History Is All You Left Me Quotes

I'm not sure about this newness I should look forward too, but I know this begins with me trying to become my own rock. I've leaned on Jackson for the better part of this past month and Wade before that. Being my own rock is promising, but it would be a huge lie if I didn't admit that becoming a mountain with someone else could be equally rewarding. ~ Adam Silvera

I'm blown away by how happy you make me. Thank you for being there for me when I'm stupid enough to think I'd rather be alone. ~ Adam Silvera

This is someone who's grieving over you, another human with his own human feelings who shouldn't be used as a weapon against you. But I'm a human too, with my own human feelings. You used our intimate history to create a future with someone else, and that's a thousand times worse.
You used our love against me. Now I'm using your love against you. ~ Adam Silvera

I'm growing to hate the word love because it always sounds lame, but love shouldn't only count when there's a victory. ~ Adam Silvera

Where the hell did the Pack find you two? At a beach volleyball tournament? Great tan. Love those curls." LeBlanc shook his head. "He's not even as big as I am. He's what, six foot nothing? Two hundred pounds in steel-toed boots? Christ. I'm expecting some ugly bruiser bigger than Cain and what do I find? The next Baywatch star. Looks like his IQ would be low enough. Can he chew gum and tie his shoes at the same time?"
Clay stopped playing with his chair and turned to face the mirror. He got up, crossed the room, and stood in front of me. I was leaning forward, one hand pressed against the glass. Clay touched his fingertips to mine and smiled. LeBlanc jumped back.
"Fuck," he said. "I thought that was one-way glass."
"It is."
Clay turned his head toward LeBlanc and mouthed three words. Then the door to his room opened and one of the officers called him out. Clay grinned at me, then sauntered out with the officer. As he left, a surge of renewed confidence ran through me.
"What did he say?" LeBlanc asked.
"Wait for me."
"What?"
"It's a challenge," Marsten murmured from across the room. He didn't look up from his magazine. "He's inviting you to stick around and get to know him better."
"Are you going to?" LeBlanc asked.
Marsten's lips curved in a smile. "He didn't invite me."
LeBlanc snorted. "For a bunch of killer monsters, the whole lot of you are nothing but hot air. All your rules and challenges and false bravado." He wa ~ Kelley Armstrong

How did you find me, anyway?"
"We went to your office, and your butler told us you had left to come here." She laughed, remembering it. "Max said, 'What, already?' and Mr. Shaw said, rather loftily, that you could 'wait for no man's leisure' and 'tend on no man's business.' I gather that the man is as fond of Much Ado about Nothing as we are."
"Oh, he likes them all," Dom said dryly. "Too many years spent as a bit player in the theater, I'm afraid. He keeps hoping that if he memorizes every play in existence, he will advance to a lead role." He fastened his trousers. "But how did you even get away from your uncle and Blakeborough? They just let you ride off after me with Max and Lisette?"
"Well, Blakeborough had no choice since I had just jilted him." She sighed. "Oh, Lord. I have once again jilted a fiancé, haven't I? I'm forever going to be known as the woman who jilted two men." She made a face. "I should have calling cards made--'Jane the Jilt,' to go along with 'Dom the Almighty.'"
"I will never carry a card with the appellation 'Dom the Almighty,' so just put that right out of your head," he said irritably. "In any case, since you're marrying me, I'm no longer jilted." He paused a moment to shoot her a wary glance. "You are marrying me, aren't you?"
That was even closer to asking. "Say 'please,'" she teased.
Though he eyed her askance, he pulled her close for a long, lingering kiss, then said, "Please, Jane, will you marry me?"
She bea ~ Sabrina Jeffries

If the political left weren't so joyless, humorless, intrusive, taxing, over-taxing, anarchistic, controlling, rudderless, chaos-prone, pedantic, unrealistic, hypocritical, clueless, politically correct, angry, cruel, sanctimonious, retributive, redistributive, intolerant, and if the political left wasn't hell-bent on expansion of said unpleasantness into all aspects of my family's life the truth is: I would not be in your life. If the democratic party were run by Joe Lieberman and Evan Bayh, if it had the slightest vestige of JFK and Henry "Scoop" Jackson I wouldn't be on the political map. If the American media were run by biased but not evil Tim Russert and David Brinkley types I wouldn't have joined the fight. You would not know who I am. The left made me do it, I swear, I am a reluctant cultural warrior. ~ Andrew Breitbart

You've won," Jack said softly. He looked at Mimi with such fiery hatred that she almost cowered at his words. But she was no weakling. She was Azrael, and Azrael did not cower, not even to Abbadon.
"I've won nothing," Mimi replied coldly. "Please remember that almost all of the Elders are dead, that the
Dark Prince is ascendant, and what is left of the Conclave is being led by a broken man who used to be the strongest of us all. And yet all you seem to care about, my darling, is that you no longer get to play with your little love toy."
Instead of answering her, Jack flew across the room and slapped her hard across the face, sending her
crashing to the floor. But before he could wield another blow, Mimi leaped up and slammed him against the window, knocking him completely out of breath.
"Is this what you want?" she hissed as she lifted him up by his shirt collar, his face turning a ghastly shade of red.
"Don't let me destroy you," he sneered.
"Just try, my sweet."
Jack twisted out of her grasp and flipped her over, kicking her down the length of the room. She sprung up with her hands clenched, her nails sharp as claws, and fangs bared. They met halfway in the air, and Jack put a hand on her throat and began to squeeze. But she scratched at his eyes and wrenched her body so that she was rolling on top of him, her sword at his throat, with the upper hand.
SUBMIT. Mimi sent.
NEVER. ~ Melissa De La Cruz

You Don't Have To Say You Love Me"

When I said I needed you
You said you would always stay
It wasn't me who changed but you
And now you've gone away

Don't you see
That now you've gone
And I'm left here on my own
That I have to follow you
And beg you to come home?

You don't have to say you love me
Just be close at hand
You don't have to stay forever
I will understand
Believe me, believe me
I can't help but love you
But believe me
I'll never tie you down

Left alone with just a memory
Life seems dead and so unreal
All that's left is loneliness
There's nothing left to feel

You don't have to say you love me
Just be close at hand
You don't have to stay forever
I will understand
Believe me, believe me

You don't have to say you love me
Just be close at hand
You don't have to stay forever
I will understand
Believe me, believe me, believe me ~ Dusty Springfield

I was still in and out of consciousness so much, and so emotional. But there were little things that helped. I remember at one point hearing my dad say, "He likes music. I am going to put on some music." He brought in a little red radio and left it on this Top 40 station all the time hoping to cheer me up. Top 40 stations play the same songs over and over again. At the time there was one song that stood out and struck a chord with me: Sheryl Crow's "Good is Good." I don't know what Sheryl Crow's intentions were when she wrote it, but I felt like she was singing to me directly.
I really related to this song. The words would bounce around my head even when I was asleep, about things going south and that it was up to you to make it better. Things are only as good as you make them. I felt calmer and comforted every time I heard it. ~ Noah Galloway

Do I need to ask if you had anything to do with what I'm not wearing?" She wouldn't freak out. She would remain calm, cool, collected. Oh shit, she didn't remember a damn thing about falling into bed.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Pepper, but I left you standing at the door. What you did after you closed it - in my face, I might add - is all on you." He reached for the cover, but she grabbed it and pulled it tight around her body. "But I'm flattered that you include me in your fantasies."

"Why has no one murdered you by now? Or at least taken a soap-filled sock to you?" That was a fun thought. Jaime on the floor, all tied-up and being flogged. "No, on second thought, murder is better. It's more permanent."

"My, but aren't you bloodthirsty in the morning." He leaned against the post at the foot of the bed, his eyes traveling her body, belying his stated disinterest. "Do you always sleep naked? Or just when you're drunk?"

"You got me drunk, you prick, while you were drinking water. You poured enough gin into me to fill a damn bathtub."

"You could have said no at any time."

"That's what your mother should have said the night you were conceived. ~ Mercy Celeste

A ripe suggestion," I said. "Where are you meeting her? At the Ritz?"
"Near the Ritz."
He was geographically accurate. About fifty yards east of the Ritz there is one of those blighted tea-and-bun shops you see dotted about all over London and into this, if you'll believe me, young Bingo dived like a homing rabbit; and before I had time to say a word we were wedged in at a table, on the brink of a silent pool of coffee left there by an early luncher. ~ P.G. Wodehouse

Why shouldn't Mom trust me, Dad" Why are you so determined to make me out to be the bad guy all the time?" I stared at the side of his face, willing him to make eye contact. He didn't. "I've been doing really good late and you don't even care."
"Yet you still managed to get into trouble tonight," he said.
"You have no idea what happened tonight," I said, my voice ratcheting up a notch. "All you know is that, because I was involved, I'm somehow guilty of something. You could at least pretend to care, you know. You could at least try to understand."
Dad gave a sardonic little laugh. "I'll tell you what I understand," he said. "I understand that when you're left to your own devices you get into trouble, that's what I understand. I understand I was trying to have a happy, restful evening with Briley and once again you screwed it up. ~ Jennifer Brown

They heard Hugo ask if the plan for the hors d'oeuvres was still in operation, and they heard Colette ask about plucking the feathers off crows, and they heard Kevin complain that he didn't know whether to hold the birdpaper in his right hand or his left hand, and they heard Mr. Lesko insult Mrs. Morrow, and the bearded man sing a song to the woman with the crow-shaped hat, and they heard a man call for Bruce and a woman call for her mother and dozens of people whisper to and shout at, argue with and agree upon, angrily accuse and meekly defend, furiously compliment and kindly insult dozens of other people, both inside and outside the Hotel Denouement, whose names the Baudelaires recognized, forgot, and had never heard before. Each story had its story, and each story's story was unfathomable in the Baudelaire orphans' short journey, and many of the stories' stories are unfathomable to me, even after all these lonely years and all this lonely research. Perhaps some of these stories are clearer to you, because you have spied upon the people involved. Perhaps Mrs. Bass has changed her name and lives near you, or perhaps Mr. Remora's name is the same, and he lives far away. Perhaps Nero now works as a grocery store clerk, or Geraldine Julienne now teaches arts and crafts. Perhaps Charles and Sir are no longer partners, and you have had the occasion to study one of them as he sat across from you on a bus, or perhaps Hugo, Colette, and Kevin are still comrades, and you have followe ~ Lemony Snicket

At this point the door of the hospital room swung open and Lieutenant Adam Burke strode into the room, followed by a couple of uniformed officers. He glared at Andy Winslow. "You left the scene of the crime, Winslow."

Andy looked innocently at the cop. "I did?"

"You know damned well you did. Who the hell do you think you are, letting a corpse into the house and then leaving her there on the floor to die."

Andy grinned. "What corpse would that be, Lieutenant?"

"This one!" Burke jabbed a thumb at the slight figure on the bed.

"You mean Miss Mayhew, Lieutenant? I don't think Miss Mayhew is dead. Are you dead Miss Mayhew?"

The slim woman managed a wan, tiny smile. "I don't think I'm dead. I don't even feel sick. I do have a dreadful headache, though."

Andy Winslow grinned, "You're entitled to that." Then, to the cop, "It's true that Miss Mayhew was shot at Caligula Foxx's house. I though it was more important to make sure that she was all right, than to wait around for New York's Slowest -- er pardon me, I mean New York's Finest - to arrive. ~ Richard A. Lupoff

I never believed in Santa Claus. None of us kids did. Mom and Dad refused to let us. They couldn't afford expensive presents and they didn't want us to think we weren't as good as other kids who, on Christmas morning, found all sorts of fancy toys under the tree that were supposedly left by Santa Claus.
Dad had lost his job at the gypsum, and when Christmas came that year, we had no money at all. On Christmas Eve, Dad took each one of us kids out into the desert night one by one.
"Pick out your favorite star", Dad said.
"I like that one!" I said.
Dad grinned, "that's Venus", he said. He explained to me that planets glowed because reflected light was constant and stars twinkled because their light pulsed.
"I like it anyway" I said.
"What the hell," Dad said. "It's Christmas. You can have a planet if you want."
And he gave me Venus.

Venus didn't have any moons or satellites or even a magnetic field, but it did have an atmosphere sort of similar to Earth's, except it was super hot-about 500 degrees or more. "So," Dad said, "when the sun starts to burn out and Earth turns cold, everyone might want to move to Venus to get warm. And they'll have to get permission from your descendants first.
We laughed about all the kids who believed in the Santa myth and got nothing for Christmas but a bunch of cheap plastic toys. "Years from now, when all the junk they got is broken and long forgotten," Dad said, "you'll still have your stars. ~ Jeannette Walls

Oh, it's you, sir," she exclaimed.
She drew the door right back. A look of highly pleasurable excitement spread over her face.
"Come in, sir, if you please, sir."
We entered the hall. From beneath the door on the left, loud snuffling sounds proceeded, interspersed with growls. Bob was endeavoring to "place" us correctly.
"You can let him out", I suggested.
"I will, sir. He's quite all right, really, but he makes such a noise and rushes at people so it frightens them. He's a splendid watchdog though."
She opened the morning room door, and Bob shot through like a suddenly projected cannonball.
"Who is it? Where are they? Oh, there you are. Dear me, don't I seem to remember -" sniff- sniff- sniff- prolonged snort. "Of course! We have met!"
"Hullo, old man," I said. "How goes it?"
Bob wagged his tail perfunctorily.
"Nicely, thank you. Let me just see -" he resumed his researches. "Been talking to a spaniel lately, I smell. Foolish dogs, I think. What's this? A cat? That is interesting. Wish we had her here. We'd have rare sport. H'm - not a bad bull terrier."
Having correctly diagnosed a visit I had paid recently to some doggy friends, he transferred his attention to Poirot, inhaled a noseful of benzine and walked away reproachfully.
"Bob", I called.
He threw me a look over his shoulder.
"It's all right. I know what I am doing. I'll be back in a jiffy. ~ Agatha Christie

What does it take to make you stop?"
Elizabeth flinched from the hatred in the voice she loved and drew a shaking breath, praying she could finish without starting to cry. "I've hurt you terribly, my love, and I'll hurt you again during the next fifty years. And you are going to hurt me, Ian-never, I hope, as much as you are hurting me now. But if that's the way it has to be, then I'll endure it, because the only alternative is to live without you, and that is no life at all. The difference is that I know it, and you don't-not yet."
"Are you finished now?"
"Not quite," she said, straightening at the sound of footsteps in the hall. "There's one more thing," she informed him, lifting her quivering chin. "I am not a Labrador retriever! You cannot put me out of your life, because I won't stay."
When she left, Ian stared at the empty room that had been alive with her presence but moments before, wondering what in hell she meant by her last comment. He glanced toward the door as Larimore walked in, then he nodded curtly toward the chairs in front of his desk, silently ordering the solicitor to sit down.
"I gathered from your message," Larimore said quietly, opening his legal case, "that you now wish to proceed with the divorce?"
Ian hesitated a moment while Elizabeth's heartbroken words whirled through his mind, juxtaposed with the lies and omissions that had begun on the night they met and continued right up to their last night together. He recalled t ~ Judith McNaught

If I have to die, I'd rather die knowing someone cared about me, just once. Is that really too much to ask?"
"For us? Yes. It is. We are the gutter and the gutter is all we'll ever be. Don't reach out for the stars. They'll burn you until there's nothing left."
"Then let me burn."
Nykyrian & Syn ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

You need a battle plan," Matt advised. "I never left the base without detailed reconnaissance and a battle plan. It's why I came home alive."
Tate chuckled in spite of himself. "She's a woman, not an enemy stronghold."
"That's what you think," Matt said, pointing a spoon in the other man's direction before he lowered it into his cup. "Most women are enemy strongholds," he added, with a wicked glance at his smiling wife. "You have to storm the gates properly."
"He knows all about storming gates, apparently," Leta said with faint sarcasm. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be expecting a grandchild…" She gasped and looked at Matt. "A grandchild. Our grandchild," she emphasized with pure joy.
Matt glanced at Tate. "That puts a whole new face on things, son," he said, the word slipping out so naturally that it didn't even seem to surprise Tate, who smiled through his misery.
"You go to Tennessee and tell Cecily she's marrying you," Leta instructed her son.
"Sure," Tate said heavily. "After all the trouble I've given her in the past weeks, I'm sure she can't wait to rush down the aisle with me."
"Honey catches more flies than vinegar," Matt said helpfully.
"If I go down there with any honey, I'll come home wearing bees."
Leta chuckled.
"You aren't going to give up?" Matt asked.
Tate shook his head. "I can't. I have to get to her before Gabrini does, although I'm fairly sure he has no more idea where she really is than I did until today. ~ Diana Palmer

Hey, there, Kizuki, I thought. Unlike you, I've chosen to live - and to live the best I know how. Sure, it was hard for you. What the hell, it's hard for me. Really hard. And all because you killed yourself and left Naoko behind. But that's something I will never do. I will never, ever, turn my back on her. First of all, because I love her, and because I'm stronger than she is. And I'm just going to keep on getting stronger. I'm going to mature. I'm going to be an adult. Because that's what I have to do. I always used to think I'd like to stay 17 or 18 if I could. But not any more. I'm not a teenager any more. I've got a sense of responsibility now. I' m not the same person I was when we used to hang out together. I'm 20 now. And I have to pay the price to go on living. ~ Haruki Murakami

My grandma always had chocolate-covered cherries," D said, his tone curled at the edges, like he'd surprised himself with the memory. Jack slid up a little so he could watch D's face. "Usedta love them things. The way they'd kinda burst open when ya bit 'em, and that syrupy stuff inside, then the cherry. I'd bite off one side a the shell real careful-like, so none a the syrup spilled, then suck all the gooey out, then fish out the cherry with my tongue, then I'd just have the chocolate shell left and I'd nibble on it 'til it was gone. She'd only let me have one or two so I hadta make 'em last." He glanced at Jack, who was just staring at him, his mouth open. "What?"
"That is the sexiest thing I've ever heard."
D flushed and fidgeted. "Aw, hell."
"Seriously. Ask me how much I want to go get some chocolate-covered cherries right now just so I can watch you eat them. ~ Jane Seville

This place is packed," Vee complained. "Where am I supposed to park?" She steered down an alley and slowed to a stop behind a bookstore. "This looks good. Lots of parking back here."
"The sign says employee parking only."
"How are they going to know that we aren't employees? The Neon blends right in. All these cars speak low class."
"The sign says violators will be towed."
"They just say that to scare people like you and me away. It's an empty threat. Nothing to worry about."
...
Vee came to a halt. "What is THAT?"
We were standing in the parking lot behind the bookstore, a few feet from the Neon, and we were staring at a large piece of metal attached to the left rear tire.
"I think it's a car boot," I said.
"I can see that. What's it doing on my car?"
"I guess when they say all violators will be towed, they mean it. ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

What is it that constitutes virtue, Mrs. Graham? Is it the circumstance of being able and willing to resist temptation; or that of having no temptations to resist? - Is he a strong man that overcomes great obstacles and performs surprising achievements, though by dint of great muscular exertion, and at the risk of some subsequent fatigue, or he that sits in his chair all day, with nothing to do more laborious than stirring the fire, and carrying his food to his mouth? If you would have your son to walk honourably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them - not insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone.'

'I will lead him by the hand, Mr. Markham, till he has strength to go alone; and I will clear as many stones from his path as I can, and teach him to avoid the rest - or walk firmly over them, as you say; - for when I have done my utmost, in the way of clearance, there will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility, steadiness, and circumspection he will ever have. - It is all very well to talk about noble resistance, and trials of virtue; but for fifty - or five hundred men that have yielded to temptation, show me one that has had virtue to resist. And why should I take it for granted that my son will be one in a thousand? - and not rather prepare for the worst, and suppose he will be like his - like the rest of mankind, unless I take care to prevent it? ~ Anne Bronte

We cleave our way through the mountains until the interstate dips into a wide basin brimming with blue sky, broken by dusty roads and rocky saddles strung out along the southern horizon. This is our first real glimpse of the famous big-sky country to come, and I couldn't care less. For all its grandeur, the landscape does not move me. And why should it? The sky may be big, it may be blue and limitless and full of promise, but it's also really far away. Really, it's just an illusion. I've been wasting my time. We've all been wasting our time. What good is all this grandeur if it's impermanent, what good all of this promise if it's only fleeting? Who wants to live in a world where suffering is the only thing that lasts, a place where every single thing that ever meant the world to you can be stripped away in an instant? And it will be stripped away, so don't fool yourself. If you're lucky, your life will erode slowly with the ruinous effects of time or recede like the glaciers that carved this land, and you will be left alone to sift through the detritus. If you are unlucky, your world will be snatched out from beneath you like a rug, and you'll be left with nowhere to stand and nothing to stand on. Either way, you're screwed. So why bother? Why grunt and sweat and weep your way through the myriad obstacles, why love, dream, care, when you're only inviting disaster? I'm done answering the call of whippoorwills, the call of smiling faces and fireplaces and cozy rooms. You won't ~ Jonathan Evison

She looked down at him, smiling with exasperated amusement. *Stubborn, snarly male.*

*Stubbornness is a much-maligned quality,* he panted as he climbed toward her. Her silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the land. Then he finally got a good look at her. He sank to his knees. *I owe you a debt, Lady.*

She shook her head. *The debt is mine, not yours.*

*I failed you,* he said bitterly, looking at her wasted body.

*No, Daemon,* Jaenelle replied softly. *I failed you. You asked me to heal the crystal chalice and return to the living world. And I did. But I don't think I ever forgave my body for being the instrument that was used to try to destroy me, and I became its cruelest torturer. For that I'm sorry because you treasured that part of me.*

*No, I treasured all of you. I love you, Witch. I always will. You're everything I'd dreamed you would be.*

She smiled at him. *And I - * She shuddered, pressed her hand against her chest. *Come. There's little time left.* She fled through the rocks, out of sight before he could move. He hurried after her, following the glittering trail, gasping as he felt a crushing weight descend on him. *Daemon.* Her voice came back to him, faint and pain-filled. *If the body is going to survive, I can't stay any longer.* He fought against the weight.

*Jaenelle!*

*You have to take this in slow stages. Rest there now. Rest, Daemon. I'll mark the trail for you. ~ Anne Bishop

Can you sharpen this for me, please?"

Logan leaned across the table and took the pencil from him. "You want me to play with your pencil, Tate?"

"Hilarious. The sharpener is right by you. You just have to pick it up and slide it in."

As soon as the words left his mouth and Logan's quirked into an arrogant line, Tate bit his tongue.

"Really? Did you really just say that to me?"

Feeling more comfortable than ever with Logan and this group, Tate shrugged and nodded. Time to give it to Logan as good as he gives.

"Yeah. Is there a problem? You just line it up...and slide it in."

"You know, Tate - "

"Don't do it." Tate cut him off as he moved his foot, the one he'd had sitting between Logan's feet all night, so his shin bumped Logan's calf.

"Do what?"

"Say something dirty. I know you're dying to, but just sharpen the pencil."

Logan picked up the sharpener and made a big show of inserting the tip in the hole.

"Jesus," Shelly muttered from beside Logan. "I thought Rachel and Cole were bad. ~ Ella Frank

Guilt. Torment. Sorrow. Shock. Which?" she asked against his chest.
"I'm trying," he murmured on a weary chuckle. "But all I can manage is pride," he added softly. "I satisfied you completely, didn't I?"
"More than completely," she murmured against his damp shoulder. Her hand traced his chest, feeling the coolness of his skin, the ripple of muscle. "Hold me close."
He wrapped both arms around her and drew her on top of him, holding her hungrily to him, their legs lazily entwined. "I seduced you."
She pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone. "Mmm-hmm."
He caught his breath as the tiny, insignificant movement produced a sudden, raging arousal.
She lifted her head. "Did I do something wrong?"
He lifted an eyebrow and nodded toward his flat stomach. She followed his amused glance and caught her breath.
He drew her mouth down over his and kissed her ferociously before he sat up and moved off the bed.
"Where are you going?" she asked, startled.
He drew on his briefs and his slacks, glancing down at her with amused delight. "One of us has to be sensible," he told her. "Colby's probably on his way back right now."
"But he just left…"
"Almost an hour ago," he finished for her, nodding toward the clock on the bedside table.
She sat up, her eyes wide with surprise.
"I took a long time with you," he said gently. "Didn't you notice?"
She laughed self-consciously. "Well, yes, but I didn't realize it was that long."
Diana Palmer

this is not a Quote it's a poem.
"A Thousand Kisses Deep"

The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it's done –
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it's real,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed,
I'm back on Boogie Street.
You lose your grip, and then you slip
Into the Masterpiece.
And maybe I had miles to drive,
And promises to keep:
You ditch it all to stay alive,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

Confined to sex, we pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
I made it to the forward deck.
I blessed our remnant fleet –
And then consented to be wrecked,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I'm turning tricks, I'm getting fixed,
I'm back on Boogie Street.
I guess they won't exchange the gifts
That you were meant to keep.
And quiet is the thought of you,
The file on you complete,
Except what we forgot to do,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep ~ Leonard Cohen

All that I have left inside, is a soul thats filled with pride. I tell you never again. In a brave society, didnt end up killing me, scream with me never again! For the countless souls who died, there voices fill this night. Scream with me never again! Ooh, not again! ~ Disturbed

But I learned more than you know from Owen Paris. I learned that trying to live up to imagined expectations is a waste of energy. I learned that nothing can replace the time I spend with my daughter every day. I learned much too late that his way of loving me was just his way. I learned too late that he loved me at all. He chose his career over his children. He left us with you, and you are a great mom. But every day he wasn't there was another day I spent wondering what I had done wrong and why he didn't care enough to be with me. "My children are never going to wonder that. I'm going to be there for every birthday, every school assembly, every science fair, every bad grade, every fight on the playground, every good-night kiss, every messy, hard, frustrating, perfect moment of it. ~ Kirsten Beyer

I dream in tunnel vision, I think. I remember in tunnel vision, I think. The question remains, when my tunnel vision goes, as it will very soon, what will I remember seeing? How will I remember?
All I can do is write it down and keep writing. How else can I hold this picture, this life, or this face together? The view from here is of a boy with a softball, ready to let it go. His is an ironic gift from the past, as if the young me is aiming at the old, saying, "Here, buddy, let me help you with that." I wanted to let the ball fly at my lens, whatever was left of it. ~ Ryan Knighton

Yes. Do you remember?"
Once more a shrug of the shoulders. "How should I remember? We have questioned thousands - "
"Questioned! Beaten into unconsciousness, kidneys crushed, bones broken, thrown into cellars like sacks, dragged up again, faces torn, testicles crushed - that was what you called questioning! The hot frightful moaning of those who were no longer able to cry - questioned! The whimpering between unconsciousness and consciousness, kicks in the belly, rubber clubs, whips - yes, all that you innocently called 'questioning'!"
"Don't move your hands! Or I'll shoot you down! Do you remember little Max Rosenberg who lay beside me in the cellar with his torn body and who tried to smash his head on the cement wall to keep from being questioned again - questioned, why? Because he was a democrat! And Willmann who passed blood and had no teeth and only one eye left after he had been questioned by you for two hours - questioned, why? Because he was a Catholic and did not believe your Fuehrer was the new Messiah. And Riesenfeld whose head and back looked like raw lumps of flesh and who implored us to bite open his arteries because he was toothless and no longer able to do it himself after he had been questioned by you - questioned, why? Because he was against war and did not believe that culture is most perfectly expressed by bombs and flame throwers. Questioned! Thousands have been questioned, yes - don't move your hands, you swine! And now finally I've got you ~ Erich Maria Remarque

Listen to me, Dad. When Dylan's first cornea went bad, I grieved for the perfect child he should have been. I told myself that the diagnosis was wrong. I bargained with God - you know, make his eyes right and I'll do anything. When that didn't work I was absolutely furious that my child had to face this. In the end I had no choice. I had to accept it, because that was the only way I could help Dylan." She straightened. "Grieving is a process. Anger is part of it." She paused. "Right now, you're angry that Mom left you alone. But you're taking it out on Jill and me, and we both need you. You can drink all you want - ~ Barbara Delinsky

On more than one occasion I have been ready to abandon my whole life for love. To alter everything that makes sense to me and to move into a different world where the only known will be the beloved. Such a sacrifice must be the result of love... or is it that the life itself was already worn out? I had finished with that life, perhaps, and could not admit it, being stubborn or afraid, or perhaps did not known it, habit being a great binder. I think it is often so that those most in need of change choose to fall in love and then throw up their hands and blame it all on fate. But it is not fate, at least, not if fate is something outside of us; it is a choice made in secret after nights of longing.
... I may be cynical when I say that very rarely is the beloved more than a shaping spirit for the lover's dreams... To be a muse may be enough. The pain is when the dreams change, as they do, as they must. Suddenly the enchanted city fades and you are left alone again in the windy desert. As for your beloved, she didn't understand you.
The truth is, you never understood yourself. ~ Jeanette Winterson