the fisherman and Rotty winked back at him, giving a brief tug on the beard of his disguise. He poled the boat rapidly down the canal.
As they approached Zentsbridge, Matthias caught sight of the huge bottleboat parked beneath it. It was wide enough that the hulls scraped as Rotty tried to pass. The bottle man and Rotty broke into a heated argument, and Nina let loose another wail, long and loud enough that Matthias wondered if she was trying to compete with the plague siren.
"Perhaps some deep breathing?" the medik suggested from the railing.
Matthias gave Nina the barest warning glance. They could fake a pregnancy. They couldn't fake an actual birth. At least he didn't think they could. He wouldn't put anything past Kaz at this point. ~ Leigh Bardugo
What of that woman you've found?" the Mace asked. "Does she offer no relief at all?"
Pen laughed without humor. "Ten minutes of relief, every time."
"We can find another shield, you know," the Mace told him. "Several of them are ready. Elston would jump at the chance."
"No. It would be a greater torment to be out of the room than in."
"You say that now, but think, Pen. Think about when she takes a husband, or even just a man for the night. How will you feel then, being right outside the door?"
"She may not take either. ~ Erika Johansen
After a few (or many) bad relationships, its so easy to shut down, give up, and stop believing that the right person is out there for us. Our hearts yearn to fall in love, but our minds insist its not possible, and we enter into a tug-of-war with ourselves. Its as if one part of us is screaming, Yes! I deserve a great relationship! while another part insists, Ill never find him or her. When our beliefs contradict our desires, we experience an inner conflict that not only paralyzes us, but can actually prevent us from recognizing the possibilities for love that exist all around us. ~ Arielle Ford
The style of a soul
"What's the matter with both of you, Ellsworth? Why such talk - over nothing at all? People's faces and first impressions don't mean a thing."
"That, my dear Kiki," he answered, his voice soft and distant, as if he were giving an answer, not to her, but to a thought of his own, "is one of our greatest common fallacies. There's nothing as significant as a human face. Nor as eloquent. We can never really know another person, except by our first glance at him. Because, in that glance, we know everything. Even though we're not always wise enough to unravel the knowledge. Have you ever thought about the style of a soul, Kiki?"
"The … what?"
"The style of a soul. Do you remember the famous philosopher who spoke of the style of a civilization? He called it 'style.' He said it was the nearest word he could find for it. He said that every civilization has its one basic principle, one single, supreme, determining conception, and every endeavor of men within that civilization is true, unconsciously and irrevocably, to that one principle. … I think, Kiki, that every human soul has a style of its own, also. Its one basic theme. You'll see it reflected in every thought, every act, every wish of that person. The one absolute, the one imperative in that living creature. Years of studying a man won't show it to you. His face will. You'd have to write volumes to describe a person. Think of his face. You need nothing else."
Ayn Rand
There is another way in which this idea of mercy and selfless charity can be put into practice; that is, by looking upon work as "worship" in case we believe in a Personal God. Here we give up all the fruits our work unto the Lord, and worshipping Him thus, we have no right to expect anything from man kind for the work we do. ~ Swami Vivekananda
I remember watching an old Dracula movie once with Alphonse and having him laugh himself sick at the sight of a vamp only a few days out of the grave supposedly raising another one.He'd been impossible for weeks afterwards,mercilessly teasing all the weaker vamps in court about the three-day-old baby that was more powerful than them. ~ Karen Chance
All those nights of sharing a bed
All those times he put an arm around me
All the things he's done to make my happy
...encouraging me to give Ty a chance
He must really love me if he'll watch me date another guy just to ensure I'm happy
But he's like my brother
And Ty is my boyfriend now
My dream boyfriend
The guy I lost my virginity to
What's scary?
I'm so hot for Ty
but Henry makes me feel whole
in a totally different sort of way
even if I've never considered jumping him
F***ety, F***, F*** ~ Miranda Kenneally
I'll take another stab at talking to her."
"If you can't find a way, get Cooper to do it. You know how he loves controlling things. I'm sure he'll want to help."
"True, but once he starts meddling, he won't stop. I don't need him giving me pointers for the rest of my relationship with Lark."
"Lark," my mother said, testing out the name. "She had such a sweet smile. I could look at that smile for the rest of my life. Yes, go kick fate in the balls and get me a daughter."
"You have a daughter."
"A new one, I meant. Preferably one who likes to visit more than Anna."
Grinning at the thought of my alpha chick sister, I finished my juice and stood up. "I'll focus on a first date then worry about getting you a more compliant daughter. ~ Bijou Hunter
To be fair, if we had married then, who knows what would have become of us? I doubt I would have liked your running about the country as a spy, leaving me alone for weeks at a time. And I daresay you would have had trouble concentrating on your work for worrying about me."
His grateful smile showed that he appreciated her attempt to mitigate his betrayal.
"Of course, later you could have…well…come after me. Once you established your business. While I was still un-betrothed. Why didn't you?"
"I don't suppose you would accept rampant idiocy as a reason?"
"I would…if I really thought it were the reason." When he stiffened, she added archly, "You aren't generally an idiot. Daft and a tad overbearing, yes, but not an idiot."
A sigh escaped him. He leaned past her to pull the curtain open just enough so he could keep an eye on the street.
When it looked as if he might not answer, she added, "Tristan thinks you didn't come after me because you were afraid that I couldn't love you."
He cast her a startled glance. "You told Tristan the truth about us?"
She winced. "And Lisette and Max. Sorry. Tristan sort of…forced it out of me."
"Well, that explains why Max and Lisette were willing to bring you here in the midst of such a crucial investigation. They've been pressing me for a long time to give you another chance. Because they thought you betrayed me."
Grabbing her hands, he gazed down at them with a haunted look. "And I suppose there's ~ Sabrina Jeffries
All this drinking and dancing and flirting," Mr. Kent said with a sigh, balancing a glass on the railing for me. "Dreadful business, isn't it?"
"Yes, I don't understand it," I mumbled, accepting the champagne as if it could magically transport me away. No, still here. What on earth was he getting at? Was he toying with me?
"That's just it. Perspective is a curious thing. One day, you see everything from one angle and you think you know what's important," he continued, looking out at the dancers. Then he turned to me, smiling wryly. "Then another day, from another angle, you see what's really important, and everything else just . . . melts away."
"I see," I said without meeting his eyes, hoping he'd be dissuaded. He wasn't. His hand slid across the railing and caught mine.
"I have never seen you here before. Are you one of Mrs. Shine's girls?" he asked. Seen you here before? Downstairs, the tempo of the violins and cellos quickened. As my blood boiled, I could barely hear my own thoughts, and the response left my lips compulsively.
"No."
"Excellent, then might I ask, who is your - "
"I'm sorry, I can't help you," I interrupted, hurrying away past the bar and the horrible paintings toward the stairs.
"Please, wait!" he called from behind, chasing after me. "What is your name?"
"Evelyn Wyndham," I said, giving him a false name. Dammit. Champagne and Mr. Kent did not mix wel ~ Tarun Shanker
There was a girl, and her uncle sold her. Put like that it seems so simple.
No man, proclaimed Donne, is an island, and he was wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived and then by some means or other, died. There. You may fill in the details from your own experience. As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes- forming patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There's not a chance you'll mistake one for another, after a minute's close inspection) but still unique.
Without individuals we see only numbers, a thousand dead, a hundred thousand dead, "casualties may rise to a million." With individual stories, the statistics become people- but even that is a lie, for the people continue to suffer in numbers that themselves are numbing and meaningless. Look, see the child's swollen, swollen belly and the flies that crawl at the corners of his eyes, this skeletal limbs: will it make it easier for you to know his name, his age, his dreams, his fears? To see him from the inside? And if it does, are we not doing a disservice to his sister ~ Neil Gaiman
Did you not look upon the world this morning and imagine it as the boy might see it? And did you not recognize the mist and the dew and the birdsong as elements not of a place or a time but of a spirit? And did you not envy the boy his spirit? For you know there can be no power over him who freely gives what another would take. Such a one has the capacity to love. Freely, naively, to say I do. ~ Jamie O'Neill
You act different around Kavinsky. Did you know that?"
I look up from sweeping the broken ornament. "No I don't."
"You don't act like you. You act like…like how all girls act around him. That's not you, Lara Jean."
Annoyed, I say, "I act the same as I always do. What would you know about it, Josh? You've barely ever even been around us." I crouch down and pick up a shard of glass.
"Be careful," Josh says. "Here, I'll do it." He stoops down next to me and reaches for another shard. "Ow!"
"You be careful!" I lean close to him and try to get a closer look at his finger. "Are you bleeding?"
He shakes his head. "I'm fine." And then he says, "You know what I don't get?"
"What?"
Josh stares at me, his cheeks a dull red. "Why you never said anything. If all that time you felt like that about me, why didn't you say anything?"
My whole body goes stiff. I wasn't expecting that. I'm not prepared. I swallow hard and say, "You were with Margot."
"I wasn't always with Margot. The stuff you wrote--you liked me before I ever liked her. Why didn't you just tell me?"
I let out a breath. "What does that even matter now?"
"It matters. You should have told me. You should have at least given me a chance. ~ Jenny Han
Passing on some useful or entertaining tidbit about another person is a sign of commitment. If you jeopardize your relationship with the subject of the gossip about him or her, you show that you value whom you're talking with more than whom you're talking about. Yet even more simply than that, we show people we value them by agreeing with them. The innocent urge to make friends and avoid giving offense has a profound influence on how we use gossip and the reputations that result from it. ~ John Whitfield
Hardly any one is able to see what is before him, just as it is in itself. He comes expecting one thing, he finds another thing, he sees through the veil of his preconception, he criticizes before he has apprehended, he condemns without allowing his instinct the chance of asserting itself. ~ Arthur Symons
Should I leave you two alone?" he asked, changing the subject.
"He's taken," I said, accepting the fact that forgiving himself was something Reyes didn't do. "Osh. By someone very special."
"And who might that be?"
This might be a little hard for him to swallow. Tact was definitely in order. Or I could just blurt it out and watch his expression go from content to disbelief to horror to a bristly, murderous kind of fury. I chose door number two. "He's destined to be with our daughter."
Reyes's expression slowly changed from content to disbelief to horror to a bristly, murderous kind of fury. "Oh, hell, no." He shot to his feet. "A Daeva? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Just like a dad.
"Yes, a Daeva. But I wouldn't dismiss him so offhandedly."
He whirled around and scowled. Not really at me. Just in general. "What do you mean?"
I pressed one corner of my mouth together in thought. "Okay, you know how I was the grim reaper all of my life, then suddenly I'm also this god from another dimension? And how you're the son of Satan all your life, then suddenly you're a god from this dimension? Who does that? Our lives are so weird. I think that maybe Osh is something else, too." I traced one of the dark lines on his face. "I think there's more than meets the eye. I see greatness in him, Reyes. I see a power beyond our imaginings. I see him giving his life for our daughter."
"Oh." He sat bac ~ Darynda Jones
We need to talk."
"I'm just – Look," I said, as he took a step toward me. "I'm just going to give Cee Cee a call and maybe we'll go to the beach or something, because I really … I just need a day off."Another step toward me. Now he was right in front of me.
"Especially," I said significantly, looking up at him, "from talking. That's what I especially need a day off from. Talking."
"Fine," he said. He reached up and cupped my face in both his hands. "We don't have to talk."And that's when he kissed me. On the lips. ~ Meg Cabot
She remained in this attitude, clearly inviting him to touch her.
Taking a position of advantage, he rested his right hand on her buttock. He considered a moment then raised his arm and brought his palm upon her, delivering a sharp spank. He felt the acuteness of it on his own skin. He gave her another, watching his hand in the mirror opposite, as it made contact.
The slap caused her to flinch, but her heard her sigh also: the timbre of which was now familiar to him. He paused, allowing the sensation of the sting to sink in before giving her more. She remained folded over for him, eager for more of his burning smacks upon her flesh. The peach of her cheeks rippled each time under the impact of his blows. ~ Emmanuelle De Maupassant
The man halted in front of Dylan, giving a considering hum as those honey-coloured eyes looked him over. A dozen little silver and gold rings and cuffs adorned the elf's ears. They glittered in the early light as the man tipped his head up.
Dylan straightened his back, resisting the urge to shuffle on the spot.
Something familiar lingered in the way the man's lips twisted. "You seemed rather less tall in the dark. No matter. What is it that they say in the army when handing over charge of you to another?" Tracker snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. I believe it is… your arse is mine. ~ Aldrea Alien
Another sketch-this one of Gabriel-hung on the all above the water cask. It swiveled gently on a single tack; or rather, the paper hung plump with gravity while the whole ship swiveled around it. She'd captured Gabriel's toothy, inoffensive grin and the devilish gleam in his eye, and the effect of the paper's constant, subtle rocking was to make the image come alive. Softly, strangely-the portrait of Gabriel was laughing.
Gray shook himself. Laughing at him, most likely.
"She comes here?" he asked.
"Aye. That she does. Every morning." Gabriel straightened his hunched spine and adopted a cultured tone. "We take tea."
Gray frowned. One more place he'd have to avoid-the galley at morning teatime. "See to it that she eats something. Slip more milk in her tea. Make her treacle duff every day, if she cares for it. Are you giving her a daily ration of lime juice?"
Gabriel smiled down at the salt pork. "Yes, sir."
"Double it."
"Yes, sir." Gabriel's grin widened.
"And stop grinning, damn it."
"Yes, sir." The old man practically sang the words as he pounded away at the meat. "Never thought I'd live to see the day. ~ Tessa Dare
A gift was what another person thought of you, and over the years he'd come to understand, by consensus, that his children saw him as someone who wore a tie to work, used power tools, played golf and drank scotch, which, while all true, seemed a superficial view of him. And yet when asked directly, he couldn't say what he wanted. Nothing. ~ Stewart O'Nan
I thought you were dead," he said, his voice a bare rasp while Samual moved from his hands to his feet. It didn't seem to hurt as much - at a guess there weren't a lot of nerves left. He jumped into a burning building barefoot to save me.
"Stupid," I said, blinking hard. "As if I'd die without taking you with me."
He smiled faintly. "Was it Mary Jo who betrayed us at the bowling alley?
" he asked, proven he hadn't been entirely unaware of what had been going on while he was changing.
Both of us ignore the pained sound Mary Jo made.
"I'll ask her later."
He nodded. "Better - " He quit talking, and his pupils contracted despite the morphine he'd been giving.
He arched up and twisted so he could press his face into my belly, making a noise somewhere between a screem and a growel. I held him there well Samual snared at Ben and Mary Jo to hold him still.
Another shot of morphine, and Samuel moved us all around. Ben across Adams legs - "And don't think I haven't noticed your hands, Ben. You're next up." Mary Jo on one arm, just above the elbow. Me on the other.
"Can you hold him?" asked Samuel.
"Not if he doesn't want me to," I told him.
"It'll be alright," Adam said. "I won't hurt her."
Samuel smiled tightly. "No, I didn't think you would."
When Samuel started on Adams face with the brush, I had to close my eyes.
"Shh," Adam comforted me. "It'll be over soon. ~ Patricia Briggs
I, too, like to read. Once a month, I go to the local branch. For myself, I pick a novel and, for Bruno, with his cataracts, a book on tape. At first Bruno was doubtful. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he said, looking at the box set of "Anna Karenina" as if I'd handed him an enema. And yet. A day or two later I was going about my business when a voice from above bellowed, ALL HAPPY FAMILIES RESEMBLE ONE ANOTHER, nearly giving me a conniption. After that, he listened to whatever I'd brought him at top volume and then returned it to me without comment. One afternoon, I came back from the library with Ulysses. For a month straight he listened. He had a habit of pressing the stop button and rewinding when he hadn't fully grasped something. INELUCTABLE MODALITY OF THE VISIBLE: AT LEAST THAT. Pause, rewind. INELUCTABLE MODALITY OF THE. Pause, rewind. INELUCTABLE MODALITY. Pause. INELUCT. ~ Nicole Krauss
I was aware of the time slipping away so quickly and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with him like this again- openly, the Walls between us gone for once. His words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn't waste one minute I had with him. ~ Stephenie Meyer
Thank you," Archer said again. She kept walking, listening for any sign of him moving to attack her back. "I knew you were a good woman," he said. Celaena halted. Turned. There was a hint of triumph in his eyes. He thought he'd won. Manipulated her again. One foot after another, she walked back toward him with predatory calmness. She stopped, close enough to kiss him. He gave her a wary smile. "No, I'm not," she said. Then she moved, too fast for him to stand a chance. Archer's eyes went wide as she slid the dagger home, jamming it up into his heart. He sagged in her arms. She brought her mouth to his ear, holding him upright with one hand and twisting the dagger with the other as she whispered, "But Nehemia was. ~ Sarah J. Maas
