Inside Out Trilogy Quotes

You told me I was making you crazy last night," he reminds me, drawing me out of my thoughts, back to a present I'm uncertain of.
"You are, Chris."
"Well, you are making me crazy, too."
"Is this supposed to be making me feel better? ~ Lisa Renee Jones

Anger surges in me and I stand up. "You have no right -"
He's on his feet towering over me. "What if I want to have a right? ~ Lisa Renee Jones

Any man who isn't married by thirty-five is either gay or he's got skeletons in his closet. ~ Lisa Renee Jones

America, you only get ten vacation days a year, but you also have a far healthier pancake culture inside of you, and I'm still weighing up whether that means you come out ahead or behind ~ Joel Golby

I believe the ones who stand up for what we say, which is stay inside the Eurozone, try to fix some things in the memorandum and try to help Greece get out of this mess without leaving the Eurozone, without leaving Europe. ~ Eva Kaili

Standing on your own feet, naturally, is as tiresome and dangerous as standing your ground; and when the wild dogs begin to circle grinning round you with their dripping tongues hanging out and you know that with mock servility they like to go for your toes first, why, then, you should stand on someone else's feet, or head if necessary. It is a point of faith for me never to be Hitler; he stood his ground in his own two shoes in his own little hole almost to the end, the fool. But I may disguise myself as any other animate or inanimate object in what follows. I can be eight lame women with falsies, eight cracked chamber pots, or -- let's get right to the point -- a gladiator who is actually constructed of old clothes, brooms, and a paper plate with a face daubed on in finger-paints, not to mention two vagrants inside each shirt-sleeve and pant-leg, moving Goliath's limbs at my say-so; but as long as you believe in the gladiator, you are whipped, and the Museum people will set out on your track, and then once they catch you, don't think I won't come study your exhibit until I can convince your own sweetheart that I am you come back from the dead. For I am Big George, the eternal winner. ~ William T. Vollmann

I jump up: it would be much better if I could only stop thinking. Thoughts are the dullest things. Duller than flesh. They stretch out and there's no end to them and they leave a funny taste in the mouth. Then there are words, inside the thoughts, unfinished words, a sketchy sentence which constantly returns: "I have to fi. . . I ex. . . Dead . . . M. de Roll is dead . . . I am not ... I ex. . ." It goes, it goes . . . and there's no end to it. It's worse than the rest because I feel responsible and have complicity in it. For example, this sort of painful rumination: I exist, I am the one who keeps it up. I. The body lives by itself once it has begun. But though I am the one who continues it, unrolls it. I exist. How serpentine is this feeling of existing, I unwind it, slowly. ... If I could keep myself from thinking! I try, and succeed: my head seems to fill with smoke . . . and then it starts again: "Smoke . . . not to think . . . don't want to think ... I think I don't want to think. I mustn't think that I don't want to think. Because that's still a thought." Will there never be an end to it?
My thought is me: that's why I can't stop. I exist because I think . . . and I can't stop myself from thinking. At this very moment, it's frightful, if I exist, it is because I am horrified at existing. I am the one who pulls myself from the nothingness to which I aspire: the hatred, the disgust of existing, there are as many ways to make myself exist, to thrust myself into exist ~ Jean-Paul Sartre

An acorn is an oak tree turned inside out. ~ Matshona Dhliwayo

Well, you do what you think best. Just know that your life might seem even more upside down for a while yet, before it starts going right side up again. You might even end up inside out, backwards, and head over heels, too. But most of all, you got to find your faith. Could be in yourself, or others, or something greater, but you got to have it. And you will. ~ J. Gabriel Gates

Our dream life allows us to have a look at these subliminal perceptions and shows us that they have an effect upon us. After having an agreeable dream about somebody, even without interpreting the dream, I shall involuntarily look at that person with more interest. The dream image may have deluded me, because of my projections; or it may have given me objective information. To find out which is the correct interpretation requires an honest, attentive attitude and careful thought. But, as is the case with all inner processes, it is ultimately the Self that orders and regulates one's human relationships, so long as the conscious ego takes the trouble to detect the delusive projections and deals with these inside himself instead of outside. It is in this way that spiritually attuned and similarly oriented people find their way to one another, to create a group that cuts across all the usual social and organizational affiliations of people. Such a group is not in conflict with others; it is merely different and independent. The consciously realized process of individuation thus changes a person's relationships. The familiar bonds such as kinship or common interests are replaced by a different type of unity-a bond through the Self. ~ C.G. Jung

Now see the nasturtiums. The leaves are like tiny green parasols blown inside-out and the flowers are terrifically garish. In every village we pass through, see how they are everywhere, how they fill every gap in every wall, every crack in every path.
The nasturtiums have it figured out, how survival's just a matter of filling in the gaps between sun up and sun down. Boiling kettles, peeling potatoes, laundering towels, buying milk, changing light-bulbs, rooting wet mats of pubic hair out of the shower's plughole. This is the way people survive, by filling one hole at a time for the flightiest of temporary gratifications, over and over and over, until the season's out and they die off anyway, wither back into the wall or path, into their dark crevasse. This is the way life's eaten away, expended by the onerous effort of living itself. ~ Sara Baume

I'd much rather be hold up with a ball of yarn, tucked inside the safety of the house with my mother. Out there, you must come to grips with the rot and bone, bloom and disintegration. It's part of the world, this ruthlessness, this severed leg, this sun-bleached skull. I can't really stand it. All the signs point toward change, and all that means is death. - 140-141 ~ Robin Romm

Then the day came when a new column was spotted riding up behind Debegri's force. We almost missed them, for we had also begun staying in a tight group. But luckily Khesot, cautious since his days in the terrible Pirate Wars, still sent pairs of scouts on rounds in all four directions twice a day.
It was Seliar, of my group, who spotted them first. She reported to me, and the rest of us crept down the hillside to watch the camp below. We saw at the head of the column a man wearing a long black cloak.
Debegri emerged, bowed. The newcomer bowed in return and handed the Baron a rolled paper. They went inside Debegri's tent, and when they emerged, the stranger had the white plume of leadership on his helm. Debegri's glower was plain even at the distance we watched from.
Backing up from our vantage, we retreated to our camp.
Bran and Khesot and the other riding leaders were all gathered under our old, patched rain cover when we reached them. Seliar blurted out what we'd seen.
Branaric grinned all through the story. At the end I said, "This is obviously no surprise. What news had you?"
Bran nodded to where a mud-covered young woman sat in front of one of the tents, attacking a bowl of stew as if she hadn't eaten in a week. "Messenger just arrived from Azmus, or it would have been a surprise. Galdran has taken his cousin off the command. He'd apparently expected us to last two weeks at most."
"Well, who is this new commander? Ought we to be afraid ~ Sherwood Smith

Lily Chadwick knew there was something different about the fiercely scowling gentleman the first moment she saw him.
She could feel it.
The instant their gazes met, caught, held, something skittered across her skin like a rain of white sparks. It entered her bloodstream, heating her from the inside until her breath became stilted and her knees went alarmingly weak.
He stared at her from beneath a brow drawn low in a forbidding expression. His eyes were so dark, even the light of the glittering ballroom could not be reflected there. The angles of his face were hard, his jaw sharply defined, and he held his mouth in a harsh line that attempted to harden the full curve of his lower lip but didn't quite manage it.
Lily tried to glance away demurely, but she couldn't seem to manage. She felt a flutter that became a tightening in her belly. Her heart stopped, skipped a few beats, then started up again in a frantic rhythm as he just kept watching her.
Despite his severe, aloof appearance, something about him reached out to her, touching her with an intrinsic sort of recognition. It left her feeling as though she stood in the heart of a firestorm. She sensed with a certainty beyond rational explanation that his unyielding manner was a facade, as if he were a hero in some gothic novel. There was passion in him. She felt it in every quickened, prey-like breath she took while frozen under his intent stare.
The silent interaction between them was becoming mo ~ Amy Sandas

I used to imagine the spider creeping down, crawling into my mouth, sliding down my throat, and laying loads of eggs in my belly. The Baby spiders would hatch after a while and eat me alive, from the inside out ~ Darren Shan

In an automobile, if you think about the navigation system - of all the cars in the world, four out of five cars in the world if they have a navigation system have something from Nokia inside that car - the data, the platform, something. So we play a very strong role there. ~ Stephen Elop

There was a caged fury to him. A feralness that seeped out of every pore.

"Do you know when the next train to Yass is coming?" I had asked.

"Go to hell," he said, but there was a desolate fear in his eyes and I couldn't look away.

"Been there. Trust me. It's so overrated."

And for reasons I will never understand, I received a smile from Jonah Griggs, and there was a yearning in it, touching a nerve inside me that still freaks me out to this day. ~ Melina Marchetta

May the river be; may the fish live. May the river not dry up and may the fish not die. We shall not shiver; we shall not quake. When the bush is burning, may we run out to the road; and when the road is burning, may we run into the bush. We shall see that which we shall eat; whatever will eat us will not see us. Whatever will profit us, if it is inside the ground, it will germinate; if it is in the water, it will float. The source through which enmity comes our way shall turn to the source of our joy. ~ Azuka Onwuka

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

She's thinking about grief and trauma, how they can hide out inside a woman, how they can come back.
The playwright follows her eyes, until he sees what she sees.
The photographer's framed image, the orphan girl lit up by the explosion, a girl blowing forward, a girl coming out of fire, a girl who looks as if she might blast right through image and time into the world
"I know what's happened," the poet says. ~ Lidia Yuknavitch

Ben stands just behind me, and we begin to wedge out a fresh piece of clay. I try my best to concentrate, to ignore the fact that my heart is beating at five times its normal speed. I watch his arms as he kneads the clay - almost a little too hard - and as the muscles in his forearms flex. "That's good," I say, in an effort to stay focused. I dip a sponge into a bowl of water and squeeze the droplets down over his hands to keep things moist.
After several minutes, Ben lets me take the lead. I place my palms over the clay mound and close my eyes. Meanwhile, Ben's chest grazes my shoulders, and his clay-soaked fingers stroke the length of my arms.
"You're doing great," he whispers in my ear.
We continue to sculpt for another hour, working the mound down into a flattened surface - until we have a total of four tiles.
And until I can no longer hold myself back.
I turn around to face him.
"Camelia?" He squints slightly.
I bite my lip, wishing that he could read my mind, and that he would kiss me until my lips ache. "What are you thinking?" I ask, slipping my hand inside the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer. ~ Laurie Faria Stolarz

I don't think jealousy has much of a connection with real, objective conditions. Like if you're fortunate you're not jealous, but if life hasn't blessed you, you are jealous. Jealousy doesn't work that way. It's more like a tumor secretly growing inside us that gets bigger and bigger, beyond all reason. Even if you find out it's there, there's nothing you can do to stop it. ~ Haruki Murakami

Men's sexuality is mean and violent, and men so powerful that they can reach WITHIN women to fvck/construct us from the inside out. Satan-like, men possess women, making their wicked fantasies and desires women's own. A woman who has sex with a man, therefore, does so against her will, even if she does not feel forced. ~ Judith Levine

Quality begins on the inside ... then works its way out. ~ Bob Moawad

I'm interested in the way the whole cultural landscape can shift over time. Okay, this will seem like a silly example, but look at the whole discourse around "selling out," a concept people say is irrelevant because there's no more distinction between mainstream and underground, inside and outside (which I don't really believe, but that's another issue). ~ Astra Taylor

I don't know, man." He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"Ew!" I recoiled. "You smoke?"
"Only when I drink," he said, reaching for a lighter, "or when I'm seriously depressed."
I snatched the pack away. "These will kill you, and you don't want that."
"Yeah?" he said sarcastically. "How should I get myself killed then?"
"You could hang out with me some more," I suggested. "I attract homicidal maniacs like mosquitoes, baby. ~ Kyra Davis

My thoughts on the descent of our moral prejudices – for that is what this polemic is about – were first set out in a sketchy and provisional way in the collection of aphorisms entitled Human, All Too Human. A Book for Free Spirits, which I began to write in Sorrento during a winter that enabled me to pause, like a wanderer pauses, to take in the vast and dangerous land through which my mind had hitherto travelled. This was in the winter of 1876–7; the thoughts themselves go back further. They were mainly the same thoughts which I shall be taking up again in the present essays – let us hope that the long interval has done them good, that they have become riper, brighter, stronger and more perfect! The fact that I still stick to them today, and that they themselves in the meantime have stuck together increasingly firmly, even growing into one another and growing into one, makes me all the more blithely confident that from the first, they did not arise in me individually, randomly or sporadically but as stemming from a single root, from a fundamental will to knowledge deep inside me which took control, speaking more and more clearly and making ever clearer demands. And this is the only thing proper for a philosopher. We have no right to stand out individually: we must not either make mistakes or hit on the truth individually. Instead, our thoughts, values, every 'yes', 'no', 'if ' and 'but' grow from us with the same inevitability as fruits borne on the tree – all related and r ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

When I walk into a room, you're the only person I see. My brain doesn't get a choice anymore, because there's something inside you so rare it radiates out and blocks everyone else. You have the kind of beauty that can't be manufactured - the kind that comes from in here." He tapped a finger against her chest. "I didn't know what real beauty was before I met you, but I get it now. So trust me when I say you're the most breathtaking girl in my world. ~ Melissa Landers

Observe," she said. "You put the diaper under here, and around there, and you - if you had one - pin the whole thing ogether. Now you try it."
"Not me," he objected. "How about a paper clip? Or a paper staple?"
"I don't see what's bothering you," Meg said. "She's only a little girl."
"I did notice."
"And, if you follow scripture, was created after Adam."
"And - what's your point?"
"Being the second model, women turned out considerably better than men. God, when She did this second work, you'll note, got all the plumbing inside. ~ Emma Goldrick

Inside the floating cloak he was tall, thin, and bony; and his hair was red beneath the black cap. His face was crumpled and freckled, and ugly without silliness. Out of this face stared two light blue eyes, frustrated now, and turning, or ready to turn, to anger. ~ William Golding

WELCOME. YOU ARE MOST WANTED.
Come in. I'm R.L. Stine. Welcome to the Goosebumps office.
Glad you made it through the barbed wire fence. Don't worry. Those cuts will stop bleeding in an hour or two.
Why do we have a barbed wire fence? To keep the Abominable Snowman from escaping. I'm surprised you didn't see him. He's creeping up right behind you. Hurry. Step inside and shut the door. You don't want to find out why everyone calls him Abominable.
Hey, don't be scared of Eddie over there. Eddie woke up dead tired one morning. Guess what? He actually was dead. Yes, Eddie is a zombie. But he doesn't like that word. He likes to be called "life-challenged."
He's not much trouble. He only needs to eat human flesh once a day. Don't be nervous. He just finished his breakfast.
Whom did he have for breakfast? I'm not sure. But I haven't seen my brother all morning...
Eddie - what did I tell you about eating the family?
Oh, well. Let me ask you a question before Eddie has to have his next meal. What do you think is the Most Wanted holiday? ~ R.L. Stine

But what made it bearable were the friendships, of course, the camaraderie and the music and the Shakespeare, the moments of transcendent beauty and joy when it didn't matter who'd used the last of the rosin on their bow or who anyone had slept with, although someone - probably Sayid - had written "Sartre: Hell is other people" in pen inside one of the caravans, and someone else had scratched out "other people" and substituted "flutes." People ~ Emily St. John Mandel

Taking an abolitionist stance does not mean refusing to engage in incremental change, nor does it mean abandoning efforts to improve conditions inside prisons. Rather, abolitionists engage in 'abolitionist reforms' or 'non-reformist reforms.' These are reforms that either directly undermine the prison industrial complex or provide support to prisoners through strategies that weaken, rather than strengthen, the prison system itself. For example, rather than lobbying for bigger prison health budgets to care for elderly prisoners, an abolitionist reform strategy would aim to get elderly prisoners out on compassionate release to obtain healthcare in the community. --S. Lamble ~ Eric A. Stanley

The sea is a body in a thousand ways that don't add up, because adding is too stable a transaction for that flux, but the waves come in in a roar and then ebb, almost silent but for the fain suck of sand and snap of bubbles, over and over, a heartbeat rhythm, the sea always this body turned inside out and opened to the sky, the body always a sea folded in on itself, a nautical chart folded into a paper cup. ~ Rebecca Solnit

I'm going to kiss you if that's okay," he said.
"It won't be our first kiss," she said.
"No," he said. "I let one slip at the restaurant. I thought about apologizing to you for that, but I didn't feel sorry." And with that, he kissed her. One very soft, very sweet kiss. The kiss was fleeting but it left a big ache for more in its wake. Adrienne gasped, taking in the cool sea air, and then Thatcher kissed her again. Even softer, even shorter. The third time, he stayed. They were kissing. His mouth opened and Adrienne tasted his tongue, sweet and tangy like the lime in his drink. She felt like she was going to burst apart into eighty-two pieces of desire. Like the best lovers, Thatcher moved slowly- for right now, on the blanket, it was only about the kissing. Not since high school had kissing been this intense. It went on and on. They stopped to look at each other. Adrienne ran her fingertips over his pale eyebrows, she cupped his neck inside the collar of his shirt. He touched her ears and kissed the corners of her eyes, and Adrienne thought about how she had come right out with the truth about her mother at dinner and how unusual that was. And just as she began to worry that there was something different this time, something better, of a finer quality than the other relationships she had found herself in, she and Thatcher started kissing again, and the starting again was even sweeter.
Yes, Adrienne thought. Something was different this time.
How much time ~ Elin Hilderbrand

This is how Resistance disfigures love. The stew it creates is rich, it's colorful; Tennessee Williams could work it up into a trilogy. But is it love? If we're the supporting partner, shouldn't we face our own failure to pursue our unlived life, rather than hitchhike on our spouse's coattails? And if we're the supported partner, shouldn't we step out from the glow of our loved one's adoration and instead encourage him to let his own light shine? ~ Steven Pressfield

To him, in whose throat the bone of displacement was forever stuck, it was wrong to talk about nothing when there was a perpetual shortage of words for all the horrible things that happened in the world. It was better to be silent than to say what didn't matter. One had to protect from the onslaught of wasted words the silent place deep inside oneself, where all the pieces could be arranged in a logical manner, where the opponents abided by the rules, where even if you ran out of possibilities there might be a way to turn defeat into victory. ~ Aleksandar Hemon

Our chemical and other manufacturing concerns are all too often ready to let the Germans have Latin American markets, provided the American companies can work out an arrangement which will enable them to charge high prices to the consumer inside the United States. ~ Henry A. Wallace

The top surface of the computer is smooth except for a fisheye lens, a polished
glass dome with a purplish optical coating. Whenever Hiro is using the machine,
this lens emerges and clicks into place, its base flush with the surface of the
computer. The neighborhood loglo is curved and foreshortened on its surface.
Hiro finds it erotic. This is partly because he hasn't been properly laid in
several weeks. But there's more to it. Hiro's father, who was stationed in
Japan for many years, was obsessed with cameras. He kept bringing them back
from his stints in the Far East, encased in many protective layers, so that when
he took them out to show Hiro, it was like watching an exquisite striptease as
they emerged from all that black leather and nylon, zippers and straps. And
once the lens was finally exposed, pure geometric equation made real, so
powerful and vulnerable at once, Hiro could only think it was like nuzzling
through skirts and lingerie and outer labia and inner labia. . . . It made
him feel naked and weak and brave.
The lens can see half of the universe -- the half that is above the computer,
which includes most of Hiro. In this way, it can generally keep track of where
Hiro is and what direction he's looking in.
Down inside the computer are three lasers -- a red one, a green one, and a blue
one. They are powerful enough to make a bright light but not powerful enough to
burn ~ Neal Stephenson

And you're still ready to follow every rule, obey every moral code, and only color inside the lines." "How well would the picture turn out if you colored outside the lines? There's a reason for the lines. ~ Hayley J. Harper

Authors may have very good reasons for staying out of character's minds. What is in their mind ought to be out in the world of their action anyway, just as in Real Life. Inside is already out there, and visible. It is also a reader's responsibility to imaginatively project the inner-lives of characters just as we have to imaginatively project the inner-lives of those most dear to us in Real Life. ~ Nathan "N.R." Gaddis

Ah!" returned the man, with a relish; "he'll be drawn on a hurdle to be half hanged, and then he'll be taken down and sliced before his own face, and then his inside will be taken out and burnt while he looks on, and then his head will be chopped off, and he'll be cut into quarters. That's the sentence. ~ Charles Dickens

But good writers have a reason for doing things the way they do them, and if you tinker with their work, taking it upon yourself to neutralize a slightly eccentric usage or zap a comma or sharpen the emphasis of something that the writer was deliberately keeping obscure, you are not helping. In my experience, the really great writers enjoy the editorial process. They weigh queries, and they accept or reject them for good reasons. They are not defensive. The whole point of having things read before publication is to test their effect on a general reader. You want to make sure when you go out there that the tag on the back of your collar isn't poking up - unless, of course, you are deliberately wearing your clothes inside out. ~ Mary Norris

I've been in your skin," he taunted. "I know you inside and out. There's nothing there. Do us all a favor and die so we can start working on another plan and quit thinking maybe you'll grow the fuck up and be capable of something. ~ Karen Marie Moning

Pokey's Tavern and Pool Hall served a light lunch. Men hung out there, mostly playing cards and hiding from their wives. Women weren't welcome to hang inside unless they were jezebels, or hard-drinkers, preferably both. ~ Daisy Pettles

You can't stop what's inside you. If you fight it, it'll win. Figure out how to live with it, how to direct it instead of letting it drag you in its current. And only you can do that. ~ Kiersten White

Lies. All lies. Bree was shaking so hard she bit her tongue, but she didn't even feel the blood in her mouth.
Kill her husband and seduce the widow. She thought she'd never felt as angry as when Michael died, but this, oh God, her entire body was a live wire of rage. She was so
furious, she was almost numb. So numb that she didn't even feel herself reaching for the gun she had pulled out of the glove compartment and pocketed.
So numb that she didn't feel herself lift the gun and aim.
So numb that she saw nothing, but his eyes, staring back at her in wide eyed surprise and confusion.
She felt so numb she didn't even feel herself pull the trigger. ~ E. Jamie

There are many different types of people that end up coming to me and saying 'Yeah I want to cook.' Some of them successful, some not. There's no one formula, but if I get someone coming through the backdoor who knows that they want to get into the cooking field, they feel this inside-out love for it, this attraction to it, that person is an awful lot easier to work with. ~ Paul Rankin

I had two dreams about him after he died. I dont remember the first one all that well but it was about meetin him in town somewheres and he give me some money and I think I lost it. But the second one it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin through the mountains of a night. Goin through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin. Never said nothin. He just rode on past and he had this blanket wrapped around him and he had his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. About the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up. ~ Cormac McCarthy

The pain that's created by avoiding hard work is actually much worse than any pain created from the actual work itself. Because if you don't begin to work on those ideas that God has blessed you with, they will become stagnant inside of you and eventually begin to eat away at you. You might seem OK on the outside, but inside you will be ill from not getting those ideas out of your heart and into the world. Stalling leads to sickness. But taking steps, even baby steps, always leads to success. ~ Russell Simmons