Going Back In The Past Quotes

Hope is what keeps me searching for Quinton - what makes me determined to find him and help him. Even when I know that what awaits me in the future is going to be hard, that it'll more than likely bring up painful memories of the things I did in my past. But I know it's something I have to do. Looking back, I realize that Quinton entered my life for a reason. ~ Jessica Sorensen

Data from ice core samples taken from glaciers and ice caps have allowed scientists to provide fairly precise global average temperature estimates going back several hundred thousand years. These data show that the stability of Earth's climate over the past 10,000 years is highly atypical. Most of human and hominid history over the past two million years is punctuated by sharp swings in climate and by more than twenty ice ages. In mere decades, average temperature sometimes changed by half the difference between today's conditions and an ice age, with some continental shelf coastlines invading by miles.32 ~ Jim Rubens

You may have had a thousand bad breaks, but don't use that as an excuse to be negative. One good break can make up for all the bad breaks. One touch of God's favor can catapult you further than you ever imagined. You may feel like you're getting behind. You're not where you thought you would be in life. Don't worry; God knows how to make up for lost time. He knows how to accelerate things.
Now you've got to do your part. Shake off a negative mentality. Shake off pessimism, discouragement, and self-pity. Get your fire back. Life is passing you by. You don't have time to waste being negative. You have a destiny to fulfill. You have an assignment to accomplish. What's in your future is greater than anything you've seen in your past. We need to get rid of Murphy's Law and live by just the opposite. Your attitude should be: "If anything can go right today, it will go right and happen to me at the best time. Nothing will be as difficult as it looks. Nothing will take as long as it seems."
Why? You are highly favored. Almighty God is breathing in your direction. You've been anointed, equipped, and empowered.
Some may claim I'm just getting hopes up, and trying to get people to be more positive. It's true, and here's why: God is a positive God. There is nothing negative about Him. If you're negative, sour, or pessimistic, you're going against the flow of God.
When we fly from Houston to Los Angeles, it always takes thirty minutes longer to get there than it does ~ Joel Osteen

What's going on?"
He looked up at me, a scowl marring his cherubic features. "Bloody handcuffs - made of steel, which has too much iron, which means I can't go anywhere."
"Well, yes, clearly, but what's going on?"
"Search me. Oh wait, they already did. You know, I take back everything I said about you being my only friend. I don't like you at all. No amount of fun makes up for all the pain and annoyance you introduce into my life."
"Right back at 'cha," I muttered, walking past him. I wished I had Tasey, but then again, being armed right now was probably a bad idea. I wondered why no one was watching Jack, but that was quickly answered when I walked past the corner of the unattached garage and had a view of the wraparound porch. Arianna stood there, continuing her verbal abuse, surrounded by a dozen uniformed men.
I shouldn't have found the sight amusing, but she had all of them fighting with one another. Clearly her vampire powers of compelling people were in full force, but since she could only push someone in a direction they were inclined to go anyway, the only police she could affect were those that felt some sympathy for her. Those ones were passionately arguing with the others to leave Arianna the creatively-cuss-laden-adjectives alone. ~ Kiersten White

It all comes back. Perhaps it is difficult to see the value in having one's self back in that kind of mood, but I do see it; I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were. I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be; one of them, a seventeen-year-old, presents little threat, although it would be of some interest to me to know again what it feels like to sit on a river levee drinking vodka-and-orange-juice and listening to Les Paul and Mary Ford and their echoes sing "How High the Moon" on the car radio. (You see I still have the scenes, but I no longer perceive myself among those present, no longer could ever improvise the dialogue.) The other one, a twenty-three-year-old, bothers me more. She was always a good deal of trouble, and I suspect she will reappear when I least want to see her, skirts too long, shy to the point of aggravation, always the injured party, full of recriminations and little hurts and stories I do not want to hear again, at once saddening me and angering me with her vulnerability an ~ Joan Didion

Take it easy, friend," siad Peter, regaining his balance, quickly understanding the condition Henry was in.
"Friend? You left us. In the caves." Henry's muscles tensed.
Peter stepped back cautiously. Henry didn't look like himself.
"Seems someone can't hold his drink," Peter said. He didn't go further, sensing then that Valerie might be thinking of her father.
"And now," Henry continued on his own track, stepping closer to meet him, the smell of alcohol on his breath, "my father, too is dead."
Valerie moved to Henry. "Please, don't do this," she said, stepping in. "It's not worth it."
Henry pushed past her, not realizing his own weight. The force knocked her back. Peter grabbed Henry's arm and twisted it. Overreacting, Henry reared back his fist and landed a punch in the hollow of Peter's eye. The crowd laughed as Peter fell hard to the ground.
Henry scrambled on top him, held him by the collar, forced Peter to face him as he'd never done. He looked into the eyes of the man he wanted to blame for his parents' deaths, because it was a shelter from the terrible thought that everything could be lost to a simple slip of fate. "You filth," he spat out.
This really got the villagers going. But Peter didn't laugh. He pulled a knife from his boot and leapt up, thrusting it viciously in Henry's face.
"Keep your hands off her or I'll cut them off! ~ Sarah Blakley-Cartwright

He took a step forward and laid one big hand on her shoulder. She felt the heat of him against her bare skin. That was one way to get her mind off her security.
"I'm sorry I freaked you out. This is a safe neighborhood. I really wouldn't worry."
Ally nodded, having trouble coming up with a coherent response while he touched her.
"You wanta stay for a little while?" It wasn't a hard question, but he hesitated long enough that she wondered what was going on inside his head. Finally, he let out a sigh.
"Yeah, I do want to stay which is why I'm going to go."
"I don't understand." She did, however take note that his hand had remained on her shoulder. For a man intent on going, he hadn't made a move to leave yet.
"I'm afraid if I stay, I won't want to leave."
Ally swallowed hard and leaned a bit closer to him. "Then, don't leave." She saw his chest rise and fall, watched his focus drop to her lips, before he brought it back up to her eyes.
"You don't do one-night stands."
"I said I hadn't in the past; not that I was opposed to having one... with you."
"This can't be anything more than tonight."
Pulse racing, Ally nodded. "I know. ~ Cat Johnson

I hurried to the end of the Iron Wing and opened the door.
Where I found myself face-to-face with Anne-Whatever-Whatever herself.
I pulled my hand back to punch her. "What are you - " she started, when her eyes went wide and she collapsed on the ground, revealing Tasey in the hands of a teen boy with blond curls, blue eyes, dimples, and the most impish smile I'd ever seen.
"Hey-oh, did you miss me?" Jack asked.
Since my hand was already pulled back, I went ahead and punched Jack.
"Bloody - What was that for?" he asked, hand over his nose.
I stepped past the unconscious body of Anne-Whatever-Whatever lying on the white tile floor and snatched Tasey from the blond nightmare. "Are you kidding me? The last time I saw you, you left me for read."
"Well, yeah, there was that. But I thought rescuing you from IPCA might make up for it a bit."
"I'm in the middle of rescuing myself," I snapped.
"And how were you planning on getting past her?" He nudged the prone body with a none-too-gentle foot.
"Improvising."
"And once you were past her, you were going to get out of here . . . how?"
"Shut up!" I turned and tried to stomp down the hall, then cringed in pain from my ankle. Okay, no dramatic stomping. I opted for emphatic limping instead, which unfortunately allowed Jack to catch up quite quickly. ~ Kiersten White

Context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one's life. I mean, lets face it:when you're eating simple barbecue under a palm tree, and you feel sand between your toes, samba music is playing softly in the backgroud, waves are lapping at the shore a few yards off, a gentle breeze is cooling the sweat on the back of your neck at the hairline, and looking across the table, past the column of empty Red Stripes at the dreamy expression on your companion's face, you realize that in half an hour you're proably going to be having sex on clean white hotel sheets, that grilled chicken leg suddenly tastes a hell of a lot better ~ Anthony Bourdain

I still remember the day I got my first calculator

Teacher: All right, children, welcome to fourth grade math. Everyone take a calculator out of the bin.
Me: What are these?
Teacher: From now on we'll be using calculators.
Me: What do these things do?
Teacher: Simple operations, like multiplication and division.
Me: You mean this device just...does them? By itself?
Teacher: Yes. You enter in the problem and press equal.
Me: You...you knew about this machine all along, didn't you? This whole time, while we were going through this...this charade with the pencils and the line paper and the stupid multiplication tables!...I'm sorry for shouting...It's just...I'm a little blown away.
Teacher: Okay, everyone, today we're going to go over some word problems.
Me: What the hell else do you have back there? A magical pen that writes book reports by itself? Some kind of automatic social studies worksheet that...that fills itself out? What the hell is going on?
Teacher: If a farmer farms five acres of land a day--
Me: So that's it, then. The past three years have been a total farce. All this time I've been thinking, "Well, this is pretty hard and frustrating but I guess these are useful skills to have." Meanwhile, there was a whole bin of these things in your desk. We could have jumped straight to graphing. Unless, of course, there's some kind of graphing calculator!
Teacher: There is. You get one in nint ~ Simon Rich

I gave myself a few days back at home before going in to see my clients again. It was hard at first. And it stayed hard for months. To sit there quietly, hands folded in my lap, listening to them elaborate on their troubles. An old impatience returned, the kind I had experienced when I started as a therapist: the urge to search for the moments in their past that contained the key to liberating them in the present. That's why I used to do, press for more and more family history, excusing it to myself as interest and attention, when really it was a distraction from the suffering in front of me, a desire to find the passage of experience that would explain their pain away. What good plot didn't offer that? A meaning sufficient to account for the events. But as time went on, I realized that my clients' lives weren't works of art. They told themselves stories all the time, but the stories trailed off, got forgetting, and then repeated - distractions themselves, oftentimes, from the feelings they were somewhere taught would damn them or wreck them.

It had taken me a long time to see how strong this desire for an answer was. I had to train myself to notice how it arose, and how to put it aside. Because if all I did was scour what a person said to me each week for clues, I wouldn't do her much good. I had to give up my own need to cure if I was going to stand any chance of shepherding her toward acceptance of who she already was.

I never did that for Michael. I ~ Adam Haslett

That ride was perhaps the most wonderful thing that happened to them in Narnia. Have you ever had a gallop on a horse? Think of that; and then take away the heavy noise of the hoofs and the jingle of the bit and imagine instead the almost noiseless padding of the great paws. Then imagine instead of the black or grey or chestnut back of the horse the soft roughness of golden fur, and the mane flying back in the wind. And then imagine you are going about twice as fast as the fastest racehorse. But this is a mount that doesn't need to be guided and never grows tired. He rushes on and on, never missing his footing, never hesitating, threading his way with perfect skill between tree trunks, jumping over bush and briar and the smaller streams, wading the larger, swimming the largest of all. And you are riding not on a road nor in a park nor even on the downs, but right across Narnia, in spring, down solemn avenues of beech and across sunny glades of oak, through wild orchards of snow-white cherry trees, past roaring waterfalls and mossy rocks and echoing caverns, up windy slopes alight with gorse bushes, and across the shoulders of heathery mountains and along giddy ridges and down, down, down again into wild valleys and out into acres of blue flowers. ~ C.S. Lewis

I've got blisters and muscle cramps in places not meant for the touch of anything but a beautiful woman," Max spat back sullenly. "I've bitten my tongue so many times in the past three days that I whistle in musical chords when I exhale. And the smell isn't ever going to come out of my armor, I just know it. ~ Jim Butcher

In fashion, there's a lack of strong male images. And there's a huge lack of strong African American images. I noticed over the past thirteen years, Ralph and those guys have used guys that looked similar to me. And I was happy for those guys, but eventually I said, 'Enough is enough, I'm just going to go in and take my job back.' ~ Tyson Beckford

I'll get 'em." Ben tried to walk back inside, but Piri blocked his way.
"NO!" she screamed. "Never turn your back when you leave the house. Very, very bad luck."
"It's fine, Pirir," Ben assured her. "I just want to grab the cookies."
"I'll get them. You come here and look in the mirror. Give a dirty look, then everything's better."
"I would, I swear, you know I would, Piri, but we're kind of in a rush. I'll just grab the cookies."
As Ben pushed past her and went inside, Mom hugged both Rayna and Sage, who apparently was going to be like a son-in-law to her. Ben loped out with the butterhorns, and everyone climbed into Rayna's car, then Mom and I gave each other one last hug. ~ Hilary Duff

Neither a land nor a people ever starts over clean. Country is compact of all its past disasters and strokes of luck–of flood and drouth, of the caprices of glaciers and sea winds, of misuse and disuse and greed and ignorance and wisdom–and though you may doze away the cedar and coax back the bluestem and mesquite grass and side-oats grama, you're not going to manhandle it into anything entirely new. It's limited by what it has been, by what's happened to it. And a people, until that time when it's uprooted and scattered and so mixed with other peoples that it has in fact perished, is much the same in this as land. It inherits. ~ John Graves

A Farewell For a while I shall still be leaving, Looking back at you as you slip away Into the magic islands of the mind. But for a while now all alive, believing That in a single poignant hour We did say all that we could ever say In a great flowing out of radiant power. It was like seeing and then going blind. After a while we shall be cut in two Between real islands where you live And a far shore where I'll no longer keep The haunting image of your eyes, and you, As pupils widen, widen to deep black And I am able neither to love or grieve Between fulfillment and heartbreak. The time will come when I can go to sleep. But for a while still, centered at last, Contemplate a brief amazing union, Then watch you leave and then let you go. I must not go back to the murderous past Nor force a passage through to some safe landing, But float upon this moment of communion Entranced, astonished by pure understanding - Passionate love dissolved like summer snow. ~ May Sarton

I'm unaccustomed to being cooped up all day-I really must insist that you permit me to enjoy a short walk."
"Not on your life," Fletcher growled.
From the sound, Breckenridge realized the group had moved closer to the tap.
"You don't need to think you're going to give us the slip so easily," Fletcher said again.
"My dear good man"-Heather with her nose in the air; Breckenridge could tell by her tone-"just where in this landscape of empty fields do you imagine I'm going to slip to?"
Cobbins opined that she might try to steal a horse and ride off.
"Oh,yes-in a round gown and evening slippers," Heather jeered. "But I wasn't suggesting you let me ramble on my own-Martha can come with me."
That was Martha's cue to enter the fray, but Heather stuck to her guns, refusing to back down through the ensuing, increasingly heated verbal stoush.
Until Fletcher intervened, aggravated frustration resonating in his voice. "Look you-we're under strict orders to keep you safe, not to let you wander off to fall prey to the first shiftless rake who rides past and takes a fancy to you."
Silence reigned for half a minute, then Heather audibly sniffed. "I'll have you know that shiftless rakes know better than to take a fancy to me."
Not true, Breckenridge thought, but that wasn't the startling information contained in Fletcher's outburst. "Come on, Heather-follow up."
As if she'd heard his muttered exhortation, she blithely swept on. "But if ra ~ Stephanie Laurens

Like a child, I close my eyes as if they can't see me either. The fire from the kiss broadcasts itself all over me in the form of a full-body blush.
Galen laughs. "There it is," he says, running his thumb over my bottom lip. "That is my favorite color. Wow."
I'm going to kill him. "Galen. Please. Come. With. Me," I coke out. Gliding past him, my bare feet slap against the tile until I'm stomping on carpet in the hallway, then up the stairs.
I can tell by the prickles on my skin that he's following like a good dead fish. As I reach the ladder to the uppermost level, I nod to him to keep following before I hoist myself up. Pacing the room until he gets through the trap door, I count more Mississipis than I've ever counted in my whole life.
He closes the door and locks it shut but makes no move to come closer. Still, for a person who's about to die, he seems more amused than he should. I point my finger at him, but can't decide what to accuse him of first, so I put it back down.
After several moments of this, he breaks the silence. "Emma, calm down."
"Don't tell me what to do, Highness." I dare him with my eyes to call me "boo."
Instead of the apology I'm looking for, his eyes tell me he's considering kissing me again, right now.
Which is meant to distract me. Tearing my gaze from his mouth, I stride to the window seat and move the mountains of pillows on it. Making myself comfortable, I lean my head against the window. He knows as well as ~ Anna Banks

THE MEETING GOT under way as soon as Marshall walked into the room. He looked dignified and serious, and he was wearing a dark suit. There were three men at the conference table, across from him, from a company in Boston that was not quite as large as UPI, but very close, and its growth rate had been remarkable in the past two years. It was well on its way to becoming the largest corporation in the country and outstripping all its competitors. And all it needed now was a powerful leader at its helm. And everyone at its base in Boston had agreed that Marshall Weston was the one. They had no idea if he would consider leaving UPI, and they doubted it after fifteen years, but they had come to California to try and convince him to do it. And he was listening raptly to what they said. It was their second meeting in two days, and they were going back to Boston that night. Marshall ~ Danielle Steel

Now there is no taboo; everything is allowed. But one cannot simply go back to tonality, it's not the way. We must find a way of neither going back nor continuing the avant-garde. I am in a prison: one wall is the avant-garde, the other wall is the past, and I want to escape. ~ Gyorgy Ligeti

These past years have been really transitional for me in every aspect - personally, emotionally and professionally. I was excited and nervous and anxious because I literally had nothing to fall back on. This is my own thing, it's all me. I spent a year working on the record and really wanted to spend time on what it was going to represent and how it was going to represent me in this time in my life ~ Selena Gomez

I don't know what to do with you," he said, his voice growing curt with anger again. "Deceitful little minx. I'm of half a mind to put you to work, milking the goats. But that's out of the question with these hands, now isn't it?" He curled and uncurled her fingers a few times, testing the bandage. "I'll tell Stubb to change this twice a day. Can't risk the wound going septic. And don't use your hands for a few days, at least."
"Don't use my hands? I suppose you're going to spoon-feed me, then? Dress me? Bathe me?"
He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. "Don't use your hands much." His eyes snapped open. "None of that sketching, for instance."
She jerked her hands out of his grip. "You could slice off my hands and toss them to the sharks, and I wouldn't stop sketching. I'd hold the pencil with my teeth if I had to. I'm an artist."
"Really. I thought you were a governess."
"Well, yes. I'm that, too."
He packed up the medical kit, jamming items back in the box with barely controlled fury. "Then start behaving like one. A governess knows her place. Speaks when spoken to. Stays out of the damn way."
Rising to his feet, he opened the drawer and threw the box back in. "From this point forward, you're not to touch a sail, a pin, a rope, or so much as a damned splinter on this vessel. You're not to speak to crewmen when they're on watch. You're forbidden to wander past the foremast, and you need to steer clear of the helm, as well."
"So that le ~ Tessa Dare

Alone of all the creatures in the world, trolls believe that all living things go through Time backwards. 'If the past is visible and the future is hidden,' they say, 'then it means you must be facing the wrong way. Everything alive is going through life back to front. ~ Terry Pratchett

I turn and I walk my tray to the conveyor and I drop it on the belt and I start to walk out of the Dining Hall. As I head through the Glass Corridor separating the men and women, I see Lilly sitting alone at a table. She looks up at me and she smiles and our eyes meet and I smile back. She looks down and I stop walking and I stare at her. She looks up and she smiles again. She is as beautiful a girl as I have ever seen. Her eyes, her lips, her teeth, her hair, her skin. The black circles beneath her eyes, the scars I can see on her wrists, the ridiculous clothes she wears that are ten sizes too big, the sense of sadness and pain she wears that is even bigger. I stand and I stare at her, just stare stare stare. Men walk past me and other women look at me and LIlly doesn't understand what I'm doing or why I'm doing it and she's blushing and it's beautiful. I stand there and I stare. I stare because I know where I am going I'm not going to see any beauty. They don't sell crack in Mansions or fancy Department Stores and you don't go to luxury Hotels or Country Clubs to smoke it. Strong, cheap liquor isn't served in five-star Restaurants or Champagne Bars and it isn't sold in gourmet Groceries or boutique Liquor stores. I'm going to go to a horrible place in a horrible neighborhood run by horrible people providing product for the worst Society has to offer. There will be no beauty there, nothing even resembling beauty. There will be Dealers and Addicts and Criminals and Whores and ~ James Frey

My eyes burn. My face flushes. Suddenly I realize that for the past two months I have been completely delusional, that Nikki is never coming back and apart time is going to last forever.
Nikki.
Is.
Never.
Coming.
Back.
Never.
I want to hit Tiffany.
I want to pound her face with my knuckles until the bones in my hands crumble and Tiffany is completely unrecognizable, until she no longer has a face from which she can spew lies. ~ Matthew Quick

Have you forgotten yet?...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same--and War's a bloody game...

Have you forgotten yet?...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.

Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench--
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, 'Is it all going to happen again?'

Do you remember that hour of din before the attack--
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads--those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?

Have you forgotten yet?...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget. ~ Siegfried Sassoon

Swish, the net sounded like the blast of a cannon, signaling the game was tied at 64. Dave then saw the second shot in his mind before even going into his pre-shot routine. The ball tickled the front rim, brushed against the backboard, and then dropped through the net. The home crowd erupted as Dave backpedaled toward the opposing rim. Central High attempted a last-second shot that fell short into Breslin's hands. The fans rushed onto the floor as the number two train came roaring into the station, bringing Dave back from his glorious past back into the oppressive heat of the present. ~ Phil Wohl

Maybe it's living back at my parents' house, or perhaps going back to school, but somehow, surrounded by all these reminders from my past, in the middle of all the stuff I grew up with, with the people I grew up around, I think I'm finally beginning to understand what 'home' means. ~ Matt Dunn

You hear stories about people who've committed bad crimes. Suddenly they decide to confess it all, turn themselves in to the authorities, get everything off their conscience-the burden, the harm, the shame, the self-hatred. They make a clean breast of things before going off to jail. As if guilt was the worst thing in the world to them. I'm willing to say now that guilt has less to do with it than you might think. Rather, the intolerable problem is of everything suddenly being so confused: the clear path back to the past being cluttered and unfollowable; how the person once felt being now completely changed from how he feels today. And time itself: how the hours of the day and night advance so oddly-first fast, then hardly passing at all. Then the future becoming as confused and impenetrable as the past itself. What a person becomes in such a situation is paralyzed-caught in one long, sustained, intolerable present. Who wouldn't want to stop that-if he could? Make the present give way to almost any future at all. Who wouldn't admit everything just to gain release from the terrible present? I would. Only a saint wouldn't. ~ Richard Ford

There is no going back. Study the past to know why, not what, and from the why, dream and do. There is no shortcut to creation. There may also be no profit in it. ~ Elizabeth Ann Coleman

The book begins and ends with the visits to give the impression of a tunnel into their ancestors and family history. I believe in going backwards into the past - I felt I was digging a tunnel back to the past. ~ Anita Desai

And what am I? I'm forever stuck in a nonexistent place where no time passes and I do so much and learn so much but I don't grow. I'm still teenage me wanting more. Wanting less. Wanting anything and everything and I think I should grow up now. Grow out of childish anxiety and sorrows for all things past and everyone has moved on from schools and neighbourhoods and I moved first and swore the loudest on never coming back but now I dream about all things past. Going back. How do you transition from being a lost teenager, to one of those calm and serene souls of integrity and certainty? Because that's what I must do, now, soon. Do others feel left behind too, or is it just me? Like the train left with everyone on it and I'm still standing on the platform trying to decide if I should watch the sky for another hour or go change my ticket. Maybe sometimes you need to just close your eyes and jump on the train without feeling ready, and grow your steady breath on the way. I think sometimes you don't know how much you're capable of until you're forced to grow into it. ~ Charlotte Eriksson

One day she marched around the side of the house and confronted me. "I've seen you out there every day for the past week, and everyone knows you stare at me all day in school, if you have something you want to say to me why don't you just say it to my face instead of sneaking around like a crook?" I considered my options. Either I could run away and never go back to school again, maybe even leave the country as a stowaway on a ship bound for Australia. Or I could risk everything and confess to her. The answer was obvious: I was going to Australia. I opened my mouth to say goodbye forever. And yet. What I said was: I want to know if you'll marry me. ~ Nicole Krauss

One of my favorite activities when I was a teenager was going riding on the back of a horse with a friend of mine. Because we were rather high up, I could see into peoples' lighted windows as we trotted past. Questions would rise up inside: Who lives there? Are they happy? What are they doing? Any dogs or cats in sight? ~ Ann Turner

Personally, I've come to understand that I haven't been on a journey to give my house a coffee enema and make it whistle-clean from top to bottom. I take way too much joy in rediscovering all those things that I've been collecting since I was a kid, always searching for the things that felt "real"--things that felt genuine, had stories.

I shouldn't have to give up my love of going through old boxes and making discoveries of things I forgot existed or imagined must have been given away years ago, as if I've sent a care package to myself from some distant past I only half-remember. Suddenly, surprisingly, a box full of memories will bring it all back into sharp focus. ~ Eve O. Schaub

God had told the survivors of Sodom and Gomorrah not to look back after they'd been rescued from death and destruction, and if Jo's family continued to gaze into the past, they were going to become stuck in place like pillars of salt, too. ~ Lynn Austin

Vormurtos leaned on the frame with his arms crossed, and failed to move aside.

At Miles's polite, "Excuse us, please," Vormurtos pursed his lips in exaggerated irony.

"Why not? Everyone else has. It seems if you are Vorkosigan enough, you can even get away with murder."

Ekaterin stiffened unhappily. Miles hesitated a fractional moment, considering responses: explanation, outrage, protest? Argument in a hallway with a half-potted fool? No. I am Aral Vorkosigan's son, after all. Instead, he stared up unblinkingly, and breathed, "So if you truly believe that, why are you standing in my way?"

Vormurtos's inebriated sneer drained away, to be replaced by a belated wariness. With an effort at insouciance that he did not quite bring off, he unfolded himself, and opened his hand to wave the couple past. When Miles bared his teeth in an edged smile, he backed up an extra and involuntary step. Miles shifted Ekaterin to his other side and strode past without looking back.

Ekaterin glanced over her shoulder once, as they made their way down the corridor. In a tone of dispassionate observation, she murmured, "He's melted. You know, your sense of humor is going to get you into deep trouble someday."

"Belike," Miles sighed. ~ Lois McMaster Bujold

What happened?" Dallas asked immediately, his hand reaching out toward Louie. I didn't miss how Lou took his hand instantly.

"She called me a brat," Louie blurted out, his other little hand coming up to meet with the one already clutching our neighbor's.

I blinked and told myself I was not going to look at Christy until I had the full story.

"Why?" Dallas was the one who asked.

"He spilled some of his hot chocolate on her purse," it was Josh who explained. "He said sorry, but she called him a brat. I told her not to talk to my brother like that, and she told me I should have learned to respect my elders."

For the second time around this woman, I went to ten. Straight through ten, past Go, and collected two hundred dollars.

"I tried to wipe it up," Louie offered, those big blue eyes going back and forth between Dallas and me for support.

"You should teach these boys to watch where they're going," Christy piped up, taking a step back.

Be an adult. Be a role model, I tried telling myself. "It was an accident," I choked out. "He said he was sorry… and your purse is leather and black, and it'll be fine," I managed to grind out like this whole thirty-second conversation was jabbing me in the kidneys with sharp knives.

"I'd like an apology," the woman, who had gotten me suspended and made me cry, added quickly.

I stared at her long face. "For what?"

"From Josh, fo ~ Mariana Zapata

The heartwood," Rob murmured, looking at me. "You wanted to marry me in the heart of Major Oak." I beamed at him grateful that he understood. "And Scar," he whispered. I leaned in close. "Are you wearing knives to our wedding?" Nodding, I laughed, telling him, "I was going to get you here one way or another, Hood."
He laughed, a bright, merry sound. Standing in the heart of the tree, he reached again for my hand, fingers sliding over mine. Touching his hand, a rope of lightening lashed round my fingers, like it seared us together. Now, and for always. His fingers moved on mine, rubbing over my hand before capturing it tight and turning me to the priest.
The priest looked over his shoulder, watching as the sun began to dip. He led us in prayer, he asked me to speak the same words I'd spoken not long past to Gisbourne, but that whole thing felt like a bad dream, like I were waking and it were fading and gone for good. "Lady Scarlet." he asked me with a smile, "known to some as Lady Marian of Huntingdon, will thou have this lord to thy wedded husband, will thou love him and honour him, keep him and obey him, in health and in sickness, as a wife should a husband, forsaking all others on account of him, so long as ye both shall live?"
I looked at Robin, tears burning in my eyes. "I will," I promised. "I will, always."
Rob's face were beaming back at me, his ocean eyes shimmering bright. The priest smiled.
"Robin of Locksley, will thou have this lady to thy ~ A.C. Gaughen

Nick tugged her head back, his tormented gaze raking over her face. His trembling fingertips traced the line of her cheek and jaw. "My God. Lottie…" As his panicked exploration continued, he discovered the bruises on her throat, and he uttered a cry of fury. "Holy hell! Your neck. He dared to… I'm going to slaughter that bastard - "
Lottie placed her fingers over his mouth. "I'm all right," she said gently. Feeling the way his large body shook, she drew her hand over his chest in a calming stroke. After the traumatic events of the past hours, it was so wonderful to be with him that her lips curved in a wobbly smile. She gazed into his dusty, sweat-streaked face with concern. "In fact, I believe I may be in better condition than you, my darling."
A primitive groan came from his throat, and he clutched her with his right arm, bending over her hungrily. "I love you," he said in a low, shaken voice. "I love you so much, Lottie." His lips covered hers in a fiercely ardent kiss.
Clearly he was too unsettled to recall that there were others in the room. Lottie turned her face away with a muffled laugh. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Not here, darling. Later, with more privacy, we can - " She was silenced as Nick seized her mouth once more. Suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall by six feet of aroused, overwrought male. Realizing that there was no hope of subduing him, Lottie stroked his broad back in an effort to soothe him. He possessed her with ~ Lisa Kleypas

It's hard to look back on your life and point to one event–one moment–that changed everything and set you on the path that made you…you. That only happens in movies. Most people's lives are a series of millions of messy little moments strung together adding up to a messy little life. But sometimes, you can look back and see a pattern forming… see a clear path cutting through the mess.
It makes you wonder, do we even have a choice at all? Or was that path going to form no matter what we did?
Yeah, it's easy to look back and see the pattern. It's easy to second-guess every decision you made and figure out what you would've done differently. But none of that much matters now. It's all in the past. Can't waste time thinking about who i was, who i could've been. All that matters now is who i am. ~ Jeff Lemire

If you sit back & spend too much time feeling good about what you did in the past, you're going to come up short next time ~ Bill Belichick

No one but she had realized that the ballroom bore a rather startling resemblance to the gardens at Charise Dumont's country house, and that the arbor at the side, with its trellised entrance, was a virtual replica of the place where she and Ian had first waltzed that long-ago night.
Across the room, the vicar was standing with Jake Wiley, Lucinda, and the Duke of Stanhope, and he raised his glass to her. Elizabeth smiled and nodded back. Jake Wiley watched the silent communication and beamed upon his little group of companions. "Exquisite bride, isn't she?" he pronounced, not for the first time. For the past half-hour, the three men had been merrily congratulating themselves on their individual roles in bringing this marriage about, and the consumption of spirits was beginning to show in Duncan and Jake's increasingly gregarious behavior.
"Absolutely exquisite," Duncan agreed.
"She'll make Ian an excellent wife," said the duke. "We've done well, gentlemen," he added, lifting his glass in yet another congratulatory toast to his companions. "To you, Duncan," he said with a bow, "for making Ian see the light."
"To you, Edward," said the vicar to the duke, "for forcing society to accept them." Turning to Jake, he added, "And to you, old friend, for insisting on going to the village for the servingwomen and bringing old Attila and Miss Throckmorton-Jones with you."
That toast belatedly called to mind the silent duenna who was standing stiffly beside them, ~ Judith McNaught

The house smelled like fireplace kindling, and hot water in old brass pipes - like metal melting into wood and becoming something all its own. It smelled like his childhood. Like chaos and terror and oatmeal cookies and lamb stew, and nighttime in front of that drafty front window. And the smell of it brought back thoughts, long past, about escaping from inside the walls and evoked the helplessness of every board that kept the place upright. ~ Melodie Ramone

The first thing you notice about New Orleans are the burying grounds - the cemeteries - and they're a cold proposition, one of the best things there are here. Going by, you try to be as quiet as possible, better to let them sleep. Greek, Roman, sepulchres- palatial mausoleums made to order, phantomesque, signs and symbols of hidden decay - ghosts of women and men who have sinned and who've died and are now living in tombs. The past doesn't pass away so quickly here. You could be dead for a long time.

The ghosts race towards the light, you can almost hear the heavy breathing spirits, all determined to get somewhere. New Orleans, unlike a lot of those places you go back to and that don't have the magic anymore, still has got it. Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there's a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There's something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can't see it, but you know it's here. Somebody is always sinking. Everyone seems to be from some very old Southern families. Either that or a foreigner. I like the way it is.

There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better. There's a thousand different angles at any moment. At any time you ~ Bob Dylan

In silence, they filed past me, and I was left alone with the person who, the day before, I'd wanted to kill even more than Galdran Merindar.
"Take a swig." Shevraeth held out a flagon. "You're going to need it, I'm afraid."
I crossed the room, sank cross-legged onto the nearest mat. With one numb hand I took the flagon, squeezed a share of its contents into my mouth; and gasped as the fire of distilled bristic burned its way inside me. I took a second sip and with stinging eyes handed the flagon back.
"Blue lips," he said, with that faint smile. "You're going to have a whopping cold."
I looked up at the color burning along his cheekbones, and the faint lines of strain in his forehead, and made a discovery. "So are you," I said. "Hah!" I added, obscurely pleased.
His mouth quirked. "Do you have any questions?"
"Yes." My voice came out hoarse, and I cleared my throat. "Bran said Galdran is coming after us. Why? I thought it had been made abundantly clear that--thanks to you--we were defeated, and that was after he'd already decided we were of no account."
"Here. Eat something." He pulled the tray over and pointed to the bread-and-cheese on it, and at the half of some kind of fruit tart.
I picked up the bread and bit into it as he said, "But his cousin did not encompass your defeat, despite the fact that you were outnumbered and outmaneuvered. This is the more galling for Galdran, you must understand, when you consider the enormous loss o ~ Sherwood Smith

I hit you. Won't that make you go away? What else can I do?" he snarled. He'd fallen back on his old standby, anger.
"I'm not going away, Cole, so maybe we can cut out the assaults in the future. You don't want me to go away. I know that. You love me, Cole. That's the feeling that makes you so angry." She'd sighed and looked at the ceiling. "You don't know what to do with it, because the people you've loved in the past caused you pain. That's what you think love is. Pain."
She'd looked at his face until he met her eyes. They were still green.
"But, Cole, I love you. Have I hurt you? Ever?"
Cole had to shake his head. She hadn't. Not once.
"I'm showing you what to do with love, Cole." She stood and held out her arms.
A hug. A simple hug he didn't have to earn by throwing a chair. Human contact that wasn't required because he was trying to hurt someone. She still trusted him. She still saw something in him. ~ Debra Anastasia

I love you. I didn't want to. I fought it. I put up barriers, and they all came crashing down one by one. It wasn't just one thing. It was everything you did, both here in the present and back in the past. It's everything you were, and everything you are. So I just fucking love you, and you are going to have to fucking deal with it. You got that? ~ Thea Harrison

It wasn't easy, living in the past. You couldn't whack someone for what they were going to do, or what the world was going to find out later. You couldn't warn people, either. You didn't know what could change the future, but if he understood things right, history tended to spring back into shape. ~ Terry Pratchett

Don't be silly." I turned to my suitcase, pulling out my pajamas. "I'm just going to go change . . ." He coughed down at his own suitcase, open on a chair in the corner of the room. "Of course." I changed, washed my face, put my hair up, pulled my hair back down, put it up again. Moisturized. I brushed my teeth, used the loo, washed my hands, moisturized again. Brushed my teeth again. I stalled. And then, stepping out, I let him past me to do the same routine, realizing as he walked into the loo that he had only a pair of shorts in his hand. He slept shirtless. Fuck me sideways. However, when he finally came out of the restroom, Jensen was still wearing his T-shirt, to my enormous dismay. "I thought you slept shirtless." What. What did I just say? He looked up at me in surprise. "I mean, I usually do, but . . . ~ Christina Lauren

Sent to the Monk"

Night falls
and the empty intimacy of the whole world
fills my heart to frothing.
The past has trudged to this one spot
and falls into the stream,
its flashlight in its mouth.
Ancient tears beneath the surface
rise and scatter like carp,
while an ivory hairpin floats away
like a loose tooth going back in time.

Columbia Poetry Review. Spring 2014 ~ Mary Ruefle

I was thinking, The last thing I want to do is get in a wreck and lose another limb. I completely lost it and blew up at my father.
"Why did you do that? I can't get injured again! Pull over. I'll drive!" I screamed.
Dad is not the kind of person who would have ever taken that kind of behavior from me in the past, but I think he understood the paranoia. I'd asked him while I was in the hospital, "Did you ever think one of your kids would ever lose a limb?"
And he said, "No, it never crossed my mind. I was always more afraid I would lost another limb."
It wasn't until later that I realized how great it was of him that he kept his cool and understood where I was coming from. He just let me freak out and let me drive. I think in some ways it was the same kind of lesson he taught me as a child without ever saying a word. I watched him just get on with things with one arm. He never made a fuss about it. It was an example that growing up I didn't know I'd need eventually.
So I got in the driver's seat and we continued on our way. After a while we stopped at a gas station to stretch our legs and get some snacks. I grabbed a lemon-line Gatorade and Dad grabbed something to drink and we got back in the car. I turned the car on, so the air and the radio were going as I tried and tried to get my Gatorade bottle open, but the top was too big and I couldn't quite get my fingers to grab it, hold it, and twist it open. My finger strength just wasn't there yet. So I ~ Noah Galloway

In a matter of sixty short minutes, that thing could whisk Neil away to civilization, I thought. Hmm.
My goodness, that was a beautiful prospect.
Somehow I had to get on that chopper with him.
I packed in thirty seconds flat, everything from the past three months. I taped a white cross onto my sleeve, and raced out to where Neil was sat waiting.
One chance.
What the heck.
Neil shook his head at me, smiling.
"God, you push it, Bear, don't you?" he shouted over the noise of the rotors.
"You're going to need a decent medic on the flight," I replied, with a smile. "And I'm your man." (There was at least some element of truth in this: I was a medic and I was his buddy--and yes, he did need help. But essentially I was trying to pull a bit of a fast one.)
The pilot shouted that two people would be too heavy.
"I have to accompany him at all times," I shouted back over the engine noise. "His feet might fall off at any moment," I added quietly.
The pilot looked back at me, then at the white cross on my sleeve.
He agreed to drop Neil somewhere down at a lower altitude, and then come back for me.
"Perfect. Go. I'll be here." I shook his hand firmly.
Let's just get this done before anyone thinks too much about it, I mumbled to myself.
And with that the pilot took off and disappeared from view.
Mick and Henry were laughing.
"If you pull this one off, Bear, I will eat my socks. You just love to push it, do ~ Bear Grylls

But of course it makes sense because we are Third Worlders and Third Worlders are forward-looking, we like things to be new, because our best is still ahead, while in the West their best is already past and so they have to make a fetish of that past.Remember this is our newly middle-class world. We haven't completed the first cycle of prosperity, before going back to the beginning again, to drink milk from the cow's udder. ~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

A thousand regrets I've had in love,
A thousand times I've longed to change the past.
I know, my love, there is no going back.
No undoing of our thousand burdens.
We must go on despite our heavy hearts.
A thousand regrets I've had in love, but I shall never regret you. ~ Rachel Hartman

Honoria couldn't help but watch her make her way over to
Daisy, and Mr. Bridgerton said, "Don't worry, she's mostly
harmless."
"My cousin Daisy?" she asked dubiously.
"No," he replied, momentarily nonplussed. "Lady Danbury."
Honoria looked past him to Daisy and Lady Danbury. "Is she
deaf?"
"Your cousin Daisy?"
"No, Lady Danbury."
"I don't believe so."
"Oh." Honoria winced. "That's too bad. She might be by the
time Daisy is through with her.
"That's not going to end well," he murmured.
Honoria could do nothing but shake her head and murmur,
"No."
"Is your cousin fond of her toes?"
Honoria blinked in confusion. "I believe so, yes."
"She'll want to watch that cane, then."
Honoria looked back just in time to see Daisy let out a small
shriek as she tried to jump back. She was not successful with the
latter; Lady Danbury's cane had her pinned rather firmly. ~ Julia Quinn

Footsteps from the stairwell startle him out of the past. He turns around as Emma's mother takes the last step into the dining area, Emma right behind her.
Mrs. McIntosh glides over and puts her arm around him. The smile on her face is genuine, but Emma's smile is more like a straight line. And she's blushing.
"Galen, it's very nice to meet you," she says, ushering him into the kitchen. "Emma tells me you're taking her to the beach behind your house today. To swim?"
"Yes, ma'am." Her transformation makes him wary.
She smiles. "Well, good luck with getting her in the water. Since I'm a little pressed for time, I can't follow you over there, so I just need to see your driver's license while Emma runs outside to get your plate number."
Emma rolls her eyes as she shuffles through a drawer and pulls out a pen and paper. She slams the door behind her when she leaves, which shakes the dishes on the wall.
Galen nods, pulls out his wallet, and hands over the fake license. Mrs. McIntosh studies it and rummages through her purse until she produces a pen-which she uses to write on her hand. "Just need your license number in case we ever have any problems. But we're not going to have any problems, are we, Galen? Because you'll always have my daughter-my only daughter-home on time, isn't that right?"
He nods, then swallows. She holds out his license. When he accepts it, she grabs his wrist, pulling him close. She glances at the garage door and back to him ~ Anna Banks

I'm going back in," I said as I turned toward the door. Clay sprang to his feet before I reached it and crowded behind me. I looked down at him then back at Rachel, who watched us with an enormous grin. "Looks like another guy who can't take his eyes off you. Living with you is going to be a riot." She laughed and picked up the towels. "Let's all go in. The neighbor's tree is going to shade the deck soon anyway." Having little choice, I opened the door for Clay. His fur brushed my bare thighs as he moved past me into the house. His head came to about my sternum. He really was huge...a huge problem. Sam had warned me Clay had taken my speech as an invitation to live together. At least, Clay had shown up in his fur. However, any relief I might have felt went unnoticed as I contemplated how he'd found me in a completely different state. If Sam told him, I'd have to kill Sam. Since I didn't have the stomach for outright murder, I'd break his coffee maker. I ~ Melissa Haag

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

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

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

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

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

I am in my old room once more, for a little, and I am caught in musing - - how life is a swift motion, a continuous flowing, changing, and how one is always saying goodbye and going places, seeing people, doing things. Only in the rain, sometimes, only when the rain comes, closing in your pitifully small radius of activity, only when you sit and listen by the window, as the cold wet air blows thinly by the back of your neck - only then do you think and feel sick. You feel the days slipping by, elusive as slippery pink worms, through your fingers, and you wonder what you have for your eighteen years, and you think about how, with difficulty and concentration, you could bring back a day, a day of sun, blue skies and watercoloring by the sea. You could remember the sensual observations that made that day reality, and you could delude yourself into thinking - almost - that you could return to the past, and relive the days and hours in a quick space of time. But no, the quest of time past is more difficult than you think, and time present is eaten up by such plaintive searchings. The film of your days and nights is wound up tight in you, never to be re-run - and the occasional flashbacks are faint, blurred, unreal, as if seen through falling snow. Now, you begin to get scared. You don't believe in God, or a life-after-death, so you can't hope for sugar plums when your non-existent soul rises. You believe that whatever there is has got to come from man, and man is pretty creative i ~ Sylvia Plath

Swear to God, you come near us and–"
"Like this?" The biker sidestepped a slash from the hockey stick, grabbed it on the way, and yanked it out of Eve's hands. He tossed it over his shoulder to land on the floor with a clatter. "This near enough? Whatcha gonna do, doll girl?"
Claire hid her eyes as the biker reached out for Eve with one tattooed hand.
"No," Eve said breathlessly. "I'm going to let my boyfriend beat the crap out of you."
There was a dull thunk of wood meeting flesh, and a howl. Then another, harder thunk, and a crash as a body hit the floor.
The biker was down. Claire stared at him in disbelief, then looked past him, to the figure standing there with the field hockey stick in both hands.
Michael Glass. Back from the dead, again, a gorgeous blond avenging angel, breathing hard. ~ Rachel Caine

Dan gestured past Neil toward the changing room. "What happened?" Neil counted it off on his fingers. "Kevin told them Coach is his father, said he's never going back to Edgar Allan, and called the Ravens out as two-faced assholes. Oh," he said, looking up from his hand, "and he said his injury wasn't an accident. Not in so many words, but it won't take them long to figure out what he meant." Dan gaped. "He what?" "Great," Wymack said. "He's turning into another you. That's just what I needed. ~ Nora Sakavic

ADAMSBERG WAS NOT A MAN WHO WENT IN FOR EMOTION: he skirted around strong feelings with caution, like swifts who only brush past windows with their wings, never going in, because they know it will be difficult to get out. He had often found dead birds in the village houses back home, imprudent visitors who had ventured inside and never again found their way back to the open air. Adamsberg considered that when it came to love, humans were no wiser than birds. ~ Fred Vargas

Like I said, magic comes from life, and especially from emotions. They're a source of the same intangible energy that everyone can feel when an autumn moon rises and fills you with a sudden sense of bone-deep excitement, or when the first warm breeze of spring rushes past your face, full of the scents of life, and drowns you in a sudden flood of unreasoning joy. The passion of mighty music that brings tears to your eyes, and the raw, bubbling, infectious laughter of small children at play, the bellowing power of a stadium full of football fans shouting "Hey!" in time to that damned song - they're all charged with magic.

My magic comes from the same places. And maybe from darker places than that. Fear is an emotion, too. So is rage. So is lust. And madness. I'm not a particularly good person. I'm no Charles Manson or anything, but I'm not going to be up for canonization either. Though in the past, I think maybe I was a better person than I am today. In the past I hadn't seen so many people hurt and killed and terrorized by the same kind of power that damn well should have been making the world a nicer place, or at the least staying the hell away from it. I hadn't made so many mistakes back then, so many shortsighted decisions, some of which had cost people their lives. I had been sure of myself. I had been whole. ~ Jim Butcher

There is... this rage." she said "This despair and hatred and rage that lives and breathes inside me. There's not sanity to it, no gentleness. It is a monster dwelling under my skin. For the past ten years, I have worked every day, every hour, to keep that monster locked up. And the moment I talk about those two days, and what happened before and after, that monster is going to break loose, and there will be no accounting for what I do."

"That is how I was able to stand before the King of Adarlan, how I was able to befriend his son and his captain, how I was able to live in that palace. Because I did not give that rage, those memories, one inch. And right now I am looking for the tools that might destroy my enemy, and I cannot let out the monster, because it will make me use those tools against the king, not put them back as I should - and I might very well destroy the world for spite. So that is why I must be Celaena, not Aelin - because being Aelin means facing those things, unleashing that monster. Do you understand? ~ Sarah J. Maas

I'm going to Bristol," Matthew said desperately. "I'll reschedule the meetings. I won't do anything without your leave. But at least I can gather information - interview the local transport firm, have a look at their horses - "
"Swift," the earl interrupted. Something in his quiet tone, a note of ... kindness? ... sympathy? ... caused Matthew to stiffen defensively. "I understand the reason for your urgency - "
"No, you don't."
"I understand more than you might think. And in my experience, these problems can't be solved by avoidance. You can never run far or fast enough."
Matthew froze, staring at Westcliff. The earl could have been referring either to Daisy, or to Matthew's tarnished past. In either case he was probably right.
Not that it changed anything.
"Sometimes running is the only choice," Matthew replied gruffly, and left the room without looking back. ~ Lisa Kleypas

And at half past nine in the evening at that restaurant table in Portugal," Mary continued, "someone gave me a piece of marzipan and it all came back. And I thought: am I really going to spend the rest of my life without ever feeling that again? I thought: I want to go to China. It's full of treasures and strangeness and mystery and joy. I thought, Will anyone be better off if I go straight back to the hotel and say my prayers and confess to the priest and promise never to fall into temptation again? Will anyone be the better for making me miserable?

"And the answer came back - no. No one will. There's no one to fret, no one to condemn, no one to bless me for being a good girl, no one to punish me for being wicked. Heaven was empty. I didn't know whether God had died, or whether there never had been a God at all. Either way I felt free and lonely and I didn't know whether I was happy or unhappy, but something very strange had happened. And all that huge change came about as I had the marzipan in my mouth, before I'd even swallowed it. A taste - a memory - a landslide... ~ Philip Pullman

And glad as I was to be in the States, and even though I hated the past seven months and the only thing that kept me going was the Marines I served with and the thought of coming home, I started feeling like I wanted to go back. Because fuck all this. ~ Phil Klay

Over the years I'd lodged him in the permanent past, my pluperfect lover, put him on ice, stuffed him with memories and mothballs like a hunted ornament confabulating with the ghost of all my evenings. I'd dust him off from time to time and then put him back on the mantelpiece. He no longer belonged to earth or to life. All I was likely to discover at this point wasn't just how distant were the paths we'd taken, it was the measure of loss that was going to strike me
a loss I didn't mind thinking about in abstract terms but which would hurt when stared at in the face, the way nostalgia hurts long after we've stopped thinking of things we lost and may never have cared for. ~ Andre Aciman

The Feegles believe that they are dead. This world is so nice, they argue, that they must have been really good in a past life and then died and ended up here. Appearing to die here means merely going back to the Last World, which they believe is rather dull. ~ Terry Pratchett

In the silence, she felt the past and the present shift and mix, but that was a mirage. There was no way to comfort the lost boy he'd been back then.
But she had the grown male.
She had him right in her arms, and for a brief moment of whimsy, she imagined that she was never, ever going to let him go. ~ J.R. Ward

In general, one cannot go back. But in going forward, you may achieve some of what you desired of the past. If you can survive, anything may happen. - The Old One ~ Garth Nix

[After a period of separation, Phaeton and Daphne are cuddling.]

Diomedes, meanwhile, was leaning to look behind Helion, staring with open fascination at the display Phaethon and Daphne made. "I have not seen non-parthenogenic bioforms before. Are they going to copulate?"

Atkins and Helion looked at him, then looked at each other. A glance of understanding passed between them.

Atkins put his hand on Diomedes's elbow, and pulled him back in front of Helion. "Perhaps not at this time," Atkins said, straight-faced.

"They are young and in love," explained Helion, stepping so as to block Diomedes's view. "So perhaps the excesses and, ah, exuberance of their, ah, greeting, can be overlooked this once."

Diomedes craned his neck, trying to peer past Helion. "There's nothing like that on Neptune."

Helion murmured, "Perhaps certain peculiarities of the Neptunian character are thereby clarified, hmm…?"

"It looks very old-fashioned," said Diomedes.

Helion said, "It is that most ancient and most precious romantic character of mankind which impels all great men to their greatness."

Atkins said, "It's what young men do before they go to war."

Diomedes said, "It is not the way Cerebellines or Compositions or Hermaphrodites or Neptunians arrange these matters. I'm not sure I see the value of it. But it looks interesting. Do all Silver-Gray get to do that? I wonder if Phaethon would mi ~ John C. Wright

Not every girl has a bad-boy problem. Some of my friends get into relationships constantly. Others cheat all the time, or run away. Some get jealous. Some think they are too undateable to even try. Our dating pool is a circus of fuckups, misfits, and past mistakes that we keep on making. The brand of baggage you're carrying on your back is the issue. But most of all, I think we fear the same thing. I think that thing is love. Real love. Think of your first love. Think of how Bambi-like you were, prancing around all excited and in love with everything. Then think of how that happiness was beaten to death with a hatchet, spit on, shit on, leaving you cold. If you watch something you care about get destroyed, you're not going to want to go back to that place, no matter how pleasant it ever was. ~ Alida Nugent

Inside every one of us is a garden, and every practitioner has to go back to their garden and take care of it. Maybe in the past, you left in untended for a long time. You should know exactly what is going on in your own garden, and try to put everything in order. Restore the beauty; restore the harmony in your garden. If it is well tended, many people will enjoy your garden. ~ Nhat Hanh

members of labor unions, and un-organized unskilled workers, will sooner or later realize that their government is not even trying to prevent wages from sinking or to prevent jobs from being exported. Around the same time, they will realize that suburban white-collar workers - themselves desparately afraid of being downsized - are not going to let themselves be taxed to provide social benefits for anyone else.
At that point, something will crack. The non-suburban electorate will decide that the system has failed and start looking around for a strongman to vote for - someone willing to assure them that once he is elected, the smug bureaucrats, tricky lawyers, overpaid bond salesmen and post modernist professors will no longer be calling the shots...
One thing that is very likely to happen is that the gains made in the past forty years by black and brown Americans, and by homosexuals, will be wiped out. Jocular contempt for women will come back into fashion... All the resentment which badly educated Americans feel about having their manners dictated to them by college graduates will find an outlet pp89-90 ~ Richard M. Rorty

When we're back on our own time, then you can get competitive. Until we solve this, cut it the fuck out, or you are going to seriously piss me off."
Edward got slowly to his feet. I backed away out of reach. I'd never seen him use martial arts before, but I put nothing past him.
A sound made me back up further until I could see Edward and Marks without looking away from Edward. Marks was making a small sniggering sound. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing, laughing so hard his face was purplish and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.
Edward and I both stared at him.
When Marks could finally talk, he said, "You kick a man in the face, and that's not seriously pissed off."
He straightened, hand to his side like he had a stitch in it. "What the fuck do you call seriously pissed? ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

He'd trade anything to be back there in the past, rather than to deal with what was going on in the present. ~ Jason Medina

That was when reality kicked back in and reminded Xander that the woman he'd just spent the past fifteen minutes mentally undressing was going to be in his squad, and that he was going to be her supervisor.
He was in so much trouble.
There was no way he could be her boss. It wouldn't be fair to her or his team, and it sure as hell wasn't something he could handle. He'd end up spending all his time gazing at her like a lovesick puppy instead of training her on weapons and tactics. ~ Paige Tyler

Look, Bob, what part of this don't you understand, eh? It's a matter of style, okay? A proper brawl doesn't just happen. You don't just pile in, not anymore. Now, Oyster Dave here--put your helmet back on, Dave--will be the enemy in front, and Basalt, who, as we know, don't need a helmet, he'll be the enemy coming up behind you. Okay, it's well past knuckles time, let's say Gravy there has done his thing with the Bench Swipe, there's a bit of knife play, we've done the whole Chandelier Swing number, blah blah blah, then Second Chair--that's you, Bob--you step smartly between their Number Five man and a Bottler, swing the chair back over your head, like this--sorry, Pointy--and then swing it right back onto Number Five, bang, crash, and there's a cushy six points in your pocket. If they're playing a dwarf at Number Five, then a chair won't even slow him down, but don't fret, hang on to the bits that stay in your hand, pause one moment as he comes at you, and then belt him across both ears. They hate that, as Stronginthearm here will tell you. Another three points. It's probably going to be freestyle after that but I want all of you, including Mucky Mick and Crispo, to try for a Double Andrew when it gets down to the fist-fighting again. Remember? You back into each other, turn around to give the other guy a thumping, cue moment of humorous recognition, then link arms, swing round and see to the other fellow's attacker, foot or fist, it's your choice. Fifteen points right there ~ Terry Pratchett

Everybody changes. I love fashion, and I love changing my style, my hair, my makeup, and everything I've done in the past has made me what I am now. Not everyone is going to like what I do, but I look back at everything, and it makes me smile. ~ Victoria Beckham

Do you think the memory of someone should dictate how we live going forward?' he asks, threading and unthreading his fingers together.
'It depends,' I say. 'I think you can probably honor someone's memory, but you can't live for them, because that means living in the past. ~ Alexandra Bracken

As each wave of technology is released. It must be accompanied by a demand for new skills, new language. Consumers must constantly update their ways of thinking, always questioning their understanding of the world. Going back to old ways, old technology is forbidden. There in no past, no present, only an endless future of inadequacy ~ Richard Kadrey

We're at a stoplight when Peter suddenly sits up straight and says, "Oh, shit! The Epsteins!" I was halfway asleep. My eyes fly open and I yell, "Where? Where?" "Red SUV! Two cars ahead on the right." I crane my neck to look. They are a gray-haired couple, maybe in their sixties or seventies. It's hard to tell from this far
away. As soon as the light turns green, Peter guns it and drives up on the shoulder. I scream out, "Go go go!" and then we're flying past the Epsteins. My heart is racing out of control, I can't help but lean my head out the
window and scream because it's such a thrill. My hair whips in the wind and I know it's going to be a tangled mess, but I couldn't care less. "Yahhh!" I scream. "You're crazy," Peter says, pulling me back in by the hem of my shirt. ~ Jenny Han

Kill farmers! Ares screamed in his head. Return to the legion and fight Greeks! Mars said. What are we doing here? Killing farmers! Ares screamed back. "Shut up!" Frank yelled aloud. "Both of you!" A couple of old ladies with shopping bags shuffled past. They gave Frank a strange look, muttered something in Italian, and kept going. Frank stared ~ Rick Riordan

It is not the dead rather the ones who lives through war have seen the dreadful end of the war, you might have been victorious, unwounded but deep within you, you carry the mark of the war, you carry the memories of war, the time you have spend with your comrades, the times when you had to dug in to foxholes to avoid shelling, the times when you hate to see your comrade down on the ground, feeling of despair, atrocities of the war, missing families, home. They live through hell and often the most wounded, they live with the guilt, despair, of being in the war, they may be happy but deep down they are a different person. Not everyone is a hero. You live with the moments, time when you were unsuccessful, when your actions would have helped your comrades, when your actions get your comrades killed, you live with regret, joyous in the victory can never help you forget the time you have spent. You are victorious for the people you have lost, the decisions you have made, the courage you have shown but being victorious in the war has a price to pay, irrevocable.

You can't take a memory back from a person, even if you lose your memory your imagination haunts you as deep down your sub conscious mind you know who you are, who you were. Close you eyes and you can very well see your past, you cant change your past, time you have spent, you live through all and hence you are a hero not for the glorious war for the times you have faced. Decoration with medals is not going to gi ~ Pushpa Rana

You, er..." He hesitated. "Not that I mind, but you may want to fix your frock."
She glanced downward. Seeing her exposed breast, she quickly tucked it back in her stays. "See what I mean? Heaps of humiliations. Heaps."
Gabe wondered if the past quarter hour went into her heaps of humiliations, or whether she regarded it as something else.
He wondered, but he wasn't going to ask.
On his part, he wouldn't be filing this memory under the heading of "Humiliations." Oh, no. It was going straight into the stash of "Fantasies" that every man kept under his mattress, figuratively if not literally.
He was never going to forget the taste of her, pure and sweet. The way her skin moved liked satin under his hands, warming to his touch.
And the way she'd responded to him? That was already etched on his brain.
I think it's the urges, she'd said.
The worrisome part of it was, their urges had gone unsatisfied.
They would remain so, he told himself. This afternoon had been a mistake. An enjoyable mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Time to revive his judgement. Gabe could survive deprivation of all sorts, including this one.
He would not put his hands on Lady Penelope Campion again.
Absolutely not.
Definitely not.
Probably not.
Damn. ~ Tessa Dare

It's not always going to be this easy, baby. No matter how much we say the past is in the past, there are going to be times when resentment claws its way through our flames. And it's going to take both of us, together, working as a team to fight that back." I tucked a stray hair behind her ear and allowed my gaze to roam her beautiful face. Fuck, this woman owned me. She always had. Always would. "I'm committing to do that with you Mira. I'm committing to fight harder than I've ever fought for anything in my life. Because we're fucking worth it. ~ Aly Martinez

If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line - starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King's Highway past the appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circling or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led - make of that what you will. ~ Wendell Berry

It doesn't matter how deep you bury an incriminating letter in the trash, it's still there. It doesn't matter how far you push a body back into a tunnel, either. That's still there, too. Even if it has been destroyed, it's still there. You know this already. You'll have bodies stashed in tunnels of your own. Things you've done, mistakes you've made, secrets you hold - the guilt you carry for moments that stick out in your past like black stars in the firmament of your inner life. The outlier occurrences. The anomalies. The events you look back upon in disbelief, wondering how the hell they could have come to pass, and if they can be made to fit in a story you are prepared to own. But the truth is you get where you're going not through the long forgettable years of sticking to the path, but through the moments when you wander off it. It's the things that don't make sense that reveal who you are inside. The anomalies make you who you are. That realization will not make you feel any better about them. Time may help you turn a blind eye, but guilt is the stain that never goes away. ~ Michael Rutger

Nous avons ete amies," I added. "There,that's two in French, and using past perfect, no less."
I couldn't see his expression clearly. It flet like a long time before he said anything. "Ella..." He paused, then, "What happened? Between you and Anna?"
"Other than the fact that I'm a fashion-impaired poor kid who draws doorknobs? Haven't a clue."
Alex leaned forward. Now I could see his face. He looked annoyed. "Why do you do that? Diminish yourself?"
"I don't-"
"Bullshit."
I could feel my cheeks flaming, feel my shoulders curving inward. "I don't-"
"Right.Don't.Just don't, with me, anyway. I like you better feisty."
I couldn't help it; that made me smile. "Did you really just say 'feisty'?"
"I did.It's a good word."
"It's am old word, favored by granddads and pirates."
"Yar," Alex sighed.
"Face it.You're just an old-fashioned guy."
"Whatever.Three...?"
"Three," I said, and changed my mind midthought. "I haven't been able to decide if Willing is the second best thing that ever happened to me, or the second worst."
"What are the firsts?"
"Nope.Uh-uh.It is not for you to ask, Alexander Bainbridge, but to reveal."
He drained his glass and rolled it back and forth between his hands. "I had all these funny admissions planned, but you've screwed up my plans. Hey. Don't go all wounded-wide-eyed on me. It's cute, that Bambi thing you have going, but beside the point.Now I have to rethink."
"You don ~ Melissa Jensen

She was tipping her head back to inquire, when two men entered the great hall and the question flew right out of her head.
They were simply two of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen. Twins, though different. They were both tall and powerfully built. One was taller by a few inches, with dark hair that swept just past his shoulders and eyes like shard of silver and ice while the other had long black hair falling in a single braid to his waist, and eyes as gold as Adam's torque. They were elegantly dressed in tailored clothing of dark hues, with magnificent bodies that dripped with raw sex appeal.
Oh, my, she marveled, they don't amek men like these in the States. Were these typical Scotsmen? If so, she was going to have to get Elizabeth over here somehow. A connoisseur of romance novels, Elizabeth's favorites were the Scottish ones, and these two men looked as if they'd just stepped straight off one of those covers.
"Try not to gape, ka-lyrra. They're only human. Mortal. Puny. And married. Both of them. Happily. ~ Karen Marie Moning

Don't jump to conclusions over first impressions.

They're often dead wrong. When I first met Mark, I thought he was spoiled. When I met Shirley, I assumed she was tough as nails. But getting to know them both as a member of their family, I saw how wrong I was. Shirley is a teddy bear, a caring, loving person who would do anything for me. And Mark? I think of him as a brother, in every sense of the word. I've learned to make a special effort to get to know the people who put up walls and seem cold or tough. It's like an onion; you have to peel back the layers. I'm sure some of my DWTS partners made an assumption about who I was the first time they worked with me. They probably thought I was a tough taskmaster and cursed me out for putting them through this! But anyone who truly knows me will tell you, I'm harder on myself than I am on anyone else. And I'm a softie who loves to goof around. But to see that side of me, you need to move past the first impression. What's the lesson here? Dig a little deeper. Get to know people and what makes them tick. Don't make an assumption till you know someone a lot better. Think of all the people you might have dismissed who could have been great friends, mentors, or allies, if you'd only given them the chance.
Perfect example: dancing with Lil' Kim on DWTS. She had recently spent time in jail and I remember thinking, Oh my gosh, I'm afraid I'm going to get shanked in the middle of the dance! Then I realized I was judging her ~ Derek Hough

Life has a way of going in circles. Ideally, it would be a straight path forward––we'd always know where we were going, we'd always be able to move on and leave everything else behind. There would be nothing but the present and the future. Instead, we always find ourselves where we started. When we try to move ahead, we end up taking a step back. We carry everything with us, the weight exhausting us until we want to collapse and give up.
We forget things we try to remember. We remember things we'd rather forget. The most frightening thing about memory is that it leaves no choice. It has mastered an incomprehensible art of forgetting. It erases, it smudges, it fills in blank spaces with details that don't exist.
But however we remember it––or choose to remember it––the past is the foundation that holds our lives in place. Without its support, we'd have nothing for guidance. We spend so much time focused on what lies ahead, when what has fallen behind is just as important. What defines us isn't where we're going, but where we've been. Although there are places and people we will never see again, and although we move on and let them go, they remain a part of who we are.
There are things that will never change, things we will carry along with us always. But as we venture into the murky future, we must find our strength by learning to leave things behind. ~ Brigid Gorry-Hines

Wes knocks a couple of times, but Adam doesn't answer. "Jackpot," he says, kneeling down to examine the lock. He takes the bundle of wire from his pocket and proceeds to make a key of sorts.
"You're not going to break in?" I ask.
"Well, um, yeah. Kimmie rolls her eyes, as if the answer's completely obvious.
Wes sticks his key into the lock and starts to jiggle it back and forth. A moment later, the doorknob turns.
Only, Wes isn't the one turning it.
Piper then whips the door open. "Oh, my god," she says, smacking her chest like we've scared her, too.
"We were looking for Adam." I peek past her into the apartment.
"He isn't here," she says, glaring up at Wes, no doubt annoyed that he's attempting to pick the lock.
"Would you believe that I dropped the contact?" he asks, before finally getting up.
"Not likely, since you're wearing glasses."
Kimmie bops him on the head with her Tupperware purse. ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz

You might want to pop your collar."

"Hey if the biker doesn't pop his, I'm not popping mine. Also? We're thirty years past that fashion faux pas."

"Yeah, but it still comes in handy when you're sporting a hickey."

"What?" My hands flew to my neck, and I found the tender spot. "Shit. No, that's not-- I burned it. My hair wasn't cooperating, so I dragged out the curling iron."

"Gabriel has a curling iron?"

"No, I meant--Damn it." I rooted through my bag for concealer. "I'm sorry. If I'd noticed, I'd have hidden it."

"I know." His lips twitched. "It is kinda funny, though, watching you guys scramble with excuses. Gabriel told me you weren't answering my calls because you forgot your phone in the car. Which is about as likely as you leaving your arm behind. He dried his hair so fast the back was sticking up. And then he scarfed down half the food I brought for lunch. I've never seen him eat like that." He smiled. "But I do appreciate he's being circumspect."

"He's not going to wave it in your face."

"No, but we are talking about Gabriel, who never goes out of his way to cushion anyone's feelings but yours. He's being very thoughtful. It's sweet. Just don't tell him I said that."

"I won't." I finished applying the concealer. "Better?"

"Yep." He leaned over for a better look and then stopped. "Is that a bite on your collarbone?"

"Shit! No. Damn it.

Ric ~ Kelley Armstrong

Are you telling me my entire life has been a dream?"
"Not your life, Greg, your past."
"Is there a distincition?"
"Of course there is. In a very real sense, everyone's past is a dream; the past isn't a real thing you can reach back and touch; it's just something in your head. Your life, which is what's going on here and now at this table, is as real as anyone's ... ~ Daniel Quinn

The movie, (X-Men: Days of Future Past), illustrates a spiritual journey that involves going back in time. The Purpose of the journey is to find the core grievance and let it be healed. When the grievance is healed in Forgiveness, all future scenarios of conflict and destruction are also healed. It is not that they have been prevented in time; it is that we have come to the realization that there was no time in which they could have existed. In the Happy Dream, everything is resolved. It becomes harmonious and then disappears.
Wolverine is the agent strong enough to go back through time and ignite the mission of forgiveness. We can think of ourselves this way as well. We can imagine that our future self, or our higher Self, is orchestrating this whole thing for our awakening. We are just perceiving it in time, where we perceive ourselves to be. There is great love and compassion coming from the higher Self, the future self. ~ David Hoffmeister

A few miles away across the East River was the apartment he could never get used to, the job where he had nothing to do, the dozen or so people he knew slightly and cared about not at all: a fabric of existence as blank and seamless as the freshly plaster wall he passed. Soon his wife would return from New Jersey. Soon everyone would be back, and things would go on much as they had before. From the street outside came the sound of laughter and shouting, bottles breaking, voices droning in the warm air, and children playing far past their bedtime. It all meant nothing whatever to Lowell. Standing in the parlor of a house no longer his, listening to the voices of people whose lives were closed to him forever, contemplating a future much like his past, he realized that it was finally too late for him. Everything had gone wrong, and he had succeeded at nothing, and he was never going to have any kind of life at all. ~ L.J. Davis