Letting Him Go And Moving On Quotes

It is a good thing she is on our side, is it not?"
Noah started, turning to confront the Demon who had appeared at his back with flawless silence and concealment.
"Jacob! You just took ten years off my life," Noah hissed.
"Only ten? I must be losing my touch." Jacob looked from Noah to the last place Legna had been standing. He nodded his head in her former direction. "What was that all about?"
"I have no idea, but I am beginning to feel like I am the only one who does not know what the hell is happening in his own damn house."
"Sorry state of affairs, seeing as how you are King and all," Jacob said, his lips twitching with amusement as Noah glared at him. "That is only my opinion, though. Perhaps I will ask my troublemaking wife for hers."
Noah had the grace to openly wince.
"You heard that, hmm?"
"And therefore . . ." Jacob prompted.
"She heard it, too," Noah concluded with comical pain. "Forgive me, Bella. I think I am just in a foul mood."
"She says she will forgive you as soon as she needs a babysitter."
"You know, I think you better go out there and enforce some of my laws before I begin to think of how many ways I can set your ass on fire," the King said meanly, the glare of his gaze all business.
"I would, but I am in need of Gideon. Where is he?"
"How should I know?" Noah asked grumpily, moving to the fire and sinking down into the only thing in the room that wasn't giving him grief: his favorite chair. ~ Jacquelyn Frank

One second he was kissing me as if I was as essential to him as oxygen, and the next it was over. He stepped away, looking haunted.

"Did I do something wrong?"

I touched my mouth, missing the heat of him.
"No." He shook his head and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. I didn't want his hands in his pockets. I wanted them on me.

"Why did you--?"

"Not because I wanted to stop kissing you."
He looked at my lips. My pulse sped up, but my blood felt like lava moving through my veins.
"Timing. My timing sucks."

Circumstances. Not because of me. I couldn't keep myself from grinning.

"Why would you like to try this again then, another time?"

"I'd very much like to try this again, another time."
He grinned, but it carried a touch of sadness. "I'll give you a second to...fix your hair."

"My hair?"

"I'll give you a second to fix my hair. I mean, I'll give you a second while I go fix my hair." He let out a sigh. "I mean, I'll see you downstairs."

He turned to walk out of the room, but unfortunately, he forgot to open the door first. I managed to hold in my laughter until he got it right. ~ Myra McEntire

Raising both of her glowing palms, she beckoned him with wiggling fingers. "Come on, then. I'll go another round. Though by now even an amoeba would've learned not to fuck with me."
Everyone grew still, silent. Then Cade started back down for her, redoubling his speed.
"No, Cade, I've got this," she said evenly, never looking away from Bowe.
Meanwhile, Bowe had subtly pulled his head back, feeling as if he'd just been presented with a species of creature he had never seen. Then he caught Rydstrom's look of amusement - the demon was obviously loving this - and he found himself . . . grinning. "Kitten's quick to bear those claws, is she no'?"
Rydstrom ruefully shook his head at Bowe, as if sorry for his unavoidable and imminent demise, then got everyone, including a reluctant Cade, moving again.
As Bowe passed Mariketa, he leaned in close. Not bothering to hide his surprise, he murmured to her, "And damn if she does no' have them sunk into me."
Her gray-eyed gaze was wary. He noted that she kept her palms fired up for some time after they continued on.
Even after her blatant show of magick, he felt so proud she'd held her ground that he wanted to stand tall and point her out as his female. That's my lass. Mine. But his heart was also thundering because he realized that in the heart of the full moon, when he was completely turned, she might not run from him. He still intended to get her away from him before this full moon, but for the future . ~ Kresley Cole

One of the things that I've always felt missing from funerals and services is the voice of the man or woman who was the deceased's partner in life. I've always wanted to hear from the person who'd loved them more than anyone. Biblically, the two become one flesh--the spouse is their other half. It has always seemed to me that his or her voice was critical to truly understanding who the deceased was in life.
I also felt that American Sniper had told only part of Chris's story--an angry part in much of it. There was so much more to him that I wanted the world to know.
People said Chris was blessed that I hung in there during his service to our country; in fact, I was the one who was blessed. I wanted everyone to hear me say that.
Beforehand, a friend suggested I have a backup in case I couldn't finish reading my speech--a "highway option," as Chris used to call it: the way out if things didn't go as planned.
I refused.
I didn't want a way out. It wasn't supposed to be easy. Knowing that I had to go through with it, that I had to finish--that was my motivator. That was my guarantee that I would finish, that I would keep moving into the future, as painful as it surely would be.

When you think you cannot do something, think again. Chris always said, "The body will do whatever the mind tells it to." I am counting on that now.
I stand before you a broken woman, but I am now and always will be the wife of a man who is a warrior both on the ba ~ Taya Kyle

What am I busy doing at lunch?" I asked. "Did you want to go pick out some more paint? Because I thought you were still working on the GTO and the SS."

"No," he answered, not moving an inch, but instead, just watching me. "I brought you fucking lunch."

He brought me - did he just say lunch?

"There's a thing in the fridge with your name on it," Rip kept going, watching me steadily. "I could use your help later if you've got time."

All I heard was something about him needing my help if I had time, but what I really focused on was the container in the fridge with my name on it.

"Come get me if you do," he said, taking a step back like he hadn't just surprised the crap out of me.

But I could still get a few thoughts together, at least enough to call out, "What am I going to be doing tomorrow?"

He was still walking backward as he told me, "I'm bringing you lunch tomorrow too."

What was happening?

What was happening?

"You don't have to bribe me to be your friend! I've been waiting for this for years, Rip," I hollered after him, ignoring the way my stomach had just felt like we'd started a descent from a steep roller-coaster ride.

I'd swear I heard a chuckle as he answered, "Get to fucking work and come get me if you've got time to help me out."

We were friends.

We were.

Favor or not, you didn't bring someone food who you weren't f ~ Mariana Zapata

Did you ever think much about jobs? I mean, some of the jobs people land in? You see a guy giving haircuts to dogs, or maybe going along the curb with a shovel, scooping up horse manure. And you think, now why is the silly bastard doing that? He looks fairly bright, about as bright as anyone else. Why the hell does he do that for living?
You kind grin and look down your nose at him. You think he's nuts, know what I mean, or he doesn't have any ambition. And then you take a good look at yourself, and you stop wondering about the other guy…

You've got all your hands and feet. Your health is okay, and you make a nice appearance, and ambition-man! You've got it. You're young, I guess: you'd call thirty young, and you're strong. You don't have much education, but you've got more than plenty of other people who go to the top. And yet with all that, with all you've had to do with this is as far you've got And something tellys you, you're not going much farther if any.

And there is nothing to be done about it now, of course, but you can't stop hoping. You can't stop wondering…

…Maybe you had too much ambition. Maybe that was the trouble. You couldn't see yourself spending forty years moving from office boy to president. So you signed on with a circulation crew; you worked the magazines from one coast to another. And then you ran across a little brush deal-it sounded nice, anyway. And you worked that until you found something better, something tha ~ Jim Thompson

Hello, darling," Alessandro smiled at her. Oh, that smile. Bree wanted to close her eyes, press her hands against her eyes and keep them shut forever so she wouldn't see that smile. She must have had the question on her face, the knowledge on her face because as she looked at him now, something flickered in his eyes. Guilt. Oh God. "Mommy, look. I make good bouncies. See?" Will said, dribbling the ball. "I gonna be a basset ball player when I gwoed up." The little boy's voice sounded far away as Bree narrowed in on Alessandro and the look in his eyes. "Brian. I want you and Vanessa to take Will and Gianni out for a little while." "Oh but we're having a good time out here, aren't we Gianni?" Alessandro asked, tickling Gianni who squealed and curled inward. "Now," Bree said, her voice tight. Will stopped bouncing the ball and held it against his chest looking at both of them, picking up on the angry tension that suddenly covered them all. "Uh oh. I tink mommy's mad." "I'm not leaving you alone in your condition, Bree. Alessandro, we just came from the hospital. Colin's awake," Brian informed him, his voice tight with anger. "You spoke to Colin?" Alessandro asked, meeting Bree's eyes. "I did. And Carrie." He looks like a cornered animal. And what do Dardanos do when they're cornered? They lie. They cheat. Oh God. "Fine, then can you just take the boys upstairs?" Bree said, speaking to Brian, but not moving her gaze from her husband. "Come on, guys. Let's go play upstairs for a w ~ E. Jamie

I'm never sad when a friend goes far away, because whichever city or country that friend goes to, they turn the place friendly. They turn a suspicious-looking name on the map into a place where a welcome can be found. Maybe the friend will talk about you sometimes, to other friends that live around him, and then that's almost as good as being there yourself. You're in several places at once! In fact, my daughter, I would even go so far as to say that the further away your friends, and the more spread out they are the better your chances of going safely through the world ... ~ Helen Oyeyemi

I'm pretty sure Brooke is moving to Charlotte."

Vaughn's expression turned serious. "Charlotte? What brought that on?"

"One of Sterling's competitors offered her some big executive VP position. It sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

"Wow. What did you say when she told you about it?"

"I said, 'Congratulations' and told her to knock 'em dead in Charlotte." He saw Vaughn frown. "What was I supposed to say? 'Don't go?' You've seen her in action; you know how good she is. If she wants this, she should take it."

Vaughn nodded. "You're right. She should."

Cade pulled back. That was . . . it? Granted, he was no pro at the heart-to-hearts, but he'd expected maybe a little bit more. "Glad we're on the same page."

"Absolutely. You and I - we are in total agreement." Vaughn leaned back in the bar stool. "Now if Huxley were here, he, on the other hand, would probably have an entirely different take on the matter."

When Vaughn said nothing further, Cade took the bait. "And what would Huxley's take on the matter be?"

"Probably something about how you should tell Brooke how you feel, regardless of whether she's moving to Charlotte. You know how Huxley's all into being honest and open like that." Then Vaughn met Cade's gaze straight on. "And after that, he'd probably tell you that if he ever finds a girl who fits him as perfectly as Brooke fits you, that he hopes you're a good enough ~ Julie James

As Sam came to a panting stop, a jet of orange flame burst from a high window.
Several dozen kids were standing, watching. A crowd that struck Sam as very strange, until he realized why it was strange: there were no adults, just kids.
"Is anyone in there?" Astrid called out. No one answered.
"It could spread," Sam said.
"There's no 911," someone pointed out.
"If it spreads, it could burn down half the town."
"You see a fireman anywhere?" A helpless shrug.
The day care shared a wall with the hardware store, and both were only a narrow alley away from the burning building. Sam figured they had time to get the kids out of the day care if they acted fast, but the hardware store was something they could not afford to lose.
There had to be forty kids just standing there gawking. No one seemed about to start doing anything.
"Great," Sam said. He grabbed two kids he sort of knew. "You guys, go to the day care. Tell them to get the littles out of there."
The kids stared at him without moving.
"Now. Go. Do it!" he said, and they took off running.
Sam pointed at two other kids. "You and you. Go into the hardware store, get the longest hose you can find. Get a spray nozzle, too. I think there's a spigot in that alley. Start spraying water on the side of the hardware store and up on the roof."
These two also stared blankly. "Dudes: Not tomorrow. Now. Now. Go! Quinn? You better go with them. We want to wet down the hardware - ~ Michael Grant

And suddenly first one and then another began to sing as they played, deep-throated singing of the dwarves in the deep places of their ancient homes; and this is like a fragment of their song, if it can be like their song without their music. [...]As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick. He looked out of the window. The stars were out in a dark sky above the trees. He thought of the jewels of the dwarves shining in dark caverns. Suddenly in the wood beyond The Water a flame leapt up - probably somebody lighting a wood-fire-and he thought of plundering dragons settling on his quiet Hill and kindling it all to flames. He shuddered; and very quickly he was plain Mr. Baggins of Bag-End, Under-Hill, again. He got up trembling. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

But it doesn't happen that way, I keep telling myself knowingly and sadly. Only in our fraternity pledges and masonic inductions, our cowboy movies and magazine stories, not in our real-life lives. For, the seventeenth-century humanist to the contrary, each man is an island complete unto himself, and as he sinks, the moving feet go on around him, from nowhere to nowhere and with no time to lose. The world is long past the Boy Scout stage of its development; now each man dies as he was meant to die, and as he was born, and as he lived: alone, all alone. Without any God, without any hope, without any record to show for his life.
("New York Blues") ~ Cornell Woolrich

I'll go sleep on the couch," James said. "No, you won't," Poppy said firmly. She flopped on the bed beside him. "You're dead tired. And I know I'm safe with you." James grinned without moving his arm. "Because I'm dead tired? ~ L.J.Smith

How many boys like him were out there in the ether, holding on to their big brothers and sisters who were still alive? How many husbands were floating between life and death, clinging to their wives in this world? And how may millions and millions of people were there in the world like Charlie who wouldn't let go of their loved ones when they're gone? ~ Ben Sherwood

The celebrations go on for many hours,' said the woman. Above her, in the sky, a firework exploded, showering multi-coloured flames across the stars. 'You can pay fealty at any time.' Another firework tore open the sky, streams of colour painting the woman's shift blue and green, throwing their shadows downwards. For a moment, the woman's shadow self moved against the shadow Fillingham, pressing to him, and then another explosion above them sent them dancing apart, wavering, their edges rimed with yellow and reds, and then the woman was moving again.
("The Cotswold Olimpicks") ~ Reggie Oliver

Shon was the man in charge of the biggest drug operation in Kansas City, Missouri. When he was fourteen years old, he was put on by one of the biggest drug dealers KC has ever seen. He went by the name of Big Tone. When Shon came to Tone looking for work, he wasn't feeling it. He didn't like the idea of a fourteen-year-old working for him. But as time went by, Tone gave in; he like that Shon was persistent. Shon would show up every week at the coffee shop downtown that Tone chilled at on Sundays, until Tone put him on. He took Shon under his wing and gave it to him straight, no chaser. Before long, Shon and his boys were moving dumb weight for Tone. Tone took a real liking to Shon; he started to look at him as a son he never had. He knew Shon would go far in his line of work. ~ Shaniqua Desha

Laura looked up at him with dead blue eyes.
I want to be alive again," she said. "Not in this half-life. I want to be really alive. I want to feel my heart pumping in my chest again. I want to feel blood moving through me - hot, and salty, and real. It's weird, you don't think you can feel it, the blood, but believe me, when it stops flowing, you'll know."
She rubbed her eyes, smudging her face with red from the mess on her hands.
Look, it's hard. You know why dead people only go out at night, puppy? Because it's easier to pass for real, in the dark. And I don't want to have to pass. I want to be alive. ~ Neil Gaiman

The relief Kieran felt was staggering. The sick-satisfaction of justice burned through him like an oil spill, waiting for him to drop a match, to let it all go up in flames as he laughed through the rain of hellfire.
But he didn't. He pocketed the metaphysical match. He vacuumed the torrential oil spill. He had just turned his wasteland into a rain forest; he would not let his resentment burn down the trees he had grown out of the garden of his own mind. Kieran himself had come too far to let the angry hand of vengeance burn away his fertile terrains, ruin his harvests of the pure flora kingdom and slaughter his animals to ribbons in sacrifice to greater demons whose jaws never shut. Homeostasis was a hard-earned tendency. Bonfires were clumsy and unwarranted; if he let it consume him and everything he'd built, all he had cultivated would be for nothing.
He did not want his flowers to die. ~ Grace Curley

Wrath shut the door. "Let's do it," he said to George. And the dog knew right where to go, leading him to the entrance - which Wrath opened with his mind. "Hi, honey, I'm home!" he hollered. "Did you bring flowers?" Lassiter shouted back. "Not for you." "Damn it. Well, I'm on deck tonight with Tohr, so can we get moving? There's a full list of appointments, but I want to get back for Hell's Kitchen." "Don't you DVR that shit?" Wrath groused as he and George went into the old dining room. "Yeah, but I have poor impulse control. It was on at nine, okay? And I hate waiting. I put George's fresh water down by your chair, b.t.dub." "At least you're a dog lover. That's the only thing that saves you." "Ha! I have wings and a halo, you cranky son of a bitch. I'm already perma-saved." "Just our luck. ~ J.R. Ward

What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Day snapped each word this time.

"You're not the only one that can track your lover," God said smugly while holding up his phone with the application still open.

Day's mouth fell open and the shade of red he turned was priceless. He decided to get rid of their excess company and take Day back with him. God looked at Day's date and put on his best run-for-your-life face and spat menacingly. "Leave. Now."

"No," Day spoke before his date could move. "You don't have to go anywhere, Mick."

God looked back to Day and spoke in a harsh growl without moving his eyes from his partner's. "Mick, I say leave now. He says to stay. Whatever will you do?"

Mick turned and ran so fast his image turned into a blur.
"That takes care of that," God said.

Day pushed God out of his space and turned to walk away without another word. ~ A.E. Via

Owen felt his mouth curve into a grin as he heard the familiar clap, clap, clap behind him.
That was one of his favorite sounds - high heels on the wooden dock of the Boys of the Bayou swamp boat tour company.
He took his time turning and once he did, he started at the shoes.
They were black and showed off bright red toenails. The straps wrapped sexily around trim ankles and led the eye right up to smooth, toned calves. The heels matched the black polka dots on the white skirt that thankfully didn't start until mid-thigh, and showed off more tanned skin.
He straightened from his kneeling position in one of the boats as his eyes kept moving up past the skirt to the bright red belt that accentuated a narrow waist and then to the silky black tank that molded to a pair of perfect breasts.
He was fully anticipating her lips being bright red to go with that belt and her toenail polish. God, he loved red lipstick. And high heels. In any color.
But before he could get to those lips, she used them, to say, "Oh, dammit, it's you."
Owen's gaze bypassed her mouth to fly to her eyes. Because he'd know that voice anywhere.
Madison Allain was home.
A day early.
Not that an extra day would have helped him prepare. He'd been thinking about her visit for a week and was still as wound tight about it as he'd been when Sawyer, his business partner and cousin, had told him that she was coming home. For a month.
Owen stood just watching her, fi ~ Erin Nicholas

Madison looked from Jason, who jerked his head toward the gate, signaling her to get moving, to Longbranch, whose cold, direct gaze said Jason would pay in blood for any kind of double-cross.
One thing was clear: Jason Haley had been lying to her since the moment he set foot on her porch. Was he really plotting with the Roses? Or had he decided to sacrifice himself to get her into the sanctuary?
Madison threw her arms around Jason's neck as if she couldn't face being parted from him and whispered fiercely in his ear, "You lying lunatic bastard. They're going to kill you."
"I love you too," he murmured. "Go find Seph. Help him. ~ Cinda Williams Chima

Go back?" he thought. "No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!" So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

It is one of the greatest Curses visited upon Mankind, he told me, that they shall fear where no Fear is: this astrological and superstitious Humour disarms men's Hearts, it breaks their Courage, it makes them help to bring such Calamities on themselves. Then he stopped short and looked at me, but my Measure was not yet fill'd up so I begg' d him to go on, go on. And he continued: First, they fancy that such ill Accidents must come to pass, and so they render themselves fit Subjects to be wrought upon; it is a Disgrace to the Reason and Honour of Mankind that every fantasticall Humourist can presume to interpret the Skies (here he grew Hot and put down his Dish) and to expound the Time and Seasons and Fates of Empires, assigning the Causes of Plagues and Fires to the Sins of Men or the Judgements of God. This weakens the Constancy of Humane Actions, and affects Men with Fears, Doubts, Irresolutions and Terrours.

I was afraid of your Moving Picture, I said without thought, and that was why I left.

It was only Clock-work, Nick.

But what of the vast Machine of the World, in which Men move by Rote but in which nothing is free from Danger?

Nature yields to the Froward and the Bold.

It does not yield, it devours: You cannot master or manage Nature.

But, Nick, our Age can at least take up the Rubbidge and lay the Foundacions: that is why we must study the principles of Nature, for they are our best Draught.

Peter Ackroyd

There were some children round him playing in the dust on the paths. They had long fair hair, and with very earnest faces and solemn attention were making little mountains of sand so as to stamp on them and squash them underfoot.
Pierre was going through one of those gloomy days when one looks into every corner of one's soul and shakes out every crease.
'Our occupations are like the work of those kids,' he thought. Then he wondered whether after all the wisest course in life was not to beget two or three of these little useless beings and watch them grow with complacent curiosity. And he was touched by the desire to marry. You aren't so lost when you're not alone any more. At any rate you can hear somebody moving near you in times of worry and uncertainty, and it is something anyway to be able to say words of love to a woman when you are feeling down.
He began thinking about women.
His knowledge of them was very limited, as all he had had in the Latin Quarter was affairs of a fortnight or so, dropped when the month's money ran out and picked up again or replaced the following month. Yet kind, gentle, consoling creatures must exist. Hadn't his own mother brought sweet reasonableness and charm to his father's home? How he would have loved to meet a woman, a real woman!
He leaped up, determined to go and pay a little visit to Mme Rosémilly.
But he quickly sat down again. No, he didn't like that one! ~ Guy De Maupassant

After a long time, one small hand moved, slowly, tentatively, tracing the feathers falling around her, stroking the black slashes along one huge wing. She didn't ask where he'd gotten them, didn't ask why they mimicked the marks on his shoulder. She didn't ask, just kept running her soft fingers through the down, along the spines ...
"How long will they last?"
"A few hours," he said hoarsely. He should tell her, he thought, that the feathers weren't just a projection. That for the moment for however long the Irin's essence held out, they were an innate, physical part of him. And that her fingers stroking along the marks felt just like they once had, moving over his scars. He ought to tell her, ought to ask her to stop. It's what a gentleman would do, he knew that. But then he was half demon. And tonight, he thought maybe he'd just go with that.
"They're nice," she murmured, pulling one around her.
"Yes." One hand tightened in her thick soft hair. "Yes. ~ Karen Chance

Often nothing keeps the pupil on the move but his faith in his teacher, whose mastery is now beginning to dawn on him ... How far the pupil will go is not the concern of the teacher and master. Hardly has he shown him the right way when he must let him go on alone. There is only one thing more he can do to help him endure his loneliness: he turns him away from himself, from the Master, by exhorting him to go further than he himself has done, and to "climb on the shoulders of his teacher." ~ Eugen Herrigel

She nagged him for years about moving into the empty downstairs guest room, but Ove refused. After a decade or so she realized that this was his way of showing her that he had no intention of giving up. That God and the universe and all the other things would not be allowed to win. That the swine could go to hell. So she stopped nagging. On ~ Fredrik Backman

In literature, plays, and cinema, substitutionary sacrifice is always the most riveting and moving plot point. In the movie The Last of the Mohicans, British major Duncan Heyward asks his Indian captors if he might die in the flames so that Cora, whom he loves, and Nathaniel can go free. When, as he is being dragged away, Duncan cries, "My compliments, sir! Take her and get out!" we are electrified by his unflinching willingness to die to save others, one of whom has been his rival. He dies with his arms bound and stretched out, as if he were on a cross. In Ernest Gordon's memoir of being a prisoner of the Japanese during World War II, he recounts how at the end of a day of forced labor the guards counted the shovels, and one was apparently missing. A furious guard threatened the British POWs that unless the guilty person confessed, he would kill them all. He cocked his gun to start shooting them one by one. At that moment, one prisoner stepped forward calmly and said, "I did it." He stood quietly at attention, and "he did not open his mouth" (Isaiah 53: 7) as he was beaten to death. When they all got back to the camp and counted the shovels again, it turned out that they were all there. The man had sacrificed himself to save them all. In the first Harry Potter novel, the evil Lord Voldemort can't touch Harry without being burned. Later Dumbledore explains it to him. "Your mother died to save you. . . . Love as powerful [as that] . . . leaves its own mark. . . . [T] o have be ~ Timothy J. Keller

Catti-brie had to believe that now, recalling the scene in light of the drow's words. She had to believe that her love for Wulfgar had been real, very real, and not misplaced, that he was all she had thought him to be.

Now she could. For the first time since Wulfgar's death, Cattie-brie could remember him without pangs of guilt, without the fears that, had he lived, she would not have married him. Because Drizzt was right; Wulfgar would have admitted the error despite his pride, and he would have grown, as he always had before. That was the finest quality of the man, an almost childlike quality, that viewed the world and his own life as getting better, as moving toward a better way in a better place.

What followed was the most sincere smile on Cattie-brie's face in many, many months. She felt suddenly free, suddenly complete with her past, reconciled and able to move forward with her life.

She looked at the drow, wide-eyed, with a curiosity that seemed to surprise Drizzt. She could go on, but what exactly did that mean?

Slowly, Cattie-brie began shaking her head, and Drizzt came to understand that the movement had something to do with him. He lifted a slender hand and brushed some stray hair back from her cheek, his ebony skin contrasting starkly with her light skin, even in the quiet light of night.

"I do love you," the drow admitted. The blunt statement did not catch Catti-brie by surprise, not at all. "As you love me," ~ R.A. Salvatore

He takes her hand and they leave. There's a taxi outside and they go to her room without saying anything. Behind the door, she unties the dress, and then reaches for his belt. He pushes her hands away. He'll do it all himself, though his right hand is bleeding. He sits on a small wooden chair and pulls her down on top of him and feels how rough and silky she is straddling him. He is the one moving her, as if she's a doll, and he knows it has to be this way because it makes him feel that he won't die, at least for tonight. ~ Paula McLain

Fright is something one can never get over. When a warrior is caught in such a tight spot he would simply turn his back to the ally without thinking twice. A warrior cannot indulge thus he cannot die of fright. A warrior allows the ally to come only when he is good and ready. When he is strong enough to grapple with the ally he opens up his gap and lurches out, grabs the ally, keeps him pinned down and maintains his stare on him for exactly the time he has to, then he moves his eyes away and releases the ally and lets him go. A warrior, my little friend, is the master at all times ~ Carlos Castaneda

That was amazing," she told him.
He kissed the top of her thigh. "For me, too."
She heard him sit up and prepared to pass over the condom. But before she could, she felt his finger enter her again. Just the finger.
It shouldn't have been that exciting, but there was something about the way he touched her. She'd just had more than her fill of orgasms, but she couldn't help clamping around him, drawing him in deeper.
"Good?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah. Don't stop."
Without thinking, she reached down and grabbed his wrist. Holding his hand still, she thrust her hips forward and back, finding the right pace until the heavy tension returned, and she felt the telltale contractions begin again.
He swore softly. "Can you do that while I'm inside of you?"
"Absolutely."
She pulled his hand free and pressed the condom into his palm. "Can you put this on in the dark?"
He chuckled. "With you as motivation, I could probably put it on after I was dead."
Then he was pressing against her.
She reached between them and guided him inside of her. As he entered her, she contracted around him. He filled her slowly, stretching her, delighting her. Each thrust was enough to send her flying.
Zane shifted so he could hold on to her hips. "I can feel you coming," he murmured. "You're killing me. I can't hold on much longer."
"Go for it," she told him.
He took her at her word. Moving faster and faster, he pulled out of her, then slippe ~ Susan Mallery

Dana drew in a sharp breath. "Reach out your hand, sis. Jon's right beside you." Through the eerie green light of his enhanced night vision, Eli watched Dana slowly extend her hand, palm up. Jon shifted closer. "I'm here," he whispered. He touched her hand with his fingertips at first, afraid a strong grip might send her into a panic. He wanted to hold her in his arms, doubted she'd let him. His emotions rioting all over the spectrum, Jon inched closer, moving slow until her fingers wrapped around his hand and tugged. He swallowed hard, longed to gather her into his arms and never let go. The clock in his head, however, denied the chance for more than a minute or two at most. Her hand still in his, Jon sat beside Dana, moved his hands to her forearms and let her make the next move. Jon's heart almost leaped out of his chest when she flung herself into his arms. He pulled her close, his throat tight. "I've got you, baby. No one will take you from me, I promise." He placed a soft kiss on her neck. "We'll have to fight our way out of here. Can you run? ~ Rebecca Deel

But I could see how hard it would be for him to imagine the rest of his life, and where it would lead him ... It would be like having a job in a fortune cookie factory, standing all day on an assembly line while optimism passed through your hands on flimsy strips of paper-"You will inherit a million dollars," "You will go on an exotic vacation"-but never moving, standing in one place while the damp batter of the fortune cookies slid by, all your possible futures settling into that clamminess as it passed. ~ Laura Kasischke

... 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

Suddenly there was movement behind him and Dan's hand appeared on his shoulder. "Raven, what's the matter? What are you staring at?" Dan covered Raven's hands with his own. Raven's fingers seemed to have frozen and Dan tried to uncurl them and pull them off the rail. "Hey, buddy, it's OK. I've got you. You're perfectly safe. We're just going to kneel and go back down the steps. All you have to do is let go and kneel down. I've got you, I've got you."
Suddenly there was nothing holding him. A strangled sob escaped him.
"I've got you, I've got you. Look, I'm right here, you can't possible fall. I'm right behind you." Dan put an arm round his waist and gripped him tight and told him what to do with his hands and feet, and they began co climb down together.
It took for ever. Raven's fingers were so cold he could hardly feel them. Moving each foot down a rung seemed to take all the strength he had. "Don't let go," he said, his teeth chattering loudly in his mouth. "Don't let go, don't let go, don't let go."
"I'm not going to let go, Raven" Dan said. "I promise Matey, I'll never let you fall."
They finally reached the ground. Raven was so wobbly he could hardly stand. He felt Dan envelop him in a tight, strong hug. "You're all right, mate," Dan whispered. "You're all right." Raven clung to him. He never wanted Dan to let go. ~ Tabitha Suzuma

Remind yourself where you come from.

I spent the majority of my life running away from Utah, from the life I led there, from the memories I associated with those early years. It felt very someone-else-ago to me. London changed me profoundly.
When we were dancing on DWTS together, Jennifer Grey called me one night. She was having trouble with her back and wanted to see a physiotherapist. "Can you come with me?" she asked. She drove us through a residential section of Beverly Hills. We pulled into a house with a shed out back. Oddly, it didn't look like a doctor's office. There was a couch and incense burning. An Australian guy with a white beard came in : "Hey, mates." I looked at Jen and she winked at me. This was no physical therapy. She'd signed us up for some bizarre couples therapy!
The guy spoke to us for a while, then he asked Jennifer if she wouldn't mind leaving us to chat. I thought the whole thing was pretty out there, but I didn't think I could make a run for it.
"So, Derek," he said. "Tell me about your childhood." I laid it all out for him--I talked for almost two hours--and he nodded. "You can go pick him up now."
I raised an eyebrow. "Pick who up?"
The therapist smiled. "That younger boy, that self you left in Utah. You left him there while you've been on a mission moving forward so vigorously. Now you can go get him back."
I sat there, utterly stunned and speechless. It was beyond powerful and enlightening. Had I really ~ Derek Hough

The person who hurt you
who raped you or killed your family
is also here. If you are still angry at that person, if you haven't been able to forgive, you are chained to him. Everyone could feel the emotional truth of that: When someone offends you and you haven't let go, every time you see him, you grow breathless or your heart skips a beat. If the trauma was really severe, you dream of revenge. Above you, is the Mountain of Peace and Prosperity where we all want to go. But when you try to climb that hill, the person you haven't forgiven weighs you down. It's a personal choice whether or not to let go. No one can tell you how long to mourn a death or rage over a rape. But you can't move forward until you break that chain. ~ Leymah Gbowee