I Just Thought It Was Funny Quotes

In homosexual sex you know exactly what the other person is feeling, so you are identifying with the other person completely. In heterosexual sex you have no idea what the other person is feeling. ~ William S. Burroughs

There was a boy down at the stables." She laughed suddenly with her back comfortably nestled against Grant's chest. "Oh,Lord,he was a bit like Will, all sharp,awkward edges."
"You were crazy about him."
"I'd spend hours mucking out stalls and grooming horses just to get a glimpse of him.I wrote pages and pages about him in my diary and one very mushy poem."
"And kept it under your pillow."
"Apparently you've had a nodding aquaintance with twelve-year-old girls."
He thought of Shelby and grinned, resting his chin on the top of her head. Her hair smelled as though she'd washed it with rain-drenched wildflowers. "How long did it take you to get him to kiss you?"
She laughed. "Ten days.I thought I'd discovered the answer to the mysteries of the universe.I was a woman."
"No female's more sure of that than a twelve-year-old. ~ Nora Roberts

Paulson, what the hell are you doing at my party?" Michael asked, a bit drunk.
"Don't worry, asshole. I'm not staying. I was just wondering why you are texting Nicolette."
"I would have thought for a smart guy that it would be obvious." Michael slurred his words. "I wanted to invite Nicolette and her friends over here to party with us."
"Well, you see, Nicolette has all the friends she needs and respectively declines your invitation."
"Is that coming from Nicolette or from you, Simon?" Michael was now suddenly sober.
"It's coming from me, so stay away from her." I started to walk away.
Michael bravely said, "What if I don't, Simon? What will you do about it?"
I just turned around and simply replied, "You don't want to know the answer to that, Michael. ~ Mary A. Wasowski

ON THE A TRAIN

There were no seats to be had on the A train last night, but I had a good grip on the pole at the end of one of the seats and I was reading the beauty column of the Journal-American, which the man next to me was holding up in front of him. All of a sudden I felt a tap on my arm, and I looked down and there was a man beginning to stand up from the seat where he was sitting. "Would you like to sit down?" he said. Well, I said the first thing that came into my head, I was so surprised and pleased to be offered a seat in the subway. "Oh, thank you very much," I said, "but I am getting out at the next station." He sat back and that was that, but I felt all set up and I thought what a nice man he must be and I wondered what his wife was like and I thought how lucky she was to have such a polite husband, and then all of a sudden I realized that I wasn't getting out at the next station at all but the one after that, and I felt perfectly terrible. I decided to get out at the next station anyway, but then I thought, If I get out at the next station and wait around for the next train I'll miss my bus and they only go every hour and that will be silly. So I decided to brazen it out as best I could, and when the train was slowing up at the next station I stared at the man until I caught his eye and then I said, "I just remembered this isn't my station after all." Then I thought he would think I was asking him to stand up and give me his seat, so I said, "But I st ~ Maeve Brennan

The buzzer rang. Magnus pressed the button to let him enter, speechless for a moment because he had wanted Alec there, so badly, and here he was. It felt more like magic than anything he could do.
Then Alec was there, standing in the open doorway.
"I wanted to see you," said Alec with devastating simplicity. "Is this okay? I can go away if you're busy or anything."
It must have been raining a little outside. There were sparkling drops of water in Alec's messy black hair. He was wearing a hoodie that Magnus thought he might have found in a Dumpster, and sloppy jeans, and his whole face was lit up just because he was looking at Magnus.
"I think," said Magnus, pulling Alec in by the strings on his awful gray hoodie, "that I could be persuaded to clear my schedule. ~ Cassandra Clare

Why didn't you dare it before? he asked harshly.
When I hadn't a job? When I was starving? When I was just as I am now, as a man, as an artist, the same Martin Eden? That's the question. I've been asking myself for many a day. My brain is the same old brain. And what is puzzling me is why they want me now. Surely they don't want me for myself, for myself the same olf self they did not want. They must want me for something else, for something that is outside of me, for something that is not I. Shall I tell you what that something is? It is for the recognition I have recieved. That recognition is not I. Then again for the money I have earned and am earnin. But money is not I. And is it for the recognition and money, that you now want me? ~ Jack London

Minutes later, we were back at the sliding glass door that led inside the house--me, leaning against the glass, Marlboro Man anchoring me there with his strong, convincing lips. I was a goner. My right leg hooked slowly around his calf.
And then, the sound--the loud ringing of the rotary phone inside. Marlboro Man ignored it through three rings, but it was late, and curiosity took over. "I'd better get that," he said, each word dripping with heat. He ran inside to answer the phone, leaving me alone in a sultry, smoky cloud. Saved by the bell, I thought. Damn. I was dizzy, unable to steady myself. Was it the wine? Wait…I hadn't had any wine that night. I was drunk on his muscles. Wasted on his masculinity.
Within seconds, Marlboro Man was running back out the door.
"There's a fire," he said hurriedly. "A big one--I've got to go." Without pausing, he ran toward the pickup.
I stood there, still dazed and fizzy, still unable to feel my knees. And then, just as I was beginning to reflect on the utter irony that a prairie fire may have just saved my eternal soul from burning in hell for carnal sin, Marlboro Man's pickup flew into reverse and screeched abruptly to a halt at the edge of The Porch--our porch. Rolling down his window, he leaned out and yelled, "You comin'?"
"Oh…um…sure!" I replied, running toward the pickup and hopping inside.
A prairie fire. A real, live prairie fire, I thought as Marlboro Man's diesel pickup peeled out of his gravel dri ~ Ree Drummond

The idea of thinking in a linguistic yet nonphonological mode always intrigued me. I had a friend born of deaf parents; he grew up using American Sign Language, and he told me that he often thought in ASL instead of English. I used to wonder what it was like to have one's thoughts be manually coded, to reason using an inner pair of hands instead of an inner voice. With Heptapod B, I was experiencing something just as foreign: my thoughts were becoming graphically coded. There were trance-like moments during the day when my thoughts weren't expressed with my internal voice; instead, I saw semagrams with my mind's eye, sprouting like frost on a windowpane. As ~ Ted Chiang

There are many things the Chinese do differently from Westerners. There's the question of extra credit, for example. One time, Lulu came home and told me about a math test she'd just taken. She said she thought it had gone extremely well, which is why she didn't feel the need to do the extra-credit problems.
I was speechless for a second, uncomprehending. "Why not?" I asked. "Why didn't you do them?"
"I didn't want to miss recess."
A fundamental tenet of being Chinese is that you always do all of the extra credit all of the time.
"Why?" asked Lulu, when I explained this to her.
For me this was like asking why I should breathe.
"None of my friends do it," Lulu added.
"That's not true," I said. "I'm 100% sure that Amy and Junno did the extra credit." Amy and Junno were the Asian kids in Lulu's class. And I was right about them; Lulu admitted it.
"But Rashad and Ian did the extra credit too, and they're not Asian," she added.
"Aha! So many of your friends did do the extra credit! And I didn't say only Asians do extra credit. Anyone with good parents knows you have to do the extra credit. I'm in shock, Lulu. What will the teacher think of you? You went to recess instead of doing extra credit?" I was almost in tears. "Extra credit is not extra. It's just credit. It's what separates the good students from the bad students."
"Aww - recess is so fun," Lulu offered as her final sally. But after that, Lulu, like Sophia. always did the e ~ Amy Chua

Not everybody who marries in the church and has a family the old-fashioned way is unhappy." "No, but some are. And even if it's just hit-and-miss . . . even if anybody can fall through the cracks, it's still not what I thought I was buying into at all. It still all feels like it makes no sense. ~ Catherine Ryan Hyde

Who might this young man be?"
In an instant I sorted through every possibly explanation for Sage's presence, but judging by the way Mom was looking at him, I knew she already had it in her head that he was a romantic prospect, and she'd go on believing that even if I said he was purely a homeschool friend. And if she thought I was interested in him, no political luncheon would stop her from sitting us down and grilling Sage in front of everyone so she could dig up any deal breakers before I had to find them out the hard way. She'd probably even encourage her guests to join in, and I knew they'd be happy to do it-I'd seen it happen to Rayna.
The problem was, I couldn't spend all day hanging out at Mom's lunch. I needed to go through Dad's things, and I wanted to finish before the Israeli minister and his Secret Service protection left the house open for any not-so-welcome visitors to return.
"This is Larry Steczynski! You can call him Sage. He's my new boyfriend!" Rayna suddenly chirped, threading her arm through Sage's and giving him a squeeze. To his credit, Sage looked only slightly surprised.
Just one more thing to add to the long list of reasons I love Rayna. She knew exactly what I'd been thinking and had found the one answer that would leave me completely off the hook.
"Really!" Mom said meaningfully. "Then we should talk." She turned to the group and asked, "Gentleman?"
Without hesitation, all the senators and the Israeli minister agreed t ~ Hilary Duff

I used to think that happiness, like God, was an idea weaker people were sold on, to manage the grief of a world with so much suffering. It is just easier, I thought, to decide that you are doing something wrong and you just need to buy the right thing, read the right book, find the right guru, or pray more to be happy than to accept that life is a great long heartbreak. Happiness is not what I imagined that mirage to be: an unending ecstasy or state of perpetual excitement. Not a high or a mirage, it is just being okay. My happiness is the absence of fear that there won't be enough
enough money, enough power, enough security, enough of a cushion of these things to protect me from the everyday heartbreaks of being human. Heartbreak doesn't kill you. It changes you. ~ Melissa Febos

I take the tiniest of steps back and reach out to place my hand in his. When I do, it's exactly as I thought – electrifying. Game face, Veronica, game face. I smile as if he has no effect on me at all. I know this works when I am doing my job. I don't know if it will work for him, but here it goes. "Veronica Johnson," I confidently reply.

He just stands there for a moment grinning. It's as if he's happy that I seem unphased by him. I am definitely not used to the reaction he is giving me. Joe's reaction, now that was the typical reaction. But, this? What the hell is this? ~ J.B. McGee

I worked out a book which I thought was just straight science fiction
with everything pretty much explained, and suddenly I got an idea which I thought was kind of neat for working in a mythological angle. I'm really struggling with myself. It would probably be a better book if I include it, but on the other hand I don't always like to keep reverting to it. I think what I'm going to do is vary my output, do some straight science fiction and some straight fantasy that doesn't involve mythology, and composites. ~ Roger Zelazny

I thought masturbating was embarassing. I didn't even know why. It just was. It was like having sex with yourself. Having sex with yourself was really weird. Autoeroticism. ~ Benjamin Alire Saenz

What the devil is 'wordsharing'? Does the word for 'speak' mean 'listen' just as well? If I said, 'Listen to me!' you might talk, instead."

"What use is the one without the other? It took me a long time to see this distinction in Valan speech."

Spinel thought over the list of 'share forms': learnsharing, worksharing, lovesharing. "Do you say 'hitsharing,' too? If I hit a rock with a chisel, does the rock hit me?"

"I would think so. Don't you feel it in your arm?"

He frowned and sought a better example; it was so obvious, it was impossible to explain. "I've got it: if Beryl bears a child, does the child bear Beryl? That's ridiculous."

"A mother is born when her child comes."

"Or if I swim in the sea, does the sea swim in me?"

"Does it not?"

Helplessly he thought, She can't be that crazy. "Please, you do know the difference, don't you?"

"Of course. What does it matter? ~ Joan Slonczewski

When Seymour and I were five and three, Les and Bessie played on the same bill for a couple of weeks with Joe Jackson -- the redoubtable Joe Jackson of the nickel-plated trick bicycle that shone like something better than platinum to the very last row of the theater. A good many years later, not long after the outbreak of the Second World War, when Seymour and I had just recently moved into a small New York apartment of our own, our father -- Les, as he'll be called hereafter -- dropped in on us one evening on his way home from a pinochle game. He quite apparently had held very bad cards all afternoon. He came in, at any rate, rigidly predisposed to keep his overcoat on. He sat. He scowled at the furnishings. He turned my hand over to check for cigarette-tar stains on my fingers, then asked Seymour how many cigarettes he smoked a day. He thought he found a fly in his highball. At length, when the conversation -- in my view, at least -- was going straight to hell, he got up abruptly and went over to look at a photograph of himself and Bessie that had been newly tacked up on the wall. He glowered at it for a full minute, or more, then turned around, with a brusqueness no one in the family would have found unusual, and asked Seymour if he remembered the time Joe Jackson had given him, Seymour, a ride on the handle bars of his bicycle, all over the stage, around and around. Seymour, sitting in an old corduroy armchair across the room, a cigarette going, wearing a blue shirt, gray ~ J.D. Salinger

When I was praised for my conduct I felt a guilt that in some way I was doing something that was really against the wishes of the white folks, that if they had understood they would have desired me to act just the opposite, that I should have been sulky and mean, and that that really would have been what they wanted, even though they were fooled and thought they wanted me to act as I did. It made me afraid that some day they would look upon me as a traitor and I would be lost. Still I was more afraid to act any other way because they didn't like that at all. ~ Ralph Ellison

Because I'm a "strong person," the symptoms hit me by surprise. It was, as I write in the book, stinging in my eyes after Sunday that I thought was an allergy, until one day I sat in the car and decided to just let my eyes tear up so that whatever was in them would come out, and what came out were tears that wouldn't stop. It was literally a physical reaction that was my first indication there was anything wrong. ~ Barbara Brown Taylor

But what should he wear?
I thought about having him laid to rest in his uniform. But the truth is he hated wearing it. He really needed to be dressed in something he was comfortable in.
And that wasn't going to be in a suit, either: he hated being in a jacket and tie even more than in a uniform.
Tie? Ha!
I got a pair of his best pressed jeans. They had a nice crease in the pants leg, just like he liked. I found one of his plaid button-down shirts, another favorite.
Kryptek, which produces tactical gear and apparel and was one of Chris's favorite companies, had presented him with a big silver belt buckle that he loved. It was very cowboy, and in that way very much who Chris was.
"You think I can pull this off?" he'd asked, showing me how it looked right after he got it.
"Hell, yeah," I told him.
I made sure that was with him as well.
But if there was any item of clothing that really touched deep into Chris's soul, it was his cowboy boots. They were a reminder of who he was when he was young, and they were part of who he'd been since getting out of the military.
He had a really nice pair of new boots that had been custom made. He hadn't had a chance to wear them much, and I couldn't decide whether to bury him in those or another pair that were well worn and very comfortable.
I asked the funeral director for his opinion.
"We usually don't do shoes," he said. It can be very difficult to get them onto the body. "But if i ~ Taya Kyle

The shot doesn't come. He stares at me with the same ferocity but doesn't move. Why doesn't he shoot me? His heart pounds against my palms,and my own heart lifts. He is Divergent. He can fight this simulation.Any simulation.
"Tobias," I say. "It's me."
I step forward and wrap my arms around him. His body is stiff. His heart beats faster. I can feel it against my cheek. A thud against my cheek. A thud as the gun hits the floor.He grabs my shoulders-too hard, his fingers digging into my skin where the bullet was. I cry out as he pulls me back. Maybe he means to kill me in some crueler way.
"Tris," he says,and it's him again. His mouth collides with mine.
His arm wraps around me and he lifts me up, holding me against him, his hands clutching at my back. His face and the back of his neck are slick with sweat, his body is shaking,and my shoulder blazes with pain,but I don't care,I don't care,I don't care.
He sets me down and stares at me, his fingers brushing over my forehead, my eyebrows,my cheeks, my lips.
Something like a sob and a sigh and a moan escapes him,and he kisses me again. His eyes are bright with tears. I never thought I would see Tobias cry. It makes me hurt.
I pull myself to his chest and cry into his shirt. All the throbbing in my head comes back,and the ache in my shoulder,and I feel like my body weight doubles.I lean against him, and he supports me.
"How did you do it?" I say.
"I don't know," he says. "I just hear yo ~ Veronica Roth

I never believed I'd have a six-pack, especially not at 35 years old. I always thought it was a genetic blessing. It's not. You just have to be willing to do what it takes. ~ Sullivan Stapleton

I remember when I was being told about Watergate, and I thought, "Oh, America is not what I think America is." But America is what I think it is. It's just that it's two bits of it, and I don't go with the Republican bit of it. I go more with the Democratic bit. ~ Eddie Izzard

You've already slept the entire day. Why not take over for Matthew now?"
"You really think I could sleep with your eyes devouring me all day?"
Her face turned red with rage and mortification. That faker! She had been staring at him at various times throughout the day. She probably had his face so memorized that she could sketch it without his being present. But he couldn't keep his knowledge of that to himself? He had to make sure she was embarrassed right down to her toes?
But he didn't rub it in further. At least,she thought he was done with the subject when he lay down on his seat and turned his back to her. "Get some sleep yourself," he ordered. "You'll need to be at your best tomorrow, too."
She was just lying down when he added, "And keep your eyes off my arse."
Waves of heat crept up to her cheeks. That pretty much guarenteed that she wasn't going to get any sleep until he was out of the coach. ~ Johanna Lindsey

Well, look at it this way," Robin reasoned as I sat with him and Geoff at their kitchen table that night, half-plastered from the pitcher of margarita they'd blended up. Was I going to have a tequila hangover in the morning? Oh, honey, you bet your sweet ass I was. And how many fucks did I give?
Not a one.
"Even if you were overreacting to read what you read into this guy's offer - which I don't think you were, though I doubt he actually thought it through enough to intend it to be read that way - you still have to ask yourself: What's in it for you, hanging around some motel room waiting for a married man to make a booty call? What benefit would you get out of that situation, or out of prolonging your relationship with him? He might not have meant it to be an insulting offer, but it was absolutely a one hundred percent selfish offer. There was no upside for you whatsoever, unless the sex really was just that amazing. ~ Amelia C. Gormley

If he doesn't get here soon, I'm going to fall asleep, Susan grumbled.
He loved hearing her voice in his head even when she was cranky.
The thought made him smile. I've been keeping you up too late.
Not really, she replied. I've always been a night owl. I just haven't been sleeping late the way I usually do.
And had had one scare after another whilst awake.
Did I mention I'm still sore from digging your handsome ass up?
He laughed.
It was totally worth it, of course, she went on.But if we find out you're single, I might hit you up for a nice long massage.
He cursed when his body immediately responded to the image of her naked and laid out before him, waiting for him to run his hands all over her body. Now who's flirting?
Ooh, she purred. That's so cool. Even in your thoughts, your voice deepens and gets all growly when you're turned on. Before he could respond, she made a sound of impatience.Damn it. Now I'm turned on.
He laughed, delighted that she inspired him to do so even in such grim circumstances. ~ Dianne Duvall

I didn't want you to apply just because I'm going to be in New York. Or hell, even worse, not apply because I'm going to be there. I was going to tell you in person. And then the scout shows up at the game tonight, and what was I supposed to do? My mom is freaking out; you're freaking out." He throws his hands in the air in frustration. "I've totally fucked this up."
It hits me then, the truth of the situation. He made his decision about Columbia on his own, and he wanted me to be able to do the same. Of course.
Hell, if it hadn't been for the storm bringing us together like it did, I probably would have turned down NYU rather than risk going off to New York with him, and that's the truth.
I drop my gaze to the ground and take a deep breath, cursing myself for being such an idiot.
"No, you haven't," I say at last, raising my eyes to meet his confused ones.
"Haven't what?"
"Fucked it up." I take a tentative step toward him. "I get it now. God, Ryder. Why do you have to be so perfect?"
"Perfect? I've been in love with you for so long now, and I've never managed to get it right, not once."
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. "News flash--I think you've finally got it this time."
His smile makes my heart leap. "Do you have any idea what was going through my head when you first told me about NYU? I couldn't believe it. It was like…like a gift fell right into my lap. Like winning the lottery. All this time I thought going off to ~ Kristi Cook

In Port William, more than anyplace else I had been, this religion that scorned the beauty and goodness of this world was a puzzle to me. To begin with, I don't think anybody believed it. I still don't think so. Those world-condemning sermons were preached to people who, on Sunday mornings, would be wearing their prettiest clothes. Even the old widows in their dark dresses would be pleasing to look at. By dressing up on the one day when most of them had leisure to do it, they had signified their wish to present themselves to one another and to Heaven looking their best. The people who heard those sermons loved good crops, good gardens, good livestock and work animals and dogs; they loved flowers and the shade of trees, and laughter and music; some of them could make you a fair speech on the pleasures of a good drink of water or a patch of wild raspberries. While the wickedness of the flesh was preached from the pulpit, the young husbands and wives and the courting couples sat thigh to thigh, full of yearning and joy, and the old people thought of the beauty of the children. And when church was over they would go home to Heavenly dinners of fried chicken, it might be, and creamed new potatoes and hot biscuits and butter and cherry pie and sweet milk and buttermilk. And the preacher and his family would always be invited to eat with somebody and they would always go, and the preacher, having just foresworn on behalf of everybody the joys of the flesh, would eat with unconsecrat ~ Wendell Berry

Vas dragged me over to Akos, so we knelt across from each other, barely an arm's length of space between us.
"I'm sorry" was all I could think to say to him. That he was here was my fault, after all. If I hadn't fallen in with the renegades…but it was too late for thoughts like that.
Everything inside me slowed as his eyes met mine, like I had stopped him. I looked him over carefully, like a caress, his tousled brown hair, the dusting of freckles on his nose, and his gray eyes, unguarded for the first time I could remember. I didn't see the bruises or the blood that marked him. I listened to his breaths. I had heard them in my ear just after I kissed him, every exhale bursting a little, like he didn't want to let it go.
"I always thought my fate meant I would die a traitor to my country." Akos's voice was rough, like he had worn away at it by screaming. "But you made it so I won't. ~ Veronica Roth

I thought yoga was easy - I went out and I bought a yoga video tape. I bought the beginners' yoga tape. I couldn't do anything on the whole hour - nothing - just fast forwarding: can't do that, can't do that - I know I can't do that. This woman in a soothing voice: 'Simply take the bottom of your right foot and place it on the small of your back. ~ Brian Regan

I was, after the breakup, what you call a complete wreck. For the first time in my life, my pain had a focus. Any I just couldn't help myself. I didn't care what anyone thought, I didn't care that all the girls in school would say, See, he finally got wise, I didn't care how stupid I would look with teary mascara stains and purple eyeliner tracks down my cheeks, I didn't care about anything except how this was the worst pain ever. I used to weep for never having anything worth losing, but now I was simply resplendent--puffy, red, hysterical-- with a loss I could identify completely. I felt justified in my sorrow and I couldn't stand the way everything about Zachary seemed to be everywhere: Every staircase we'd necked on and lounge chair we'd chatted on between classes was redolent with memories of him. My God, even the lint that gathered on my clothing and still hadn't come out in the wash reminded me of Zachary. I would burst into tears in class and not bother to excuse myself. I cried on the subway. One day, I got mugged walking to the subway, and figured it was as good an excuse as any to go home and stay there. ~ Elizabeth Wurtzel

Nick found Gabriel in his bedroom, sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by textbooks. Headphones trailed from his ears, and his pencil tapped in time with whatever he was listening to. He either didn't notice Nick standing at the door, or he deliberately wasn't looking up.

Nick wanted to shove him off the bed and kick him in the face.

Not aggressive, my ass.

Gabriel finally looked up and yanked the headphones free.

"So I have to leave you alone, but you get to stand there like a freaky stalker?"

Oh, good. New adjectives. Nick told his heartbeat to chill out. He pushed Gabriel's door open. "I need to talk to you about something."

Gabriel stared at him. Nick could read the debate on his face: screw with Nick or just play it easy.

He went with the latter. His pencil dropped into the spine of his trig textbook. "Okay. Talk."

"If you grabbed someone by the wrist, could you set their skin on fire without anyone knowing you were doing it?"

Gabriel's eyebrows went up. "Not exactly what I thought you'd want to talk about."

Nick didn't have an answer for that. He kept his gaze steady and waited.

"Look, Nicky . . ." Gabriel hesitated. "Whatever I did to piss you off, just - "

"Forget it." Nick was halfway out his door before Gabriel slid off the bed to grab his arm.

"Stop," said his twin. "I'll answer your question, all right?"

~ Brigid Kemmerer

But you know, even worrying about haircuts couldn't depress me. Because every time I started sinking low, I'd just remember about football. All this time I'd thought I wanted to be a trainer, when it turned out I wanted to be a player instead. I saw something I wanted to do and I decided to do it. The feeling of freedom this gave me - I can't even describe it. It was my decision. I chose it. I am not a cow. ~ Catherine Gilbert Murdock

Well it was one of those days
Larger than life
When your friends came to dinner
And they stayed the night
And then they cleaned out the refrigerator
And ate everything in sight
And then they stayed up in the livingroom
And cried all night
Strange angels
Singing just for me
Old stories
Haunting me
This is nothing
Like I thought it would be ... ~ Laurie Anderson

I thought that Christian was a noun, a person looking for authenticity. I never understood that idea that a band could be Christian or something could be Christian. But it just can be and is. ~ Rob Bell

One day, I just wandered into a dance class full of girls, and that was it. I thought, 'Hang on! I'll have a bit of this.' I went back a week later and got dragged up by the teacher. It wasn't a massive calling. ~ Anton Du Beke

I went first. The card I drew was "Watergate." "Oh, come on," I said. "This is ridiculous."

"Don't whine," said Carter, his grin annoyingly smug. "We all take a random chance here."

They started the timer. I drew some remedial waves that immediately got a "Water!" from Cody. That was promising. Then, I drew what I hoped looked like a wall with a door in it. Apparently, I did too good a job.

"Wall," said Hugh.

"Door," said Cody.

I added some vertical lines to the door to emphasize the gate aspect. After a moment's thought, I drew a plus sign between the water and wall to show their connection.

"Aqueduct," said Cody.

"A bridge over troubled water," guessed Hugh.

"Oh my God," I groaned.

Unsurprisingly, my time ran out before my teammates could figure it out, though not before they guessed "Hoover Dam" and "Hans Brinker." With a groan, I flounced onto the couch. The other team then got a shot at it.

"Watergate," said Carter right away.

Hugh turned on me, face incredulous. "Why didn't you just draw a gate? ~ Richelle Mead

When I was 13, I had these episodes where I could just see the world without any words attached to it, without any associations. It was a little bit spooky. A lot of people might have even thought it was pathological. I thought it was interesting. ~ Barbara Ehrenreich

I think the most difficult thing in teaching, as well as the most interesting, is to get the children to tell you their real thoughts about things. One stormy day last week I gathered them around me at dinner hour and tried to get them to talk to me just as if I were one of themselves. I asked them to tell me the things they most wanted. Some of the answers were commonplace enough... dolls, ponies, and skates. Others were decidedly original. Hester Boulter wanted 'to wear her Sunday dress every day and eat in the sitting room.' Hannah Bell wanted 'to be good without having to take any trouble about it.' Marjorie White, aged ten, wanted to be a 'widow'. Questioned why, she gravely said that if you weren't married people called you an old maid, and if you were your husband bossed you; but if you were a widow there'd be no danger of either. The most remarkable wish was Sally Bell's. She wanted a 'honeymoon.' I asked her if she knew what it was and she said she thought it was an extra nice kind of bicycle because her cousin in Montreal went on a honeymoon when he was married and he had always had the very latest in bicycles! ~ L.M. Montgomery

Will you just tell me, Brian.I need you to tell me you love me."
"I'm getting to it." He turned back. "I never thought I wanted family.I want to make children with you,Keeley.I want ours. Please don't cry."
"I'm trying not to.Hurry up."
"I can't be rushed at such a time.Sniffle those back or I'll blunder it.That's the way." He moved to her. "I don't want to own horses, but I can make an exception for the gift you gave me today.As a kind of symbol of things. I didn't have faith in him, not pure faith, that he'd run to win.I didn't have faith in you, either.Give me your hand."
She held it out, clasping his. "Tell me."
"I've never said the words to another woman. You'll be my first, and you'll be my last.I loved you from the first instant, in a kind of blinding flash. Over time the love I have for you has strengthened, and deepened until it's like something alive inside me."
"That's everything I needed to hear." She brought his hand to her cheek. "Marry me, Brian."
"Bloody hell.Will you let me do the asking?"
She had to bite her lip to hold off the watery chuckle. "Sorry."
With a laugh, he plucked her off her feet. "Well, what the hell.Sure, I'll marry you."
"Right away."
"Right away." He brushed his lips over her temple. "I love you,Keeley, and since you're birdbrain enough to want to marry a hardheaded Irish horse's ass, I believe it was, I'll go up now and ask your father."
"As my-Brian, really."
"I'll do this p ~ Nora Roberts

Bra already forgotten, he was working on her pants, and he kissed every inch he bared, from her waist to her knees, then to her ankles, then her toes, one by one. he laid a path of kisses down on leg, then up the other, then he placed a long, lingering kiss at her center, through her panties, She was already wet for him.
Not that he hurried. All the impatience he'd shown earlier seemed to have evaporated. Doris could have crocheted a pair of panties in the amount of time it took Hunter to remove Gabi's.
She squirmed under him. "I thought they teach speed in the military."
"When warranted. There are times that call for careful deliberation."
"You're going to deliberate me to death," she warned, just as he finally parted her hot flesh, a move that immediately silenced her.
But he didn't touch her further. He blew on her clit.
She nearly jackkifed off the couch. He pushed her knees up until her heels touched her butt, then he pushed her knees out until she was spread wide open just inches from his face.
And then he just looked.
Good grief. What was there to look at?
"Touch me!" she snapped when she couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "Touch me, you torturous bastard. That's an order."
He laughed deeply and heartily. "And what are you going to do if I don't?"
"I'll arrest you."
"I think that's what they call an abuse of power." His eyes glinted darkly. "But the idea of handcuffs does have considerable merit. ~ Dana Marton

Daphne turned to Simon with an amused expression. "I can't quite decide if she is being terribly polite or exquisitely rude."
"Exquisitely polite, perhaps?" Simon asked mildly.
She shook her head. "Oh, definitely not that."
"The alternative, of course, is - "
"Terribly rude?" Daphne grinned and watched as her mother looped her arm through Lord Railmont's, pointed him toward Daphne so that he could nod his good-bye, and led him from the room.
And then, as if by magic, the remaining beaux murmured their hasty farewells and followed suit.
"Remarkably efficient, isn't she?" Daphne murmured.
"Your mother? She's a marvel."
"She'll be back, of course."
"Pity. And here I thought I had you well and truly in my clutches."
Daphne laughed. "I don't know how anyone considered you a rake. Your sense of humor is far too superb."
"And here we rakes thought we were so wickedly droll."
"A rake's humor," Daphne stated, "is essentially cruel."
Her comment surprised him. He stared at her intently, searching her brown eyes, and yet not really knowing what it was he was looking for.
There was a narrow ring of green just outside her pupils, the color as deep and rich as moss. He'd never seen her in the daylight before, he realized.
"Your grace?" Daphne's quiet voice snapped him out of his daze.
Simon blinked. "I beg your pardon."
"You looked a thousand miles away," she said, her brow wrinkling.
Julia Quinn