Is He For Real Quotes

Is he for real? A hot guy who makes me laugh and loves poetry? Someone pinch me. ~ Colleen Hoover

Now I'm gaping at him, because is he for real? "Hey, asshole, you're filthy rich. If anyone should be paying full price for movie tickets, it's you."
"I was being nice, asshole. Waiting for the cheap day so you'd be able to afford it." Then he flashes his trademark grin, the one that makes chicks drop their panties and dive onto his dick.
"Don't give me your sex grin. It's creeping me out."

His mouth stays frozen in the sex-grin position. "I'll stop smiling like this if you agree to be my date tonight."
"You're the most annoying pers - "
The grin widens, and he even throws a little wink in there.
Ten minutes later, we're out the door. ~ Elle Kennedy

He expects me to believe he is a ... he's my ... guardial angel! ~ Jamie McGuire

Is that what you think this is about? Your letting me die? I don't know what clouds your judgement worse. Your guilt or your antiquated sense of morality. Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me. But why... Why on God's earth--??!
Is he still alive!!?? ~ Judd Winick

You can easily find out her real name and address with your hacker skills, and I'll just pop out to Cleveland or wherever and kill her. That way she won't beat you anymore at your game. I'll let you choose whether I Own her or not, and how slowly and painfully you want her to die. I'll bring home a trophy for you to display so everyone will see how much I care for you." I looked around his place. "A garland with her teeth maybe, or her scalp if she has nice hair."
Wyatt made a kind of gurgling sound. "Sam. You're joking aren't you? In that weird way you do sometimes? You can't just kill her. I want to beat her at the game, not physically harm her person. I'll work on my technique and I'll win eventually."
Why would he want to do that? This idea was growing on me. What boyfriend wouldn't want a garland of teeth? ~ Debra Dunbar

She was looking at him steadily; he however, found it difficult to look back at her; it was like gazing into a brilliant light.

Nice view, he said feebly, pointing toward with window.

She ignored this. He could not blame her.

I couldn't think what to get you, she said.

You didn't have to get me anything.

She disregarded this too.

I didn't know what would be useful. Nothing too big, because you wouldn't be able to take it with you.

He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one of the many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. He had sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.

She took a step closer to him.

So then I thought, I'd like you to have something to remember me by, you know, if you meet some Veela when you're off doing whatever you're doing.

I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on the ground, to be honest.

There's the silver lining I've been looking for, she whispered, and then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before, and Harry was kissing her back, and it was blissful oblivion better than firewhiskey; she was the only real thing in the world, Ginny, the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair-

The door banged open behind them and they jumped apart.

Oh, said Ron pointedly. Sorry.

Ron ~ J.K. Rowling

Some years ago I had a conversation with a man who thought that writing and editing fantasy books was a rather frivolous job for a grown woman like me. He wasn't trying to be contentious, but he himself was a probation officer, working with troubled kids from the Indian reservation where he'd been raised. Day in, day out, he dealt in a concrete way with very concrete problems, well aware that his words and deeds could change young lives for good or ill.
I argued that certain stories are also capable of changing lives, addressing some of the same problems and issues he confronted in his daily work: problems of poverty, violence, and alienation, issues of culture, race, gender, and class...
"Stories aren't real," he told me shortly. "They don't feed a kid left home in an empty house. Or keep an abusive relative at bay. Or prevent an unloved child from finding 'family' in the nearest gang."
Sometimes they do, I tried to argue. The right stories, read at the right time, can be as important as shelter or food. They can help us to escape calamity, and heal us in its aftermath. He frowned, dismissing this foolishness, but his wife was more conciliatory. "Write down the names of some books," she said. "Maybe we'll read them."
I wrote some titles on a scrap of paper, and the top three were by Charles de lint – for these are precisely the kind of tales that Charles tells better than anyone. The vital, necessary stories. The ones that can change and heal young live ~ Terri Windling

At some point, Jesper realized Kaz was gone.
"Not one for goodbyes, is he?" he muttered.
"He doesn't say goodbye," Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. "He just lets go. ~ Leigh Bardugo

For at least twenty minutes she handed out the story. The youngest kids were soothed by her voice, and everyone else saw visions of the whistler running from the scene. Liesel did not. The book thief saw only the mechanics of the words
their bodies stranded on the paper, beaten down for her to walk on. Somewhere, too, in the gaps between a period and the next capital letter, there was also Max. She remembered reading to him when he was sick. It he in the basement? she wondered. Or is he stealing a glimpse of the sky again? ~ Markus Zusak

If God is the Creator, if God englobes every single thing in the universe, then God is everything, and everything is God. God is the earth and the sky, and the tree planted in the earth under the sky, and the bird in the tree, and the worm in the beak of the bird, and the dirt in the stomach of the worm. God is He and She, straight and gay, black and white and red - yes even that ... and green and blue and all the rest. And so, to despise me for loving women or you for being a Red who made love with a woman, would be to despise not only His own creations but also to hate Himself. My God is not so stupid as that. ~ Hillary Jordan

He is ungrateful who denies that he has received a kindness which has been bestowed upon him; he is ungrateful who conceals it; he is ungrateful who makes no return for it; most ungrateful of all is he who forgets it. ~ Seneca The Younger

If she'd had any doubts he was a real deal country boy, they disappeared when he unabashedly stripped down to nothing - the sun had kissed his arms to mid-bicep, although his torso wasn't without a faint tan. She'd thought lazily that maybe he had a pond. She'd like to go skinny dipping with him. Leap onto his back and wrap her legs around his lean hips. Hold on to his broad shoulders and press her naked breasts into his back and drift into the cool water together.
As he opened his button-fly jeans, revealing snug briefs underneath, she'd whispered for him to stop. He was hard and sinewy in all the right places, with shadows and valleys she wanted to explore with her mouth and hands and eyes, but her touch first went to the line where dark faded to light on his arm, neatly following the curve of his muscles. Nice farmer's tan. ~ Zoe York

So," Nate attempted conversation for the third time. He seemed to be in a better mood lately. "Do you guys maybe want to talk about how every uncomfortable this is?" He smiled tightly, looking first at Tristan, then at Scarlet. "Because I don't know about you, but I feel awkward. Let's hash it out, shall we? Tristan," Nate said brightly. "We'll start with you. How are you feeling?"
"Annoyed."
"I like your honesty and openness." Nate turned to Scarlet. "What about you? How are you feeling?"
"Tired," she said. "Nine in the morning is too early for needles."
Tristan said, "Maybe if you hadn't stayed out so late, you wouldn't be so tired."
Scarlet said, "Look who's decided to speak again. Suddenly the silent and dark Tristan has an opinion on my life."
"Oh, I have many opinions."
"See?" Nate said, his smile tighter than before. "Isn't all this openness refreshing? ~ Chelsea Fine

Our motives and thoughts ultimately influence our actions. Jesus repeatedly emphasized the power of good thoughts and proper motives: 'Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not'
In Proverbs we read, 'For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he ~ Dieter F. Uchtdorf

I explained Crime 101 to the kid. "Guns escalate things. They're only good for crowd control. We're going in after closing hours, so we don't need crowd control." "Yeah," Augie said, "but what about security? What if they start bustin' caps?" Bustin' caps. I wondered how many hip-hop posters he had on his bedroom wall. "Site's handled by Gold Star Security Northwest," I explained. "They don't carry guns, just Tasers and pepper spray. They also make thirteen bucks an hour, and heroics are highly discouraged in their training manual. Their standing orders in case of a burglary are to retreat to safe ground and call the real cops. That gives us plenty of time to bug out if we get spotted and blow it." "Cool," Augie said. ~ Craig Schaefer

Some people might leave you,' he said, for once ignoring a joke in favor of something real. 'But it doesn't mean you're worth leaving. It doesn't mean that at all. ~ Veronica Roth

A man needs a much bigger orbit than a woman. He needs a mission, a life purpose, and he needs to know his name. Only then is he fit for a woman, for only then does he have something to invite her into. ~ John Eldredge

If you pledge yourself to the Inquisition, to me, and swear to use your powers and your knowledge to send malfettos back to the Underworld, I will give you everything you've ever wanted. I can grant your every desire. Money? Power? Respect? Done." He smiles. "You can redeem yourself, change from an abomination in the gods' eyes to a savior. You can help me fix this world. Wouldn't it be nice, not having to run anymore?" He pauses, and for a moment, a note of real, painful tragedy enters his voice. "We are not supposed to exist, Adelina. We were never meant to be." We are mistakes. ~ Marie Lu

For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper and from the deadly pestilence. ~ Peggy Joyce Ruth

But it is just as useless for a man to want first of all to decide the externals and after that the fundamentals as it is for a cosmic body, thinking to form itself, first of all to decide the nature of its surface, to what bodies it should turn its light, to which its dark side, without first letting the harmony of centrifugal and centripetal forces realize [*realisere*] its existence [*Existents*] and letting the rest come of itself. One must learn first to know himself before knowing anything else (γνῶθι σε αυτόν). Not until a man has inwardly understood himself and then sees the course he is to take does his life gain peace and meaning; only then is he free of the irksome, sinister traveling companion―that irony of life which manifests itself in the sphere of knowledge and invites true knowing to begin with a not-knowing (Socrates), just as God created the world from nothing. But in the waters of morality it is especially at home to those who still have not entered the tradewinds of virtue. Here it tumbles a person about in a horrible way, for a time lets him feel happy and content in his resolve to go ahead along the right path, then hurls him into the abyss of despair. Often it lulls a man to sleep with the thought, "After all, things cannot be otherwise," only to awaken him suddenly to a rigorous interrogation. Frequently it seems to let a veil of forgetfulness fall over the past, only to make every single trifle appear in a strong light again. When he struggles along ~ Søren Kierkegaard

I want porridge!" she said, exasperated. "That's all. I wanted a bunny before and 'it' appeared, and now I want porridge. The way my aunts used to make it on cold mornings. Warm and buttery, with rich toasted acorns in it."
"Acorns? Really? That sounds... um... I mean, it's an interesting gastronomic choice."
She rolled her eyes. "We lived in the middle of a 'forest,' Royal Prince. It was what we had. And a real treat in the middle of winter."
Then she proceeded to ignore him.
She closed her eyes and cupped her hands. She prayed and wished and imagined and begged.
Phillip stayed politely silent- though he did look around, sigh a little, and do all sorts of other things to obviously fret over the passage of time.
She tried to call up the feel of the wooden bowl in her hands: it warmed almost like flesh where the wood was thin and the heat of her fingers and the hot porridge mingled. She summoned the smell, a mix of dairy and things of the earth and the tall green grass and the woods. Sometimes there was even a dollop of honey on top.
She thought so hard she felt like she had to go to the privy.
Her concentration faltered for a moment when she distractedly wondered if that ever happened to Maleficent when she was performing an incantation. But after a few seconds she was back in her dream of porridge.
Time passed...
"GOOD LORD!"
The smell in her head was giving to a real scent in her nose now, with even that faint, almost ' ~ Liz Braswell

And because the constitution of a mans Body, is in continuall mutation; it is impossible that all the same things should alwayes cause in him the same Appetites, and aversions; much lesse can all men consent, in the Desire of almost any one and the same Object.
Good Evill
But whatsoever is the object of any mans Appetite or Desire; that is it, which he for his part calleth Good: And the object of his Hate, and Aversion, evill, And of his contempt, Vile, and Inconsiderable. For these words of Good, evill, and Contemptible, are ever used with relation to the person that useth them: There being nothing simply and absolutely so; nor any common Rule of Good and evill, to be taken from the nature of the objects themselves; but from the Person of the man (where there is no Common-wealth;) or, (in a Common-wealth,) From the Person that representeth it; or from an Arbitrator or Judge, whom men disagreeing shall by consent set up, and make his sentence the Rule thereof. ~ Thomas Hobbes

They'd had fun, for sure. They laughed and enjoyed being together. But if she was painfully honest with herself, something was missing. Something in the way Tim looked at her. She remembered her mom's word. "I saw the way he looked at you ... he adores you." Maybe that was it. Tim looked at her on a surface level. He smiled and seemed happy to see her. But When Cody looked at her, there were no layers left, nothing her didn't reveal, nothing he couldn't see. He didn't really look at her so much as he looked into her. To the deepest, most real places in her heart and soul. ~ Karen Kingsbury

He's brilliant. At first, I thought, 'Oh, is he going to be Hollywood stud-like?' But he's a really kind, wonderful person. He said to me one day early in the making of the movie, 'You know, I was kind of worried about you'. He thought I was going to be a perfect skin, which I am certainly not. It didn't take long for Leo to crack and see who I really am, and we became very close. but, I must say, he is absolutely gorgeous. ~ Kate Winslet

... like blood moving to a frozen extremity, my return to human interaction wasn't without discomfort. I felt unbearably awkward, relying heavily on him to show me what he liked, to tell me what to do to please him. I knew I wanted to go from being passive to actively pleasing him, to giving instead of just taking. I had a moment of real respect for the ease of being thrown against a wall and fucked hard. ~ Z.A. Maxfield

Oh, by the way, Phury's here again, and he brought that Chosen with him. Figured you'd want to know in case you see a random female ghosting around here."
Whoa. Surprise. "How's he doing?"
Zsadist paused. "I don't know. He's pretty tight about shit. Not real talkative. The bastard."
"Oh, and you're a candidate for The View?"
"Right back at you, Bahbwa."
"Touché. ~ J.R. Ward

I hope you are all having a nice sleep?' Franz ventured as he and Nigel sat down.

'Yes, fine thanks. You?' Laura replied.

'Ja, I am being able to sleep, despite my great hunger.' Franz gave them a serious look, obviously keen to stress the great hardship he was enduring. 'Have any of you seen a snack machine?'

Nigel sighed. 'Franz, we're going to breakfast in ten minutes, what do you need a snack machine for?'

'To be building up my energy levels for a long day of lessons, of course.' Franz gave Nigel a slap on the back that, judging by Nigel's pained expression, was a little overenthusiastic. 'And you will be needing building up too, my friend. Do not worry, Franz will turn you into a real man.' Otto noted the slightly frightened look on Nigel's face and guessed that he was less than keen to be the first person to try the Argentblum Diet.

'Anyway, why have vending machines when none of us have any money?' Otto asked. The apparent lack of any form of currency on H.I.V.E. was something that Otto had actually given a lot of thought. He had finally reached the conclusion that if money truly was the root of all evil it might just be adding fuel to the fire to introduce the concept to H.I.V.E.

'Ja, I have been thinking this too but I am hoping that the machines will be free of charge. That would be seeming sensible, ja?'

Otto doubted very much that the words 'free snack food vending machines' and 'sensible ~ Mark Walden

Rimbaud held the keys to a mystical language that I devoured even as I could not fully decipher it. My unrequited love for him was as real to me as anything I had experienced. At the factory where I had labored with a hard-edged, illiterate group of women, I was harassed in his name. Suspecting me of being a Communist for reading a book in a foreign language, they threatened me in the john, prodding me to denounce him. It was within this atmosphere that I seethed. It was for him that I wrote and dreamed. He became my archangel, delivering me from the mundane horrors of factory life. His hands had chiseled a manual of heaven and I held them fast. The knowledge of him added swagger to my step and this could not be stripped away. I tossed my copy of Illuminations in a plaid suitcase. We would escape together. ~ Patti Smith

Then for the first time in thirteen years, someone actually helps me. And the odd thing is he willingly does it. ~ Jessica Sorensen

Footsteps approach the kitchen. Garrett wanders in, wiping sweat off his brow. When he notices Sabrina, he brightens. "Oh good. You're here. Hold on - gotta grab something."

She turns to me as if to say, Is he talking to me?

He's already gone, though, his footsteps thumping up the stairs.

At the table, Hannah runs a hand through her hair and gives me a pleading look. "Just remember he's your best friend, okay?"

That doesn't sound ominous.

When Garrett returns, he's holding a notepad and a ballpoint pen, which he sets on the table as he sits across from Sabrina. "Tuck," he says. "Sit. This is important."

I'm so baffled right now. Hannah's resigned expression doesn't help in lessening the confusion.

Once I'm seated next to Sabrina, Garrett flips open the notepad, all business. "Okay. So let's go over the names."

Sabrina raises an eyebrow at me.

I shrug, because I legitimately don't know what the fuck he's talking about.

"I've put together a solid list. I really think you're going to like these." But when he glances down at the page, his face falls. "Ah crap. We can't use any of the boy names."

"Wait." Sabrina holds up a hand, her brow furrowed. "You're picking names for our baby?"

He nods, busy flipping the page.

My baby mama gapes at me.

I shrug again.

"Just out of curiosity, what were the boy names?" Grace hedges, ~ Elle Kennedy

I still think about the time when I was fighting for my first real big fight against [Marco Antonio] Barrera back in 2002. I know he can come in thinking that he has nothing to lose, and that's why I have to be aware of that.Always be prepared. ~ Manny Pacquiao

Dying was OK because it was sleep and there wasn't no gray ball in death, was there? Was there? She would have to ask somebody about that, somebody she could confide in, and who knew a lot of things, like Sula, for Sula would know or if she didn't she would say something funny that would make it all right. Ooo no, not Sula. Here she was in the midst of it, hating it, scared of it, and again she thought of Sula as though they were still friends and talked things over. That was too much. To lose Jude and not have Sula to talk to about it because it was Sula that he had left her for.

Now her thighs were really empty. And it was then that what those women said about never looking at another man made some sense to her, for the real point, the heart of what they said, was the word looked. Not to promise never to make love to another man, not to refuse to marry another man, but to promise and know that she could never afford to look again, to see and accept the way in which their heads cut the air or see moons or tree limbs framed by their necks and shoulders... never to look, for now she could not risk looking - and anyway, so what? For now her thighs were truly empty and dead too and it was Sula who had taken the life from them and Jude who smashed her heart and the both of them who left her with no thighs and no heart just her brain raveling away. ~ Toni Morrison

To those of us gathered here today, Matthew Connell filled a number of different roles in our lives. Matthew was a son, a brother, a father and a friend. Matthew's last days in his young life were bleak, suffering ones. Yet, we must remember the real Matthew, the loving young man who had a great lust for life. A keen musician, Matthew loved to entertain friends with his guitar playing...
Renton could not make eye contact with Spud, standing next to him in the pew, as nervous laughter gripped him. Matty was the shitest guitarest he'd known, and could only play the Doors' 'Roadhouse Blues' and a few Clash and Status Quo numbers with any sort of proficiency. He tried hard to do the riff from 'Clash City Rockers', but could never quite master it. Nonetheless, Matty loved that Fender Strat. It was the last thing he sold, holding onto it after the amplifier had been flogged off in order to fill his veins with shite. Perr Matty, Renton thought. How well did any of us really know him? How well can anybody really know anybody else? ~ Irvine Welsh

The narcissist has to defend himself against his own premonitions, his internal sempiternal trial, his guilt, shame, and anxiety. One of the more efficacious defense mechanisms at his disposal is false modesty.
The narcissist publicly chastises himself for being unworthy, unfit, lacking, not trained and not (formally) schooled, not objective, cognizant of his own shortcomings, and vain. This way, if (or, rather, when) exposed for what he is, he can always say: "But I told you so in the first place, haven't I?" False modesty is, thus, an insurance policy. The narcissist "hedges his bets" by placing a side bet on his own fallibility…
Yet another function is to extract Narcissistic Supply from the listener. By contrasting his own self-deprecation with a brilliant, dazzling display of ingenuity, wit, intellect, knowledge, or beauty, the narcissist aims to secure .. protestation from the listener. ~ Sam Vaknin

One of the people in charge of props told me: "It's not my job necessarily to make things look exactly as they were in real life. But I want [the movie] to look so authentic that when you see it, you'll think it's part of your own personal history. It will be your life to hold onto."
That attention to detail--and that care and dedication--moved me, and I did everything I could to help them. Still, I didn't want to just put my memories in the mail or FedEx. To put me at ease, the studio offered to use a team of couriers so that the material would be in someone's hands each step of the way.
They sent a driver out one day. He was a big, hulking fellow who filled Chris's office the way Chris would have.
"I just have a few more things to pack up," I told him. "If you could just wait a second."
"Sure."
Bubba came in, still wearing his jammies. "Hey," he said to the guy. "You play darts?"
"Uh--"
By now Bubba was so used to people dropping by and playing with him that he didn't even need to ask who they were.
He'd also become pretty good at darts.
I wrapped up quickly, sparing the poor fellow the humiliation of losing to a kid whose voice wouldn't change for several more years. ~ Taya Kyle

You would have loved Jackson. He was a downtown guy, a real Bohemian. No banker's hours for him, believe you me. Every night the drinking and the talking and the fighting and the dancing and the staying up late; like everyone's romantic idea of what an artist ought to be: the anti-Rothko... At his worst you still loved him though; you loved him because he loved art so much... He thought it mattered. He thought painting mattered... Does not the poignancy stop your heart?... How could this story not end in tragedy?

Goya said, 'We have Art that we may not perish from Truth.'... Pollock saw some truth. Then he didn't have art to protect him any more... Who could survive that?

I was walking up to my house last week and this couple was passing. Lady looks in the window, says: 'I wonder who owns all the Rothkos.'... Just like that I'm a noun. A Rothko. ~ John Logan

Whatsoever is the object of any man's Appetite or Desire; that is it which he for his part calleth Good: and the object of his Hate and Aversion, evil. ~ Thomas Hobbes

Halt?" said Gilan, realization dawning. "You're not seasick are you?"
No," Halt said shortly, not trusting himself beyond one syllable.
Probably need a bite if breakfast to settle your stomach," Svengal said helpfully. "Gte something solid inside you."
Had ... breakfast." This time Halt managed three syllables-but with some difficulty, Svengal affected no notice.
Cabbage is god. Especially pickled cabbage. Sits on the gut nicely," he said. "Goes well with a nice piece of greasy bacon. You should try that if you ... "
But before he could finish, Halt lurched toward the ship's rail and hung over it. Dreaful noises were torn from him. Svengal, still affecting a look of innocence, turned to Gilan, hands spread and eyes wide.
What it the world is he looking for? Has he lost something, do you think? ~ John Flanagan

So," I said. "Seems you're going to be stuck with me for a while."
He smiled. A real smile that lit up his whole face.
"Good, ~ Kelley Armstrong

I do not want God to give me what I want; I trust Him to give me what I need. The truth is, He is infinitely wiser than I am. If we always get what we ask for, I for one will cease to pray. ~ Gary Inrig