Look Right In Front Of You Quotes

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me

and what good does all the re ~ Alex Flinn

I want to see the front of you."
"That's what all the girls say."
"Do you expect me to roll you over? 'Cuz I will."
"Your mate's not going to like this."
"As if that's going to bother you?"
"True. It actually makes it worth the effort."
With a groan, he shoved his palms into the shimmering silver pool of blood beneath him, and flopped over like the side of beef he was.
"Wow," she breathed.
"I know, right? Hung like a horse."
"If you're really nice - and you live through this - I'll promise not to tell V."
"About my size."
She laughed a little. "No, that you assumed I'd look at you in any fashion other than professionally. ~ J.R. Ward

By the end of the seventies, some nights I was so out of it our road manager, Joe Baptista, would have to carry me onstage. The promoter would be sitting there in the dressing room with a look of horror on his face. I'm almost comatose, he's hyper-ventilating. He thinks he's presenting the legendary cash cow Aerosmith, and now he's going to lose his shirt because the lead singer's down for the count. Is he dead or alive? What am I going to do? "You'd better get him on that stage. I don't know how he's going to do this how, but we've got too many kids out there."

Not to worry. The minute my feet hit the stage, I'm off and running. I don't know how it happens, but hey, you get up there in front of twenty thousand people and it's a high in itself, it's a charged space.

Still, the train kept a rollin' and we kept getting high until one night in late '78, I don't know where we were, maybe in Springfield, Illinois, I blacked out in the middle of "Reefer Headed Woman."

I got a reefer headed woman
She fell right down from the sky
Well, I gots to drink me two fifths of whiskey
Just to get half as high
When the -

And then I hit the stage like a fish out of water. ~ Steven Tyler

We need to talk," Dean said.
"Whatever you have to say," Michael drawled, "You can say in front of me."
I gave Michael a look.
"Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me, unless Cassie wishes to speak to you privately, in which case I completely respect her right to do so," Michael corrected himself. ~ Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Not to excuse myself, but when you have people right in front of you denying your very presence like that, then see if you don't doubt whether you actually exist. I look at my hands half expecting to see clear through them. ~ Haruki Murakami

I won't tell them about it," said Abra. "You're pretty sure of yourself." "Yes," she said, "I'm pretty sure of myself. Will you kiss me?" "Right here? Right in the street?" "Why not?" "Everybody'd see." "I want them to," said Abra. Aron said, "No. I don't like to make things public like that." She stepped around in front of him and stopped him. "You look here, mister. You kiss me now." "Why?" She said slowly, "So everybody will know that I'm Mrs. Lettuce-head. ~ John Steinbeck

I could be dead in a minute," he said grimly, then clutched my forearm. "Look, if I get shot, do me a favor. Call my brother and tell him there's $10,000 buried in a coffee can under his front lawn." "You buried $10,000 under your brother's front lawn?" "No, of course not, but he's a little prick and it would serve him right. Let's go. ~ Bill Bryson

Someone once said that the challenge of living is to develop a long obedience in the same direction. When it's demanded, we can rise on occasion and be patient . . . as long as there are limits. But we balk when patience is required over a long haul. We don't much like endurance. It's painful to persevere through a marriage that's forever struggling. A church that never crest 100 members. Housekeeping routines that never vary from week-to-week. Even caring for an elderly parent or a handicapped child can feel like a long obedience in the same direction.

If only we could open our spiritual eyes to see the fields of grain we're planting, growing, and reaping along the way. That's what happens when we endure...

Right now you may be in the middle of a long stretch of the same old routine.... You don't hear any cheers or applause. The days run together―and so do the weeks. Your commitment to keep putting one foot in front of the other is starting to falter.

Take a moment and look at the fruit. Perseverance. Determination. Fortitude. Patience.

Your life is not a boring stretch of highway. It's a straight line to heaven. And just look at the fields ripening along the way. Look at the tenacity and endurance. Look at the grains of righteousness. You'll have quite a crop at harvest . . . so don't give up! ~ Joni Eareckson Tada

No," I hear myself say. "You're not supposed to be here."
She's sitting on my bed. She's leaning back on her elbows, legs outstretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles. And while some part of me understands I must be dreaming, there's another, overwhelmingly dominant part of me that refuses to accept this. Part of me wants to believe she's really here, inches away from me, wearing this short, tight black dress that keeps slipping up her thighs. But everything about her looks different, oddly vibrant; the colors are all wrong. Her lips are a richer, deeper shade of pink; her eyes seem wider, darker. She's wearing shoes I know she'd never wear. And strangest of all: she's smiling at me.
"Hi," she whispers.
It's just one word, but my heart is already racing. I'm inching away from her, stumbling back and nearly slamming my skull against the headboard, when I realize my shoulder is no longer wounded. I look down at myself. My arms are both fully functional. I'm wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and my underwear.
She shifts positions in an instant, propping herself up on her knees before crawling over to me. She climbs onto my lap. She's now straddling my waist. I'm suddenly breathing too fast.
Her lips are at my ear. Her words are so soft. "Kiss me," she says.
"Juliette - "
"I came all the way here." She's still smiling at me. It's a rare smile, the kind she's never honored me with. But somehow, right now, she's mine. She's mine and she's ~ Tahereh Mafi

Well, on the upside," said Ron finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, "we got the Horcrux. On the downside--"
"--no sword," said Harry through gritted teeth, as he dripped dittany through the singed hole in his jeans onto the angry burn beneath.
"No sword," repeated Ron. "That double-crossing little scab…"
Harry pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just taken off and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice.
"At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging round our necks," said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Hermione looked across the lake to the far bank, where the dragon was still drinking.
"What'll happen to it, do you think?" she asked. "Will it be all right?"
"You sound like Hagrid," said Ron. "It's a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It's us we need to worry about."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I don't know how to break this to you," said Ron, "but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts."
All three of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop. Harry's ribs ached, he felt lightheaded with hunger, but he lay back on the grass beneath the reddening sky and laughed until his throat was raw. ~ J.K. Rowling

We ended the day and hobbled back inside, greeted by the scent of the stew Laadan had cooked up. I went upstairs to wash the day's worth of grime off, and Aiden followed.

Once inside the room, I tossed him a coy look over my shoulder. At least, I thought it was coy, but I probably looked like I had something in my eye.

Aiden grinned nonetheless.

"Are you following me?" I asked, kicking off my boots.

He prowled forward, moving like one of those caged panthers we'd seen at the zoo. "I'm just being here for you, and I think you really need me right now."

"Ha. Ha." Out of my shoes, Aiden towered over me, I felt like a hobbit standing in front of him.

Aiden's grin spread and a dimple in his left cheek appeared. He tucked a strand of my hair back, then his hands dropped and he tugged the shirt out of my cargos. "I think you called it 'manning up'."

This wasn't the kind of manning up I'd been talking about the night before, because even with my limited knowledge of such things, he excelled in that department. But I said nothing as I stared up at him.

Lowering his head, his lips brushed over mine. I was sure I tasted of dirt and sour apple, courtesy of the Blow Pop I'd been nursing earlier, but he made this sound against my mouth, part growl and part something deeper. As the kiss deepened, like he could just devour the taste and feel, I melted against him.

"I really like your idea of ma ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

It's all right, I got off the ship okay. I'm alive," he said again. But his voice sounded different now. "I said I'm alive, Camille. Open your eyes and look at me."
Camille's heart shriveled as her eyelids fluttered open and she saw the ceiling of Monty's shack.
"Camille?" Oscar leaned over her, his calloused hand on her cheek. "Thank God. You've been delirious for nearly an hour."
Tears slipped down her cheeks as the truth stung her with renewed vigor. Her father wasn't alive. He was truly gone. It had been nothing but a hallucination.
"Why are you crying? Does something hurt?" Oscar asked, lightly prodding her arms and then checking her head. She was lying on a cot in front of the blazing stove, blankets covering her. They were scratchy and too heavy. She tried to push them away.
"No." Oscar blocked her arms. "Don't do that."
"Why?" she asked, her throat dry and sore.
Oscar looked apprehensive as he tucked the blankets tightly around her arms and neck. "Your clothes were soaked. You were shivering and flush with fever."
"Had to take 'em off, love," Ira said, coming to the foot of the cot. "You gave us quite a scare. That lump on the back of your head worked you over something nasty."
Camille stared at Ira, then Oscar. The crushed hope of her father being alive withered under the heat of embarrassment.
"You…you removed my dress?" she whispered. Oscar backed away from her, as if he'd just slid his hand over an open flame.
Angie Frazier

He laughs. "Put some clothes on so you don't scare poor Kiara with your morning hard-on."
I look down at my shorts. Sure enough, I've got la tengo dura in front of Kiara and Tuck. Shit. I reach out for the first thing I can grab and put it in front of me to shield myself from view. It happens to be one of Kiara's stuffed animals, but I don't have much choice right now.
"That's Kiara's Mojo," Tuck says, laughing. "Get it? Mojo? ~ Simone Elkeles

I keep both of my Tonys on my mantle. They're in front of a mirror so if you look at just the right angle, it looks like I have four! ~ Swoosie Kurtz

It might seem to you that living in the woods on a riverbank would remove you from the modern world. But not if the river is navigable, as ours is. On pretty weekends in the summer, this riverbank is the very verge of the modern world. It is a seat in the front row, you might say. On those weekends, the river is disquieted from morning to night by people resting from their work.
This resting involves traveling at great speed, first on the road and then on the river. The people are in an emergency to relax. They long for the peace and quiet of the great outdoors. Their eyes are hungry for the scenes of nature. They go very fast in their boats. They stir the river like a spoon in a cup of coffee. They play their radios loud enough to hear above the noise of their motors. They look neither left nor right. They don't slow down for - or maybe even see - an old man in a rowboat raising his lines...
I watch and I wonder and I think. I think of the old slavery, and of the way The Economy has now improved upon it. The new slavery has improved upon the old by giving the new slaves the illusion that they are free. The Economy does not take people's freedom by force, which would be against its principles, for it is very humane. It buys their freedom, pays for it, and then persuades its money back again with shoddy goods and the promise of freedom. ~ Wendell Berry

Michael held out one hand and made a "come here" motion. "Turn."
Without taking his intense focus from the open sea ahead, he swiftly unfastened the safety harness, then swiveled her face front and worked the closures on the jacket. Cold air bathed Tally's wet clothing and already chilled skin. His fingers felt warm through the wet cloth of her shirt.
"Th-thanks." Instead of feeling cold, she felt a rush of heat and stepped away. All this fear and adrenaline rushing around inside her was screwing up her normal, logical self. Her response to the man was as unexpected as it was intriguing.
Apparently, by the look on his face, he hadn't felt anything. "Get below," he said, voice grim, jaw set. He moved about on bare feet. Moved fast, but efficiently.
"Should I take your cat with me?"
"Don't have a cat."
The black furry thing right in front of him blinked.
"What's that?"
"Snap to it, sweetheart. We've got about seventeen minutes before the tail end of that typhoon hits us."
Tally almost smiled at the precision. "Exactly seventeen minutes? How could you possibly know that?"
"Want to stand there and debate it with a stopwatch?"
"No. What can I do to help?" She had to shout, and even then she wasn't sure he'd heard her.
"Told you. Below. ~ Cherry Adair

The really magical things are the ones that happen right in front of you. A lot of the time you keep looking for beauty, but it is already there. And if you look with a bit more intention, you see it. ~ Vik Muniz

Speaking of… I gotta go. I need to be at the field." His voice rumbled through his chest and against my ear as he spoke.
I sighed and stepped out of his arms. I was sad that our couple days together were over and I would be here tonight without him. Classes started tomorrow, and I knew we were going to see a lot less of each other now that the semester was starting.
"I'll walk you out," I said and followed him to the door.
Ivy was still digging through my clothes and called out a good-bye.
"Just stay inside," he said, palming the handle. "It's cold and slippery out there. You'll be safer in here."
I grimaced. "You're probably right."
He grinned. "I'll call you later, 'kay?"
I nodded.
He released the door handle and closed the distance between us with one step. The toes of his shoes bumped against my boots and the front of his jacket brushed against me.
My stomach fluttered and my heart rate doubled. The effect he had on me was nothing short of amazing. I tipped my head back so I could look up into his eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifted. He looked at me with so much affection in his gaze that emotion caught in my throat. He didn't have to say anything because I heard everything just by looking in his eyes.
My fingers curled around the hem of his shirt and tangled in the cotton fabric, and at the same time I stretched up, he bent down.
The feel of his lips against me was my favorite sensation. Nothing compa ~ Cambria Hebert

I've got to get Brittany alone if I'm gonna have any chance of saving face and saving my Honda. Does her freakout session mean she really doesn't hate me? I've never seen that girl do anything not scripted or 100 percent intentional. She's a robot. Or so I thought. She's always looked and acted like a princess on camera every time I've seen her. Who knew it'd be my bloody arm that would crack her.
I look over at Brittany. She's focused on my arm and Miss Koto's ministrations. I wish we were back in the library. I could swear back there she was thinking about getting it on with me.
I'm sporting la tengo dura right here in front of Miss Koto just thinking about it. Gracias a Dios the nurse walks over to the medicine cabinet. Where's a large chem book when you need one? ~ Simone Elkeles

You're lucky you're good in
bed."
"Oh." He grabbed at my foot. "I think you keep me around for other reasons."
I slanted him a look out of the corner of my eye. "Right now, for the life of me I can't think what those reasons are."
Braden tugged harder on my foot, raising his fingers towards it. "Take it back or the foot getsit."
Oh hell no! I yanked at my appendage.
"Braden, no."
Deaf to my warning, he started to tickle me,his grip tightening as I laughed breathlessly and
kicked out, trying to get free.
He wouldn't stop. Ruthless!
"Braden," I panted hysterically, attempting to shove at him with my arms but struggling as he continued his war on my feet. I laughed harder,
ribs aching, and then… horror.
I broke wind.
Big time.
Braden immediately let go of my feet, his loud, rumbling laugh filling the room, laughter that only deepened when I lost balance, from kicking out
at him and then being abruptly let go, and fell off the couch with an undignified thud.
Mortified as he collapsed against the couch
belly laughing at my fart then fall, I grabbed a cushion and launched it at him from my position on the floor.
Of course this only made the idiot laugh
harder. I warred between feeling humiliation at farting in front of him, something you just didn't do in
company, and laughing, since his was so
infectious. "Braden!" I whined. "Shut up. It's not funny," I huffed, my lips caught i ~ Samantha Young

My mouth dropped open. Oh my God, it was like having a conversation with a ruder Tink. Who, by the way, was practically shimmying with excitement as he leaned in, whispering into my ear. "I like this guy. I really like him. Can I keep him?"
The Summer Prince heard him, and interest sparked in his pale blue eyes. "I've never been kept by a brownie before, but … I've heard things. Interesting things."
I so needed an adult right now, but the adults were all staring at the ceiling, pretending like a live version of Fae Tinder wasn't going down right in front of us.
Tink straightened. "Do tell."
Fabian stepped toward us. "Is it true that a brownie's co - "
"Okay," Ren stepped in, apparently to Tanner's relief by the look on his face. "Let's get back on topic. You were talking about how Ivy isn't a special snowflake. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

She's twenty-one and just by her hairstyle you can tell she's saving IT for the man she will marry. It's short at the sides and high on top, with a sideburn-length curl in front each ear. Look around you next time you're out strolling, there's hordes of them like her. They all wore braces when they were kids, played a lot of sports, were considered tom-boys, spent endless hours worrying about pimples, black-heads and acne, and wanted only one thing out of life-- get married and be a loving motherto both their children and their husband. In the meantime, they work at meaningful jobs like teaching and nursing until the Right Man comes along.
They're the reason Canadian men are amongst the most neurotic, childish and apathetic males on the Western continent. They need the challenge of a mature woman in order to bring out their maturity, and instead they're offered mamas. Yet it isn't the girls' fault. After all they're only being what men want them to be, what they think men want them to be. And vice-versa. Both sexes being what they think the other wants them to be and neither one really knowing because they've never asked their opposite what they would like, and this total absence of communication being the root cause of this great void between modern man and woman ~ Juan Antonio Butler

You can't look too far ahead. Do that and you'll lose sight of what you're doing and stumble. I'm not saying you should focus solely on the details right in front of you, mind you. You've got to look ahead a bit or else you'll bump into something. You've got to conform to the proper order and at the same time keep an eye out for what's ahead. That's critical, no matter what you're doing. ~ Haruki Murakami

Who's that man you were talking to?"

"Oh, that's Norwood. He was checking you in for your first shift. I'll introduce you tomorrow."

She made a face. "No rush."

"I mean, you were scheduled to have a brief orientation with him today, but you know, you needed your beauty sleep, so we don't have time. Are you aware, Lex, that sloth is a deadly sin?"

She made a face at him, then glanced back at the hallway. She thought she could make out a bustle of activity behind the array of frosted glass tiles that lined its right-hand wall, but Uncle Mort ushered her out the front door too quickly for her to get a closer look.

"Wait, we're done here?"

"Well, I was going to show you around upstairs as well, but - "

"No time. Sloth. I get it."

"Deadly sin. ~ Gina Damico

Look at all the old wars, centuries ago: the king led his men into battle. Always. That was what the ruler was: both on a practical level and on a mystical one, he was the one who stepped forwards to lead his tribe, put his life at stake for them, become the sacrifice for their safety. If he had refused to do that most crucial thing at that most crucial moment, they would have ripped him apart- and rightly so: he would have shown himself to be an impostor, with no right to the throne. The king was the country; how could he possibly expect it go into battle without him? But now... Can you see any modern president or prime minister on the front line, leading his men into the war he's started? And once that physical and mystical link is broken, once the ruler is no longer willing to be the sacrifice for his people, he becomes not a leader but a leech, forcing others to take his risks while he sits in safety and battens on their losses. War becomes a hideous abstraction, a game for bureaucrats to play on paper; soldiers and civilians become mere pawns, to be sacrificed by the thousand for reasons that have no roots in any reality. As soon as rulers mean nothing, war means nothing; human life means nothing. We're ruled by venal little usurpers, all of us, and they make meaninglessness everywhere they go. ~ Tana French

Just then he noticed that Amy had that look, as though she wanted the street to buckle and split so she could fall right in. Dan saw the cool crowd from her school hanging at a table in the front. So that was why she didn't want to go in. Evan Tolliver was at the head of the table. Dan sighed. Even, the human supercomputer, was Amy's dream crush. Whenever Evan was near, she got her stutter back.
"Oh, excuse me, I didn't notice Luke Skywalker," Dan said. "Or is it Darth Vader?"
"Shhh," Amy said. Her cheeks were red. "He's coming."
"You mean Evan Tolliver himself is about to set his foot on the sidewalk? Did you bring the rose petals?"
"Cut it out, dweeb!" Amy said fiercely.
"Hi, Amy," Evan said from behind her.
Amy's color went from summer rose to summer tomato. She shot Dan a look that told him he was in serious trouble.
"Hey, Evan," he said. "I'm Amy's little brother, Dweeb. Nice to meet you, man. ~ Jude Watson

I'm not hiding. I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve. Everything anyone wants to know about me is right in front of their faces. Most just don't bother to look. ~ Teresa Mummert

Even more confused than before, I started backing up. I'd go around and get in through the kitchen; David and Raquel had to know what was going on. Unfortunately for all of us, that was when Lend came out the front door, immediately collapsed with a thunk that made me cringe, and - perfect - went completely transparent.
The police officers stopped fighting, every eye glued on my boyfriend, now essentially invisible other than this T-shirt and flannel pajama pants.
"Okay," I said, putting my hands on my hips. "No. This is unacceptable. I don't care what the bleep is going on, we're going to get it settled immediately or I swear I will give you all to the Dark Queen and let her feed on your dreams for the rest of eternity."
Every head turned my direction, their faces a portrait of shock and disbelief.
"What, you've never seen a boy made of water before? Yawn. Go down to the pond - it'll really blow your mind."
One close to the front - barrel-chested, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache - shook his head as though trying to clear it. "Are you Evelyn Green?"
"Sort of. Mostly. I mean, legally. Again, sort of."
He tried to look at me, but his eyes kept drifting back to Lend. "You're under - We're here to - Could you please come with us?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, I couldn't. You're last place in a very long line of people who want me right now. Besides, I haven't done anything."
"Actually," said a painfully tall an ~ Kiersten White

Taylor held a finger up to Val and Kate. "Hold that thought for a second while I get this."
As she headed into the living room, she overheard Kate mumble to Val, "Hold what thought? I haven't understood a word she's said yet."
Taylor unlocked her front door and opened it. Before she could react, Jason barreled right in, all fired up.
"Where have you been?? I tried calling you - is your cell phone off? I need you to tell me who the hell I can sue. I just met with Marty - we got back the mock-ups for the new publicity posters the studio's going to use to promote Inferno ."
Jason stormed into the kitchen, so engrossed in his rant he didn't notice Valerie and Kate. He opened Taylor's fridge and helped himself to a bottled water.
"And get this," he fumed angrily, "the dumbasses who designed the posters have me pictured in this scene where I'm putting out a fire with all these other firemen. But if you look at the poster from the side, the water from the hose of one of the other firefighters looks like it's shooting right out of my crotch. And the best part is, they want to put this poster over the theater entrance for the premiere. I can just see it - " He gestured grandly to the air. " 'Come see Inferno! Get pissed on by Jason Andrews!'"
With that, he threw Taylor a wink. "It should be right up your alley."
Finished with his rant, Jason took a sip of water. Then he finally noticed Kate and Val. He smiled charmingly.
"Oh. People. Hello."
Julie James

There was something written in pencil in the bottom corner, smudged and faded. I leaned in until my nose was almost pressed against the glass. Narnia, it looked like.
I must have stared for a lot longer than it seemed.
A tap on the door had my jumping. "Ella?" A second later. "Um...Ella? You okay in there?"
Alex looked red-faced and startled when I jerked the door open. Even more so when I grabbed his wrist with both of my hands and pulled him into the bathroom. Another time,I might have been equally red-faced. I would definitely have been uncomfortable, even if it wasn't in a bad way. But at the moment,I was too busy in a different part of my head.
I let go of him and pointed to the sketch. "That's a Willing."
"Is it?" He didn't look particularly impressed. More relieved that I hadn't fallen and hit my head or had some similar mishap.
"Edward Willing. You have to know who Edward Willing is."
He peered past me. "Philadelphia painter. Early twentieth century, right? I was in your art history class last year,you know."
I didn't.Not really. "You were?"
"I sat in back.You sat in front. Never saw your face during class,but I remember you arguing with Evers about Dali.I remember. You don't like Dali."
"Not much."
"You like this guy?"
"Yeah." I took a breath. "Yeah.I do. And you have one of his sketches. In your guest bathroom. ~ Melissa Jensen

She was especially taken with Matt.
Until he said, "It's time to fess up, hon. Tell Trace how much you care. You'll feel better when you do."
Climbing up the ladder, Chris said, "Better sooner than later." He nodded at the hillside behind them. "Because here comes Trace, and he doesn't look happy."
Both Priss and Matt turned, Priss with anticipation, Matt with tempered dread.
Dressed in jeans and a snowy-white T-shirt, Trace stalked down the hill.
Priss shielded her eyes to better see him. When he'd left, being so guarded about his mission, she'd half wondered if he'd return before dinner.
Trace wore reflective sunglasses, so she couldn't see his eyes, but his entire demeanor - heavy stride, rigid shoulders, tight jaw - bespoke annoyance.
As soon as he was close enough, Priss called out, "What's wrong?"
Without answering her, Trace continued onto the dock. He didn't stop until he stood right in front of . . . Matt.
Backing up to the edge of the dock, Matt said, "Uh . . . Hello?"
Trace didn't say a thing; he just pushed Matt into the water.
Arms and legs flailing out, Matt hit the surface with a cannonball effect.
Stunned, Priss shoved his shoulder. "What the hell, Trace! Why did you do that?"
Trace took off his sunglasses and looked at her, all of her, from her hair to her body and down to her bare toes. After working his jaw a second, he said, "If you need sunscreen, ask me."
Her mouth fell open. Of all th ~ Lori Foster

We look at each other without saying anything, both of us smiling like idiots. I heart is so full I can't believe it can possibly still beat without bursting right in front of me. My desire for him is so fierce I'm afraid to stand, because I know my knees will be too weak to hold me up, but there's more than that. This great and bursting thing inside me is love. ~ Megan Hart

Elizabeth was not entirely right. The climb was steep enough, but the trunk, which originally felt quite light, seemed to gain a pound of weight with every step they took. A few yards from the house both ladies paused to rest again, then Elizabeth resolutely grabbed the handle on her end. "You go to the door, Lucy," she said breathlessly, worried for the older woman's health if she had to lug the trunk any further. "I'll just drag this along."
Miss Throckmorton-Jones took one look at her poor, bedraggled charge, and rage exploded in her breast that they'd been brought so low as this. Like an angry general she gave her gloves an irate yank, turned on her heel, marched up to the front door, and lifted her umbrella. Using its handle like a club, she rapped hard upon the door.
Behind her Elizabeth doggedly dragged the trunk. "You don't suppose there's no one home?" She panted, hauling the trunk the last few feet.
"If they're in there, they must be deaf!" said Lucinda. She brought up her umbrella again and began swinging at the door in a way that sent rhythmic thunder through the house. "Open up, I say!" she shouted, and on the third downswing the door suddenly lurched open to reveal a startled middle-aged man who was struck on the head by the handle of the descending umbrella.
"God's teeth!" Jake swore, grabbing his head and glowering a little dizzily at the homely woman who was glowering right back at him, her black bonnet crazily askew atop her wiry gray hai ~ Judith McNaught

I stared down at the white bikini in horror. My cleavage was out in full form, while the bikini bottoms hugged my hips, tinier than anything I'd ever dare buy for myself. What the hell was Gavin Fletcher thinking putting me in something like this? And he wanted me to go outside in it, much less get my picture taken?
Yeah, right! That was absolutely not happening.
"We haven't got all day, Lani," Martin barked from on deck.
I put my head in my hands, sighing deeply before brushing my hair back from my eyes. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
There was a gentle rapping on the bedroom door, and I opened it, wishing I had a towel to cover up with. Gavin's gold-flecked eyes met mine, and I stepped back to let him in. He sucked in a breath, looking me over in that brash way of his, his lips curling into a grin.
"Now that's what I've been hoping for," he said.
I laughed nervously and crossed my arms in front of my body. "I don't know if I can do this. You heard Martin out there."
Gavin reached forward and put a hand on my arm, smoothing his large palm over my skin. I shivered beneath his touch, feeling the heat from a connection I wondered if he felt, too. Judging by the heat in his gaze, he did, but how was that even possible? I couldn't be reading him right.
"You look stunning, Aolani," he said, that dangerous, bad-boy smile of his making my toes curl. "You're exactly what I've been waiting for. Exactly what this campaign needs. Pleas ~ Delilah Fawkes

You look terrible," was Ron's greeting as he entered the room to wake Harry.
"Not for long," said Harry, yawning.
They found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that Harry associated with exam review.
"Robes," she said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, "Polyjuice Potion . . . Invisbility Cloak . . . Decoy Detonators . . . You should each take a couple just in case. . . . Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendable Ears . . ."
They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned.
"Bless him," said Ron fondly, "and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall."
They made their way onto the front step with immense caution: They could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square.
Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for Harry.
After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, Harry found himself in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. It was as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o'clock.
"Right then," said ~ J.K. Rowling

Start your work from where you live, with the small concrete needs right around you. Help ease tension in your workplace. Help feed the person right in front of you. Personalism holds that we each have a deep personal obligation to live simply, to look after the needs of our brothers and sisters, and to share in the happiness and misery they are suffering. ~ David Brooks

We finally made our way to the front of the line, where a young bouncer snapped an underage wristband on me and gave me an appraising look, eyes scanning my waist-length hair before raising the velvet rope. I rushed under it with Jay on my heels.
"For real, Anna, don't let me stand in the way of all these dudes tonight." Jay laughed behind me, raising his voice as we entered the already packed room, music thumping. I knew I should have put my hair up before we came, but Jay's sister, Jana had insisted on my keeping it down. I pulled my hair over my shoulder and wound it into a rope with my finger, looking around at the tightly packed crowd and wincing slightly at the noise and blasts of emotion.
"They only think they like me because they don't know me," I said.
Jay shook his head. "I hate when you say things like that."
"Like what? That I'm especially special?"
I was trying to make a joke, using the term us Southerners fondly called people who "weren't right" but anger burst gray from Jay's chest, surprising me, then fizzled away.
"Don't talk about yourself that way. You're just...shy."
I was weird and we both knew it. But I didn't like to upset him, and it felt ridiculous having a serious conversation at the top of our lungs.
Jay pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen as it vibrated in his hand. He grinned and handed it to me. Patti.
"Hello?" I stuck a finger in my other ear so I could hear.
"I'm just chec ~ Wendy Higgins

Jules had listened in on nearly every word exchanged while they'd been back there together, and it was more than obvious that Max had yet to pull Gina into his arms and do his imitation of the Han Solo and Princess Leia big-moment kiss from The Empire Strikes Back.
Maybe when Jules and the E-man walked out of the garage and climbed into that ancient Escort - which turned out to be part of the Testa fleet-Max would take the opportunity to plant a big, wet one on this woman that he still so obviously adored.
Or maybe not.
"Sweetie, I love the haircut," Jules told Gina as he gave Max back his cell phone. "You look fabulous for a woman who's been dead for five days."
"What?" she said, but it was time to go.
"Max'll fill you in," he said. There. There was no way Max was going to be table to tell Gina about receiving the report of her death without getting a little misty-eyed. At which point Gina would, at the very least, throw her arms around him. If Max couldn't manage to turn that into a truth-revealing kiss, he didn't deserve the woman. "Ow," he added as Emilio pressed his weapon into Jules's kidney.
"Sorry," Emilio managed to put the right amount of apology into his voice, but he was obviously so stressed that he didn't quite get the right facial expression to match. It was pretty odd. Particularly when he jabbed Jules again. "Let's go."
Wow, wasn't this going to be fun?
Max, meanwhile, had stepped protectively in front of Gina. He caugh ~ Suzanne Brockmann

Anyway, what do women grab when they're nervous and sitting at their desks? Do they slip their hands inside their panties? What a distracting thought. Just the word panty is distracting. I love that word; it implies so much. I love how women look in panties, how they're flat in the front. I'm thirty-five, but sometimes it's still this beautiful amazing shock to me that women don't have penises. They just have this lovely little mound of hair and then this tucked away glorious hole. Hole. Wait. Hole sounds vulgar. Is passageway better? Pretty envelope? Georgia O'Keeffe flower? Pussy? Pussy is good. I like the word pussy. Tucked away beautiful pussy. I wish I could put my face in one right now and sing out, I love you! ~ Jonathan Ames

Look for reasons to say 'yes' instead of 'no,' he reminded me. Screen in rather than constantly screening out. Always ask yourself this: If an interesting guy were right in front of you, would you honestly turn that person away because of a few pounds or inches, or a sentence in a profile that you don't like? If so, that's fine. Just don't complain when you can't find anybody suitable because you've eliminated every potential guy on a technicality. Because if these guys eliminated people on technicalities, they probably wouldn't date you, either. ~ Lori Gottlieb

Why not?" I asked, letting my tears spill over. It was easy to cry. All I had to do was look at Alex's limp body, and the tears came effortlessly. "You were happy enough to do it to me."
There was a beat. Then John said cautiously, "What do you mean?"
"The consequences, John?" I let out a bitter laugh. "Persephone wasn't doomed to stay in the Underworld because she ate a pomegranate. She was doomed to stay there because she did with Hades what we did last night. That's what the pomegranate symbolizes, right?"
John stared, speechless. But I could tell I was right by the color that slowly started to suffuse his cheeks…and the fact that he didn't try to contradict me.
And of course the fact that the whole thing was spelled out right in front of me by the statue Hope was sitting on. I didn't get why the Rectors were so obsessed by the myth of Persephone that they'd put a statue of it in their mausoleum, but it was clear enough they were involved in an underworld of one kind or another.
"Don't worry," I said, lowering my voice because I didn't want Frank to overhear. "I don't blame you. You asked me if I was sure, despite the consequences. I said I was. But I thought by consequences you meant a baby, and I already knew that could never happen. I guess Mr. Smith must have told you last night that he found out the pomegranate symbolized something completely different than babies or death-"
"Pierce." John grasped my hand. His fingers were like ice, but h ~ Meg Cabot

It's not that I'm complaining,' said Angua, 'but when we were assigned this job I thought it was me who was going to be the decoy and you who was going to be the back up, Nobby.'
'Yeah, but what with you bein' . . .' Nobby's expression creased as he edged his way into
unfamiliar linguistic territory, '... mor phor . . . log . . . is . . : ally gifted. . .'
'A werewolf, Nobby. I know the word.'
'Right . . . well, obviously, you'd be a lot better at lurkin', an' . . . an' obviously it's not right, women havin' to act as decoys in police work. . .'
Angua hesitated, as she so often did when attempting to talk to Nobby on difficult matters, and waved her hands in front of her as if trying to shape the invisible dough of her thoughts.
'It's just that . . . I mean, people might . . .' she began. 'I mean . . . well, you know what people call men who wear wigs and gowns, don't you?'
'Yes, miss.'
'You do?'
'Yes, miss. Lawyers, miss.'
'Good. Yes. Good,' said Angua slowly. 'Now try another one . . .'
'Er . . . actors, miss?'
Angua gave up. 'You look good in taffeta, Nobby,' she said.
'You don't think it makes me look too fat?'
Angua sniffed. 'Oh, no . . .' she said quietly. ~ Terry Pratchett

In front of the law there is a doorkeeper. A man from the countryside comes up to the door and asks for entry. But the doorkeeper says he can't let him in to the law right now. The man thinks about this, and then he asks if he'll be able to go in later on. "That's possible," says the doorkeeper, "but not now". The gateway to the law is open as it always is, and the doorkeeper has stepped to one side, so the man bends over to try and see in. When the doorkeeper notices this he laughs and says, "If you're tempted give it a try, try and go in even though I say you can't. Careful though: I'm powerful. And I'm only the lowliest of all the doormen. But there's a doorkeeper for each of the rooms and each of them is more powerful than the last. It's more than I can stand just to look at the third one. ~ Franz Kafka

The Lady Vader has come. We would hear her words.'

'Then you will hear them in prison.' The dynast gestured, and two more of the official guard left their line, heading purposefully toward the steps.

It was, Leia judged, the right moment. Glancing down at her belt, she reached out through the Force with all the power and control she could manage--

And her lightsaber leaped from her belt, breaking free from its quick-release and jumping up in front of her. Her eyes and mind found the switch, and with a snap-hiss the brilliant green-white blade flashed into existence, carving out a vertical line between her and the line of dynasts.

There was a sound like a hissing gasp from the crowd. The two Noghri who had been moving toward the maitrakh froze in mid stride...and as the gasp vanished into utter silence, Leia knew that she'd finally gotten their complete attention. 'I am not merely the daughter of the Lord Vader,' she said, putting an edge of controlled anger into her voice. 'I am the Mal'ary'ush: heir to his authority and his power. I have come through many dangers to reveal the treachery that has been done to the Noghri people.'

She withdrew as much of her concentration as she could risk from the floating lightsaber to look slowly down the line of dynasts. 'Will you hear me? Or will you instead choose death? ~ Timothy Zahn

I left Patrick coloring in his room and darted to the living room, but then I stopped short.
Because William and Sean weren't alone.
"Bryan," I said on a gasp, drawing three sets of eyes to me. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes were wide and surprised as he took in my appearance, trailing over my high heels, bare legs, and form-fitting silk dress. Self-consciously, I glanced at myself again, tugging on the hem.
Bryan's voice was distracted; as though he were talking to himself, he began, "Holy sh - "
"You look great." William stepped in front of his teammate and gave me a warm, if sedate, smile.
I frowned at William, then at Bryan - or what I could see of him behind William - then at Sean, who was inspecting my ceiling.
My frown deepened. "What's going on?"
"Oh," Sean chirped, imbuing his tone with forced lightness, "I just thought since you were going out, Patrick, Bryan, and I could have a men's night in. You know, go through the latest Dolce & Gabbana catalogue, play a friendly game of Mario Kart, teach Patrick how to hook in a scrum. The usual. ~ L.H. Cosway

When they had dismounted, he indulged himself in a shudder of his whole body. "That is more than I undertake to do again!' --this to the admiral, in reproachful tones. "Those two monstrously large beasts! Going right up to them like that and dangling their captains in front of them just as if to say, look what I have got, ha ha! I am all astonishment they did not leap upon me at once. I hope they did not get a clear look at me. If they ever saw me again I am sure they would not let it pass."

"I beg you not to repine upon it," Laurence said. "Temeraire understands well that orders must be obeyed, and will not hold it against you; he knows it was not in your power to deliver us to him."

"Well, but it was," Souci said, not conciliated, and Granby said nothing reassuring at all. Iskierka allow of assurances of her behavior, good, evil, or otherwise. ~ Naomi Novik

Forget that you are anybody and just perform the activities around you. Look at them. Watch what you are doing, my God! Life is right in front of you, and it's great. ~ Frederick Lenz

Right then, Mel came into the bar, hung her jacket on the peg inside the door and jumped up on a stool in front of her husband, elbows on the bar, leaning toward him for a kiss. "Holy shit," one of the men said. "Look at that one. Talk about a doe I'd like to bag." Jack straightened before meeting his wife's lips. The look on his face wasn't a pretty one. "You know," Mike said, laughing uncomfortably, "about our women. You boys don't want to be giving the women around here any trouble. Trust me on this, okay?" That set up a round of hilarious laughter at the table of hunters and one of them said, unfortunately too loudly, "Maybe the girl wants to get bagged. I think we should at least ask her!" But oops - glancing over his shoulder, Mike saw Jack had heard that. And probably so had Mel. And after what those two had been through earlier in the summer, comments like that were not taken lightly. And ~ Robyn Carr

Never make heads straight on the shoulders, but turn them aside to the right or to the left, even though they look down, or upward, or straight ahead, because it is necessary for them to look lively and awake and not asleep. And do not depict the front or rear half of the whole person so that too much straightness is displaced, one half above or below the other half; and if you should wish to use stiff figures, do so only in portraying old people. ~ Leonardo Da Vinci

You say that about everything," I complained, trailing after him. "Everything is a long story, too long to tell me. I suppose after two hundred years, or whatever, things get a little convoluted, but can't you paraphrase? How do you know the Rectors?"
When we rounded the corner, it became apparent there wouldn't be time for any stories at all, paraphrased or not. Not because the gray clouds that were hanging so threateningly overhead had burst open, the way I was half expecting them to, but because the family we'd seen earlier, along with Mr. Smith and the people holding the clipboards, were climbing into their various vehicles in the parking lot right in front of us.
It shouldn't have been a big deal. We were just an ordinary young couple, taking a late afternoon stroll through the cemetery.
I'd forgotten that, due to the "vandalism" that had occurred there earlier in the week, the cemetery gates (which John had kicked apart in a fit of temper) had been ordered locked twenty-four hours a day by the chief of police.
So it kind of was a big deal.
Still, that didn't explain why one of the women-the grandmother, if her gray hair was any indication-took one look at my face, made the sign of the cross, cried, "Dios mio!" then passed out cold right in front of us. ~ Meg Cabot

know the risk I run when I find fault with people more often than I look for something to appreciate. It's like having grit in your eye; you see less and less of the real person standing right in front of you and more and more of the grit in your eye. ~ Helen Oyeyemi

You look at war as something that is putting your best friend in jeopardy. You are responsible for the person in front of you and the person behind you, and the person to the left of you and the person to the right of you. ~ Steven Spielberg

This was my first time in Govan. You could smell and taste the thick smog in the air. The Blue Triangle was a new high-tech building, and it didn't look right standing there in front of older and more historical buildings. The Blue Triangle may have looked great from the outside, but once inside, to my horror, it was full of young teenage boys and girls full of deep and dark depression ~ Stephen Richards

Not easy when you can't talk, is it?" I grinned. "Well, not easy for you but I could get used to it."
He grumbled, but I could see relif in his eyes, like he was glad to see me smile.
"SO i was right, wasn't I? It's still youm even in wolf form."
He grunted.
"No sudden uncontrollable urges to go kill something?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Hey, you're the one who was worried." I paused. "And i don't smell like dinner, right?"
I got a real look for that one.
"Just covering all the bases."
He gave a rumbling groul, like a chuckle, and settled in, lowering his head to his front paws, gaze on me. I tried to get comfortable, but the ground was ice-cold through his swearshirt, and i was wearing only my new pajamas, a light jacket, and sneakers.
Seeing me shiver, he stretched a front leg toward the swearshirt, pawing the edge and snarling when he realized he couldnt grab it.
"The lack of opposanle thumbs is going to take some getting used to, huh?"
He motioned me closer with his muzzel. When I pretended not to understand, he twisted and gingerly took the hem of the swearshirt between his teeth, lips curled in discust as he tugged it.
"Okay, okay. I'm just trying not to croud you."
That wasnt the only reason i was uncomfortanle getting too cozy with him now, but he just grunted, again seeming to say it was fine. i moved over beside himm. He shifted, his torso making a partial wind block, the boddy heat fro ~ Kelley Armstrong

You must always look with both of your eyes and listen with both of your ears. He says this is a very big world and there are many many things you could miss if you are not careful. There are remarkable things all the time, right in front of us, but our eyes have like the clouds over the sun and our lives are paler and poorer if we do not see them for what they are. If nobody speaks of remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable? ~ Jon McGregor

I never stopped thinking about you. All of these years, they feel like a blur. I look at you sitting in front of me right now, and I'm feeling all of the same things I did when we were together. ~ Penelope Ward

Look, Bob, what part of this don't you understand, eh? It's a matter of style, okay? A proper brawl doesn't just happen. You don't just pile in, not anymore. Now, Oyster Dave here--put your helmet back on, Dave--will be the enemy in front, and Basalt, who, as we know, don't need a helmet, he'll be the enemy coming up behind you. Okay, it's well past knuckles time, let's say Gravy there has done his thing with the Bench Swipe, there's a bit of knife play, we've done the whole Chandelier Swing number, blah blah blah, then Second Chair--that's you, Bob--you step smartly between their Number Five man and a Bottler, swing the chair back over your head, like this--sorry, Pointy--and then swing it right back onto Number Five, bang, crash, and there's a cushy six points in your pocket. If they're playing a dwarf at Number Five, then a chair won't even slow him down, but don't fret, hang on to the bits that stay in your hand, pause one moment as he comes at you, and then belt him across both ears. They hate that, as Stronginthearm here will tell you. Another three points. It's probably going to be freestyle after that but I want all of you, including Mucky Mick and Crispo, to try for a Double Andrew when it gets down to the fist-fighting again. Remember? You back into each other, turn around to give the other guy a thumping, cue moment of humorous recognition, then link arms, swing round and see to the other fellow's attacker, foot or fist, it's your choice. Fifteen points right there ~ Terry Pratchett

First of all, you're going to talk to her and get the whole story. I know you're in shock but sitting around here all day fingering your va**na isn't going to make anything better. So man-up. Go talk to her. You spent all these years trying to find her and here she is, right in front of you. So she's got a little baggage. Who doesn't?"

"A little baggage? Drew, she has a son. That's more than a little baggage," I complained.

"Wake up and look in the mirror baby-daddy. He's your son too. And you spent the last few years trying to f**k her out of your system with some chick you could barely stand. That's not just baggage, that's luggage, bags, suitcases, carry-ons, back-packs and Clinique make-up bags. ~ Tara Sivec

I checked my words carefully. Words more powerful than atom bombs and more cutting than AK-47s. People are fragile and words, not bullets will break them, and once they break every part of them spills out. Their soul, spirit, identity, ugliness, and their beauty. It's all there, right in front of you if you know where to look. Most people see the ugly and I didn't want to become that. I thought I looked for beauty but then wondered why I often say such ugly things. ~ Bruce Crown

Stop it," came Eustace's voice, squeaky with fright and bad temper. "It's some silly trick you two are playing. Stop it. I'll tell Alberta--Ow!"
The other two were much more accustomed to adventures, but, just exactly as Eustace Clarence said "Ow," they both said "Ow" too. The reason was that a great cold, salt splash had broken right out of the frame and they were breathless from the smack of it, besides being wet through.
"I'll smash the rotten thing," cried Eustace; and then several things happened at the same time. Eustace rushed toward the picture. Edmund, who knew something about magic, sprang after him, warning him to look out and not to be a fool. Lucy grabbed at him from the other side and was dragged forward. And by this time either they had grown much smaller or the picture had grown bigger. Eustace jumped to try to pull it off the wall and found himself standing on the frame; in front of him was not glass but real sea, and wind and waves rushing up to the frame as they might to a rock. He lost his head and clutched at the other two who had jumped up beside him. There was a second of struggling and shouting, and just as they thought they had got their balance a great blue roller surged up round them, swept them off their feet, and drew them down into the sea. Eustace's despairing cry suddenly ended as the water got into his mouth.
Lucy thanked her stars that she had worked hard at her swimming last summer term. It is true that she would have got on m ~ C.S. Lewis

I'm sorry, did you just say your boyfriend ditched you to go shoe shopping?" my mom asks her.

Charlotte sighs and crosses her arms in front of her. "He didn't ditch me. I told him he could go because I was tired."

"You don't really mean shoe shopping right? You meant to say shopping for sports equipment or a new surround sound system, right?" Aunt Liz asks.

"He told us his favorite book of all time was Under the Rainbow: The Real Liza Minnelli. I'm pretty sure shoe shopping would be right up his alley," Mom reminds her.

"Has Rocco gotten the memo yet that he's gay?" Aunt Liz questions her.

Tyler starts laughing hysterically and reaches his hand up to fist-bump my aunt.

"Seriously, Mom? Are you judging him? That's really low," Charlotte complains.

"I'm not judging him. Some of the best people I've ever met are gay. I just don't particularly want my daughter dating someone who's gay."

Charlotte stomps her foot and growls at Liz, and I have to tell myself not to get too excited. I love seeing her get fired up. Her cheeks turn pink and her eyes sparkle. Now is NOT the time to get a boner.

"He is NOT gay! He's just … he's in touch with his feminine side."

Tyler snorts and Charlotte shoots an angry look in his direction.

"Honey, he doesn't have a feminine side. He has a vagina," Aunt Liz informs her. ~ Tara Sivec

Is your future faery bride too ugly for you?"
Rhys leaned back against the head rest and studied the seat
back in front of him. "That's not it."
"Too old or too young?"
"No."
I rolled my eyes, but smiled. This was why he was upset. He
hadn't landed the perfect bride-to-be. "Her pretty faery wings
aren't the right shade of sparkly lavender and pink?"
His eyes flashed with anger. "Actually, she doesn't have faery
wings."
"She doesn't?"
"No. As a matter of fact, the dragon oracle tells me the girl I'm
supposed to marry, the one destined to someday become the queen
of the faery realm, isn't a faery at all."
Okay, that was surprising. Not a faery?
"She isn't?" I said. "Then who is she?"
His expression was severe as he turned to look me right in the
eye.
"You," he said ~ Michelle Rowen

The Clock on the Morning Lenape Building

Must Clocks be circles?
Time is not a circle.
Suppose the Mother of All Minutes started
right here, on the sidewalk
in front of the Morning Lenape Building, and the parade
of minutes that followed--each of them, say, one inch long--
headed out that way, down Bridge Street.
Where would Now be? This minute?
Out past the moon?
Jupiter?
The nearest star?

Who came up with minutes, anyway?
Who needs them?
Name one good thing a minute's ever done.
They shorten fun and measure misery.
Get rid of them, I say.
Down with minutes!
And while you're at it--take hours
with you too. Don't get me started
on them.

Clocks--that's the problem.
Every clock is a nest of minutes and hours.
Clocks strap us into their shape.
Instead of heading for the nearest star, all we do
is corkscrew.
Clocks lock us into minutes, make Ferris wheel
riders of us all, lug us round and round
from number to number,
dice the time of our lives into tiny bits
until the bits are all we know
and the only question we care to ask is
"What time is it?"

As if minutes could tell.
As if Arnold could look up at this clock on
the Lenape Building and read:
15 Minutes till Found.
As if Charlie's time is not forever stuck
on Half Past Grace.
As if a swarm of stinging minutes wa ~ Jerry Spinelli

Look, if you're going to insist that I've taught you something, I guess I should give you a final exam." "Really?" "One question." "Sure." "Go look at an electron microscope photograph of an atom, okay? Don't just glance at it. It is very important that you examine it very closely. Think about what it means." "Okay." "And then answer this question. Does it make your heart flutter?" "Does it make my heart flutter?" "Yes or no. It's a yes or no question. No equations allowed." "All right, I'll let you know." "Don't be dense. I don't need to know. You need to know. This exam is self-graded. And it's not the answer that counts, it's what you do with the information." We locked eyes. His younger face flashed in my mind. The energetic, smiling bongo drum player I had seen pictured in the front of his book, The Feynman Lectures on Physics. A question popped from my lips. ~ Anonymous

Your alarm's about to go off in ten minutes," Caden called from the doorway. He had a cup of coffee in hand and wore only jeans.
I tried to keep my eyes front and center, but I lost. The tattoos were a nice little zig-zag pattern, pulling my gaze down, all the way down. Caden's slow, smooth chuckle told me he knew what I'd just done. My cheeks only warmed a little.
I shot him a look, falling back to the pillow. "I feel like this should be the first skip day of my school career."
"You've never skipped before?"
I shook my head, rolling it side to side on the pillow. "Am I missing out? Should I embrace my inner deviant?"
He smirked. "You can skip a class for any reason in the world. It's your life."
I sat up, eyeing that coffee. "You were supposed to be the bad influence."
His eyebrow lifted. "I'm not selling it enough?" He lifted his cup. "You want some coffee?"
"I'm wondering if today is the day I try coffee too."
"You've never had coffee?"
"I'm beginning to think I'm lame." I thought about it. "Really lame."
"You slept at some guy's house last night. Think of it that way." His smirk was back. "Not so lame now."
I could do one better. "I slept at a fraternity house."
"And you drank beer."
"It was the second night in a row that I drank beer."
"See? Not so lame after all."
"You're right." I sat up. "I'm halfway to total badass. ~ Tijan

By now you've probably noticed that except when safely contained by quotes, Zampanò always steers clear of such questionable four-letter language. This instance in particular proves that beneath all that cool psuedo-academic hogwash lurked a very passionate man who knew how important it was to say "fuck" now and then, and say it loud too, relish its syllabic sweetness, its immigrant pride, a great American epic word really, starting at the lower lip, often the very front of the lower lip, before racing all the way to the back of the throat, where it finishes with a great blast, the concussive force of the K catching up then with the hush of the F already on its way, thus loading it with plenty of offense and edge and certainly ambiguity. FUCK. A great by-the-bootstrap prayer or curse if you prefer, depending on how you look at it, or use it, suited perfectly for hurling at the skies or at the world, or sometimes, if said just right, for uttering with enough love and fire, the woman beside you melts inside herself, immersed in all that word-heat. ~ Mark Z. Danielewski

He told me to stay away from you."
Strong hands roamed her back in the most comforting fashion. "You should have listened."
Rose raised her face to look at him. "But then I would not have known what it was to be truly happy."
Grey's eyes widened, and for a moment he looked young and vulnerable. "Don't say that. I've made you miserable."
She smiled sadly. "True, but those nights with you at Saint's Row? That was happiness for me. The most I've ever known."
His mouth opened and she pressed her fingers again his lips to close them. "You don't have to say anything. I already know it's not what I want to hear."
Grey frowned, and reached up to move her hand from his face. He held her fingers within his. He gave off more heat than the fire she'd fried herself in front of earlier. Heat that went straight to her bones, right to the very center of her being, radiating out into her limbs. There was nothing seductive about their embrace and yet she ached inside, that wet and willing part of herself desperate to take him inside once more. She wanted to claim him, mark him.
Ruin him for anyone else.
"I was happy too," he said softly. So softly she wouldn't have known it was him who spoke were she not watching his beautiful lips as they formed the words. "God help me, you make me forget every vow and promise I've ever made."
Heart pounding, Rose didn't resist as he dropped her hand to thread his fingers in her hair, pressing against her scalp. "Y ~ Kathryn Smith

Well, I guess that answers my question." The deep velvet voice startles me.
I jump, grab my pillow like I'm going to use it as a weapon.
Will stands in the doorway, sipping from a metallic travel mug. His gray T-shirt stretches across his shoulders and chest in a way that makes my throat close up.
"What question?" I ask, breathless.
"Whether you're as beautiful in the morning as you are during the rest of the day."
"Oh," I say dumbly, pushing the tangle of hair back off my shoulders, certain I don't look good right now, just rolling out of bed. Not that I take pains with my appearance on the average day, but still...who looks their best fresh out of bed? "You're here again," I murmur.
"Apparently."
"Can't stay away?"
"Apparently not."
I'm okay with that. Great, in fact.
"I made you breakfast," he adds.
"You can cook?" I'm impressed.
He grins. "I live in a bachelor household, remember? My mom died when I was a kid. I hardly remember her. I kind of had to learn to cook."
"Oh," I murmur, then sit up straighter. "Wait a minute. How'd you get in here?"
"Opened the front door." He takes another sip from his mug and looks at me like I'm in trouble. "Your mom really should lock the door when she leaves."
I arch a brow. "Would that have kept you out?"
He smiles a little. "You know me well. ~ Sophie Jordan

That the person I thought I'd have to search the world and a lifetime for might be standing in front of me right now. That the very person I doubted existed is flesh and blood and right here. That the man who adds more aggravation and angst and just about every other noun to my life is the same one I can't imagine living without. That this very hand in mine now is the one I might be holding when I prepare to take my last breath seventy years from now. I'm terrified that every time I look into your eyes, I see my future. I'm terrified that when you look away, it vanishes. I'm terrified because right now, this very minute when I'm confessing all of this and you're staring at me like I'm either crazy or misguided, all I really want to do is repeat that night in your truck - the way that night was supposed to go. I'm scared of you. And I'm scared of me. But I'm terrified of us together. And I'm terrified of why I'm terrified in the first place. ~ Nicole Williams

What's your name again?"
"Peter. Peter Granford."
Lewis opened up his mouth to speak, but then just shook his head.
"What?" The boy ducked his head. "You just, uh, looked like you were going to say something
important."
Lewis looked at this namesake, at the way he stood with his shoulders rounded, as if he did not
deserve so much space in this world. He felt that familiar pain that fell like a hammer on his
breastbone whenever he thought of Peter, of a life that would be lost to prison. He wished he'd
taken more time to look at Peter when Peter was right in front of his eyes, because now he would be
forced to compensate with imperfect memories or-even worse-to find his son in the faces of
strangers.
Lewis reached deep inside and unraveled the smile that he saved for moments like this, when there
was absolutely nothing to be happy about. "It was important," he said. "You remind me of someone
I used to know. ~ Jodi Picoult

And whatever you do, do not break the mirror."
Without looking away from Mari, Bowe asked, "Why no'?" This seemed an ideal solution to him.
Jillian murmured, "The shock could . . . it could kill her."
No' ideal.
"I want to be alone with her," Bowe said.
She nodded. "We're going to the binding ceremony. Good luck, Bowen."
After they closed the door, Bowe could still hear Mari's father say, "Jill, why are you so confident in MacRieve?"
"Because he won't ever rest until he has her back with him," she replied before they descended the stairs.
Alone with Mari, Bowe said, "Lass, we're about to take a break from the mirror for a bit. How am I to marry you in front of all those witches in an eerie, embarrassing ceremony if you will no' look away?"
No reaction.
He put his arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss her neck, closing his eyes with pleasure just to be close to her once more.
"Doona wish to turn from your glass? Verra well. Then ask it some questions while you're here. Ask it how much your Lykae's missed you."
Had she blinked?
At her other ear, he murmured, "Ask it who Bowe loves."
Her lips parted. Her body seemed to begin thrumming, as if she was struggling with everything she had in her to be free.
"Aye, that's right. Ask it who's the only one Bowe's ever been in love with." He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek, willing her to meet his gaze in the mirror. "And the last question w ~ Kresley Cole

He kissed you! He f@*#king kissed you right in front of me," Wharick growled through his clenched teeth. Kathel looked up from the ground where he was now leaning up on his elbows, far too pleased with his performance and having a look of mischief on his face. "Would you prefer that I kiss her when we aren't in front of you?" he asked sarcastically. ~ Madison Thorne Grey

We walk – or shuffled along – about a yard and then I walked straight into a mailbox. I grunted. "Son of a bitch jumped right out in front of me!"
Kyler stopped, shaking his head. "You are a hazard to yourself right now."
"I'm fine." I waved him off, edging around the tricky inanimate object as I shot it a dark look. "I'm watching you. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

You can't see yourself. You know what you look like because of mirrors and photographs, but out there in the world, as you move among your fellow human beings, whether strangers or friends or the most intimate beloveds, your own face is invisible to you. You can see other parts of yourself, arms and legs, hands and feet, shoulders and torso, but only from the front, nothing of the back except the backs of your legs if you twist them into the right position, but not your face, never your face, and in the end - at least as far as others are concerned - your face is who you are, the essential fact of your identity. Passports do not contain pictures of hands and feet. Even you, who have lived inside your body for sixty-four years now, would probably be unable to recognize your foot in an isolated photograph of that foot, not to speak of your ear, or your elbow, or one of your eyes in close-up. All so familiar to you in the context of the whole, but utterly anonymous when taken piece by piece. We are all aliens to ourselves, and if we have any sense of who we are, it is only because we live inside the eyes of others. ~ Paul Auster

A pale, bored woman in white ankle-socks and a white tasselled beret was sitting on a bentwood chair at the corner entrance to the verandah of the writer's club, where there was an opening in the creeper-grown trellis. In front of her on a plain kitchen table lay a large book like a ledger, in which for no known reason the woman wrote the names of the people entering the restaurant. She stopped Koroviev and Behemoth.

'Your membership cards?' she said, staring in surprise at Koroviev's pince-nez, at Behemoth's Primus and grazed elbow.

'A thousand apologies, madam, but what membership cards?' asked Koroviev in astonishment.

'Are you writers?' asked the woman in return.

'Indubitably,' replied Koroviev with dignity.

'Where are your membership cards?' the woman repeated.

'Dear lady...' Koroviev began tenderly.

'I'm not a dear lady,' interrupted the woman.

'Oh, what a shame,' said Koroviev in a disappointed voice and went on: 'Well, if you don't want to be a dear lady, which would have been delightful, you have every right not to be. But look here - if you wanted to make sure that Dostoyevsky was a writer, would you really ask him for his membership card? Why, you only have to take any five pages of one of his novels and you won't need a membership card to convince you that the man's a writer. I don't suppose he ever had a membership card, anyway! What do you think?' said Koroviev, turning to ~ Mikhail Bulgakov

I find that, usually, answers present themselves. They are not hidden under rocks or camouflaged among trees. Answers are right there, in front of our eyes. But if you haven't cause to look, then of course you will probably never find them. ~ Cecelia Ahern

And What Good Will Your Vanity Be When The Rapture Comes"

says the man with a cart of empty bottles at the corner of church
and lincoln while I stare into my phone and I say
I know oh I know while trying to find the specific
filter that will make the sun's near-flawless descent look

the way I might describe it in a poem and the man
says the moment is already right in front of you and I
say I know but everyone I love is not here and I mean
here like on this street corner with me while I turn

the sky a darker shade of red on my phone and I mean
here like everyone I love who I can still touch and not
pass my fingers through like the wind in a dream
but I look up at the man and he is a kaleidoscope

of shadows I mean his shadows have shadows
and they are small and trailing behind him and I know
then that everyone he loves is also not here and the man doesn't ask
but I still say hey man I've got nothing I've got nothing even though I have plenty

to go home to and the sun is still hot even in its
endless flirt with submission and the man's palm has a small
river inside I mean he has taken my hand now and here we are
tethered and unmoving and the man says what color are you making

the sky and I say what I might say in a poem I say all surrender
ends in blood and he says what color are you making the sky and
I say something bright enoug ~ Hanif Abdurraqib

I'll be right here. Good luck, or break a leg, or something."
As Jay and Gregory turned and headed into the crowd, my traitorous eyes returned to the corner and found another pair or eyes staring darkly back.
I dropped my gaze for three full seconds, and then lifted my eyes again, hesitant. The drummer was still staring at me, oblivious to the three girls trying to win back his attention. He put up one finger at the girls and said something that looked like, "Excuse me."
Oh, my goodness. Was he...? Oh, no. Yes, he was walking this way.
My nerves shot into high alert. I looked around, but nobody else was near. When I looked back up, there he was, standing right in front of me. Good gracious, he was sexy-a word that had not existed in my personal vocabulary until that moment. This guy was sexy like it was his job or something.
He looked straight into my eyes, which threw me off guard, because nobody ever looked me in the eye like that. Maybe Patti and Jay, but they didn't hold my stare like he was doing now. He didn't look away, and I found that I couldn't take my gaze off those blue eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked in a blunt, almost confrontational way.
I blinked. It was the strangest greeting I'd ever received.
"I'm...Anna."
"Right. Anna. How very nice." I tried to focus on his words and not his luxuriously accented voice, which made everything sound lovely. He leaned in closer. "But who are you?"
What did that mean? Did I need ~ Wendy Higgins

Sometimes when you're looking for an answer, you search everywhere else before you take a look at what's right in front of you. ~ Dean Hughes

Ruby?" His hair was pale silver in this light, curled and tangled in its usual way. I couldn't hide from him. I had never been able to.

"Mike came and got me," he said, taking a careful step toward me. His hands were out in front of him, as if trying to coax a wild animal into letting him approach. "What are you doing out here? What's going on?"

"Please just go," I begged. "I need to be alone."

He kept coming straight at me.

"Please," I shouted, "go away!"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!" Liam said. He got a better look at me and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Where were you this morning? Did something happen? Chubs told me you've been gone all day, and now you're out here like…this…did he do something to you?"

I looked away. "Nothing I didn't ask for."

Liam's only response was to move back a few paces back. Giving me space.

"I don't believe you for a second," he said, calmly. "Not one damn second. If you want to get rid of me, you're going to have to try harder than that."

"I don't want you here."

He shook his head. "Doesn't mean I'm leaving you here alone. You can take all the time you want, as long as you need, but you and me? We're having this out tonight. Right now." Liam pulled his black sweater over his head and threw it toward me. "Put it on, or you'll catch a cold."

I caught it with one hand and pressed it to my ch ~ Alexandra Bracken

Keep your eye fixed on the way to the top, but don't forget to look right in front of you. The last step depends on the first. Don't think you're there just because you see the summit. Watch your footing, be sure of the next step, but don't let that distract you from the highest goal. The first step depends on the last. ~ Rene Daumal

If you look at yourself right now, sometimes the outside situations decide what kind of person you are, isn't it? Right now, if someone in front of you acts nasty, you will act nastier than him. Not necessarily, just an example, okay? (Laughter). Somebody gets angry with you, you get angry with him. Sometimes your chemistry takes over, sometimes your hormones take over, something else takes over, so many forces are ruling you in a compulsive way. These moments you are not really a human being. You are many things in human form.

There are certain moments when you are very conscious, when you are fully aware of what you are doing, only in those moments do you truly function as a human being. If you were fully aware and conscious of what you are doing with this moment, the way you function in this world and within yourself would be very different, isn't it? If you were very consciously creating every process of life in you, you would definitely make yourself into a very blissful and ecstatic being. Whenever you are in a state where you are very happy and joyful, you are a wonderful person for everybody around you. ~ Sadhguru

Two German kayakers arrive from the north at nightfall. They set up camp on the cape beach, about a third of a mile from the cabin, and come up to recharge their equipment on my solar batteries. We have to look at their photos, their films, exchange e-mail addresses. When you meet someone nowadays, right after the handshake and a quick glance you write down the website and blog information. Conversation has given way to a session in front of the screen. Afterwards, you won't remember faces or tones of voice, but you'll have cards with scribbled numbers. Human society's dream has come true: we rub our antennae together like ants. One day we'll just take a sniff. ~ Sylvain Tesson

They were all right here with him still but he missed them with a ferocity that threatened to turn him inside-out. Only Andrew saw the strain in Neil's mask. He crossed the room to stand in front of Neil, a silent demand in his stare. Neil wanted to answer that, but he didn't know how. German was the obvious answer because it would afford them a little bit of privacy, but Romero and Jackson didn't understand German. They wouldn't know what he was saying and they would have to react like he was spilling every dark secret. Neil couldn't allow that. He didn't want to leave Andrew with nothing, but what could he possibly say? "Thank you," he finally said. He couldn't say he meant thanks for all of it: the keys, the trust, the honesty, and the kisses. Hopefully Andrew would figure it out eventually. "You were amazing." He meant it for Andrew's ears only, but Allison was close enough to overhear. She sent Matt a significant look. Neil saw it in his peripheral vision but didn't take his eyes off Andrew to see Matt's reaction. He didn't want to look away, as if by holding Andrew's gaze he could somehow save this moment. ~ Nora Sakavic

See!" Dad yelled. "Boys don't stay with whores, Bianca. They leave them. And I'm not going to let you turn into a whore. Not my daughter. This is for your own good."
I looked up as he reached a hand down to grab my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel his fingers clamp around my forearm.
But they never did.
I heard a loud thud, and Dad grunted in pain. My eyes flew open. Wesley moved away from Dad, who was massaging his jaw with a shocked look on his face. "Why you little shithead!"
"Are you all right?" Wesley asked, kneeling in front of me.
"Did you just punch my dad?" I couldn't help but wonder if I was delirious. Had all of this really just happened? Totally bizarre.
"Yes," Wesley admitted.
"How dare you touch me!" Dad screamed, but he was having trouble balancing enough to approach us again. "How dare you fuck my daughter, then hit me, you son of a bitch!"
I'd never heard my father swear like that before.
"Come on," Wesley said, helping me to my feet. "Let's get out of here. You're coming with me." He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close against his warm body, and ushered me out the open door. ~ Kody Keplinger

To get a better idea try this: focus on these words, and whatever you do don't let your eyes wander past the perimeter of this page. Now imagine just beyond your peripheral vision, maybe behind you, maybe to the side of you, maybe even in front of you, but right where you can't see it, something is quietly closing in on you, so quiet in fact that you can only hear it as silence. Find those pockets without sound. That's where it is. Right at this moment. But don't look. Keep your eyes here. Now take a deep breath. Go ahead take and even deeper one. Only this time as you start to exhale try to imagine how fast it will happen, how hard it's gonna hit you, how many times it will stab your jugular with it's teeth or are they nails?, don't worry, that particular detail doesn't matter, because before you have time to even process that you should be moving, you should be running, you should at the very least be flinging up your arms – you sure as hell should be getting rid of this book – you won't have time to even scream.

Don't look.

I didn't. ~ Mark Z. Danielewski

I suspect, however, that the thing that confuses you about Ian is that he's half Scot. In many ways he's more Scot than English, which accounts for what you're calling a ruthless streak. He'll do what he pleases, when he pleases, and the devil fly with the consequences. He always has. He doesn't care what anyone thinks of him or of what he does."
Pausing, Jordan glanced meaningfully at the couple who'd paused to look at a shrubbery on the front lawn. Ian was listening to Elizabeth intently, an expression of tenderness on his rugged face. "The other night, however, he cared very much what people thought of your lovely friend. In fact, I don't like to think what he might have done had anyone actually dared to openly insult her in front of him. You're right when you aren't deceived by Ian's civilized veneer. Beneath that he's a Scot, and he has a temper to go with it, though he usually keeps it in check."
"I don't think you're reassuring me," Alex said shakily.
"I should be. He's committed himself completely to her. That commitment is so deep that he even reconciled with his grandfather and then appeared with him in public, which I know was because of Elizabeth."
"What on earth makes you think that?"
"For one thing, when I saw Ian at the Blackmore he had no plans for the evening until he discovered what Elizabeth was going to do at the Willingtons'. The next I knew, he was walking into that ball with his grandfather at his side. And that, my love, is wha ~ Judith McNaught

They're checking IDs," he says, craning his neck to see what's holding us up.
I pull mine out of my pocket, and he tilts his head to see the picture on it. "You look different."
"It's two years old." I start to lower my arm, and he puts his hand on mine to stop me.
"That's how you used to wear your hair," he says, still examining it, holding my wrist to keep it where he can see it. "The bangs . . . I always liked the bangs. I was surprised you didn't have them anymore."
I flush. "I grew them out a couple of summers ago."
He releases my arm. "Did you get a good essay out of it? 'What I Did Last Summer'?"
"I'm saving it for my college essay. 'How Growing Out My Bangs Taught Me Compassion.'"
"Work a third-world country in there somehow," he says. "Colleges like to see some global awareness."
The line takes us through the front door.
"Progress," Finn says.
"Look." I point to a kid who's clutching some beads and murmuring to himself. "Is he actually praying right now?"
"There are no atheists in the SAT line."
"Remind me to ask him in a few weeks if it helped."
"I'm guessing the success of his prayers will correspond to the number of hours he spent studying. ~ Claire LaZebnik

Ryzek will be in a huge crowd of people, many of whom are his most ardent supporters and fiercest soldiers. What kind of 'move' do you suggest we make?"
Cyra replied, "You said it yourself, didn't you? Kill him."
"Oh, right!" Teka smacked the table, obviously annoyed. "Why didn't I think of killing him? How simple!"
Cyra rolled her eyes. "This time you won't have to sneak into his house while he's asleep. This time, I'll challenge him to the arena."
Everybody got quiet again. For different reasons, Akos was sure. Cyra was a good fighter, everybody knew that, but no one knew how good Ryzek was--they hadn't seen him in action. And then there was the matter of getting to a place where Cyra could actually challenge him. And getting him to do it instead of just arresting her.
"Cyra," Akos said.
"He declared nemhalzak--he erased your status, your citizenship," Teka said, talking over him. "He has no reason to honor your challenge."
"Of course he does." Isae was frowning. "He could have gotten rid of her quietly when he learned she was a renegade, but he didn't. He wanted her disgrace, and her death, to be public. That means he's afraid of her, afraid she has power over Shotet. If she challenges hi in front of everyone, he won't be able to back down. He'll look like a coward."
"Cyra," Akos said again, quiet this time.
"Akos," Cyra answered, with just a touch of the gentleness he had seen in the stairwell. "He is no match for me."
The ~ Veronica Roth

Sometimes the problem is recognizing what's right in front of you, because what might look like a huge stone, blocking your way, is realy a ladder leading to all new heights, you just have to find the right hand holds. ~ S.L. Rogers

Parenting is a bit like baking a cake. You put all the right stuff in and do exactly what your mother wrote in the recipe but when you look away for just a second, someone bounces in front of the oven and you end up with something unexpected. ~ K.T. Bowes

Please be a traveler, not a tourist. Try new things, meet new people, and look beyond what's right in front of you. Those are the keys to understanding this amazing world we live in. ~ Andrew Zimmern

When you think you're alone, when you think there's no one in this world who'll stand up for you, look around and make sure you're right. Friends can appear in the most unlikely people, and are often right in front of you. ~ Richard Thornton

Nice gate,Ella."
I looked back at Daniel. He waved torward my lap.
"Oh." I draw on my eans when I don't have paper.My bus had gotten stuck behind a trash truck, right in front of a seriously old churchyard. "Thanks." I wasn't sure how I felt about Daniel staring at my thigh, even if he had recognized the sketch for what it was.
"Here." Suddenly, he had a booted foot on the rung of my chair, legs spread, one pressed against mine. "Draw something."
"Oh,please," Frankie muttered from his other side.
I shook my head. "I don't have a pen."
Sadie promptly disappeared beneath the table.I could hear the clank of Marc acobs chain handles and had a feeling in a second she would be asking, "Blue ink or black?"
"Don't you dare,Sadie," Frankie said cheerfully. "Ella does not want to be inscribing my brother's crotch."
True, I didn't. Except I had the clearest vision of how a little Italian portal devil would look on the faded denim...
"Fair enough," Daniel said, sliding his foot off my chair. But he actually looked disappointed. For a second, anyway. "I assume there's food coming?"
"There is," Frankie answered. "I'm sure it will come a hell of a lot faster if you do your vampire boy thing on Chloe again."
"Tsk,tsk. Jealousy, Miss Thing."
They bared their teeth at each other. It was scarily pretty. ~ Melissa Jensen

I thought you had to go to The Hall?" she said.
"To learn?" Dar looked genuinely surprised. "No, Kale, Wulder is everywhere, therefore His lessons are everywhere."
"I know Wulder made all things, and Pretender tried to copy His work. But I didn't know Wulder is everywhere. How could that be?"
"You're thinking of Wulder as having a body and moving from place to place." Dar stood and pivoted in a circle with his arms outstretched. "Wulder is everywhere. You can see His power by recognizing His work. When a flower opens, that's His work. When the stars twinkle at night, that's His work."
He paused, facing her. He let his arms fall to his sides. "Look at me, Kale. Right now, I am standing with Wulder all around me. I'm under His protection, within His will, standing on His pledge. And Wulder is, at the very same moment, in me."
"Me, too?" asked Kale.
"Yes." Dar knelt in front of her, his earnest face only inches away.
She looked into his dark brown eyes and saw strength and peace. She wondered at his patience with her. Often her marione masters gruffly explained things they thought she should already understand.
Dar winked before he continued, his funny face serious and yet cheerful at imparting what must be old knowledge to him. "So many people don't know who Wulder is or what He's capable of doing. Their ignorance doesn't make Wulder less of a being; it makes them less. Until they know, they can't be whole."
He leaned back and sighe ~ Donita K. Paul

You don't always have to look in the distance for what's going on over there, when you actually see what's right in front of you. ~ Juno Temple

Lauren's eyes widened.An entire page had been devoted to the Children's Hospital Benefit Ball.In the center was a color picture of her-with Nick. They were dancing, and he was grinning down at her. Lauren's face was in profile, tilted up to his. The caption read, "Detroit industrialist J. Nicholas Sinclair and companion."
"It does look like me, doesn't it?" she hedged, glancing at the excited, avidly curious faces surrounding her desk. "Isn't that an amazing coincidence?" She didn't want her relationship with Nick to be public knowledge until the time was right, and she certainly didn't want her co-workers to treat her any differently.
"You mean it isn't you?" one of the women said disappointedly. None of them noticed the sudden lull, the silence sweeping over the office as people stopped talking and typewriters went perfectly still...
"Good morning, ladies," Nick's deep voice said behind Lauren. Six stunned women snapped to attention, staring in fascinated awe as Nick leaned over Lauren from behind and braced his hands on her desk. "Hi," he said, his lips so near her ear that Lauren was afraid to turn her head for fear he would kiss her in front of everyone. He glanced at the newspaper spread out on her desk. "You look beautiful, but who's that ugly guy you're dancing with?" Without waiting for an answer, he straightened, affectionately rumpled the hair on the top of her head and strolled into Jim's office, closing the door behind him.
Lauren felt like si ~ Judith McNaught

In front of the mound: a mile of naked strangers. In groups of twenty, like smokes, they are directed to the other side by a man with a truncheon and a whip. It will not help to ink in his face. Several men with barrows collect clothes. There are young women still with attractive breasts. There are family groups, many small children crying quietly, tears oozing from their eyes like sweat. In whispers people comfort one another. Soon, they say. Soon. No one wails and no one begs. Arms mingle with other arms like fallen limbs, lie like shawls across bony shoulders. A loose gray calm descends. It will be soon . . . soon. A grandmother coos at the infant she cuddles, her gray hair hiding all but the feet. The baby giggles when it's chucked. A father speaks earnestly to his son and points at the heavens where surely there is an explanation; it is doubtless their true destination. The color of the sky cannot be colored in. So the son is lied to right up to the last. Father does not cup his boy's wet cheeks in his hands and say, You shall die, my son, and never be remembered. The little salamander you were frightened of at first, and grew to love and buried in the garden, the long walk to school your legs learned, what shape our daily life, our short love, gave you, the meaning of your noisy harmless games, every small sensation that went to make your eager and persistent gazing will be gone; not simply the butterflies you fancied, or the bodies you yearned to see uncovered - look, ~ William H. Gass

In the elevator, he held silent, but she saw him twice look at her blouse. She could feel his gaze, damn it, deep inside herself. And she knew what he was looking at.
Without the binding, her boobs were far too noticeable. The damned buttons gaped and the material strained.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
If anything, her jibe only made him intensify his study. He stood there, negligence personified, his hands clasped behind his back, his stance casual and relaxed. "I can see the outline of your nipples."
She nearly strangled on her fury. "Go to hell!"
"What are you? C cup? Maybe even a D?"
Oh, God, she did not want to stand here alone with him, closed up in such a small space with his heat and scent invading her lungs. "None of your damn business."
He lifted his hand in front of him, not to touch her, but to imagine it covering her right breast. His face screwed up while he pretended to heft her. "I'd say a full C."
A fine trembling started in her neck and went down her spine. She needed to stay composed to face off with Murray Coburn, but for whatever reason, this man wanted to demolish her control. "I say go kill yourself."
He cracked a smile.
And what that smile did for him . . . She couldn't deny that he was devastatingly handsome. Probably a cutthroat villain, but still gorgeous. That disheveled fair hair and those intense, oddly colored eyes . . . she shivered.
He lifted a brow. "Cold?" ~ Lori Foster

As you put your sights on your goals - no matter how great and compelling they are - as you look into the distance, don't forget what is right in front of you today. No matter how great your dreams, no matter how great your destiny, the biggest thing you can do in any day is a small act of kindness. ~ Cory Booker