Looking For Mr Goodbar Quotes

I'd rather be seduced than comforted. ~ Judith Rossner

She felt as though she'd acquiesced in her own rape ... ~ Judith Rossner

What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous … famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead. …"
Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.
"… everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick - "
"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. ~ J.K. Rowling

Now, the last one was that the demon king can't stand either in heaven or on the earth. Urga set the demon on his lap, which means I guess I'll have to…sit on your back."
Awkward. Even though Ren was a big tiger and it would be like riding a small pony, I was still conscious that he was a man, and I didn't feel right about turning him into a pack animal. I took off my backpack and set it down wondering what I could do to make this a bit less embarrassing. Mustering the courage to sit on his back, I'd just decided that it wouldn't be too bad if I sat sidesaddle, when my feet flew out from under me.
Ren had changed into a man and swept me up into his arms. I wiggled for a minute, protesting, but he just gave me a look-the don't-even-bother-coming-up-with-an-argument look. I shut my mouth. He leaned over to pick up the backpack, let it dangle from his fingers, and then said, "What's next?"
"I don't know. That's all that Mr. Kadam told me."
He shifted me in his arms, walked over to stand in the doorway again, then peered up at the statue. He murmured, "I don't see any changes."
He held me securely while looking at the statue and, I have to admit, I totally stopped caring about what we were doing. The scratches on my arm that had been throbbing a moment ago didn't bother me at all. I let myself enjoy the feeling of being cuddled up close to his muscular chest. What girl didn't want to be swept up in the arms of a drop-dead gorgeous man? I allowed my gaze t ~ Colleen Houck

For me, 'Bookends' marks the start of my foray into commercial fiction, away from what has always been thought of as more traditional chick lit - single girl in the city trips around in Manolos looking for Mr. Right. ~ Jane Green

But I was awake, sitting by the window looking down at the trailer and Mr. Zoltan's truck. I could not sleep. That is how it is with folks my age. We take naps during the day, and then we cannot sleep at night. I think that it is because God is getting us ready for the grave. Is that right? Did He ever tell you? ("The Little Stranger") ~ Gene Wolfe

And he'd do nothing for ten minutes but look at the lock, and then he'd select a piece of bent metal from a ring of several hundred almost identical pieces, and under an hour later he'd be walking away with a neat ten percent of the takings. Of course, you didn't have to use Mr. Brown's services. You could always opt to spend the rest of your life looking at a locked door ~ Terry Pratchett

I'll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I've seen my son, now back off if you know what's good for you!"
Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured.
"Arthur!" sobbed Mrs. Weasley. "Oh thank goodness!"
"How is he?"
Mr. Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin's wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father's arrival, George stirred.
"How do you feel, Georgie?" whispered Mrs. Weasley.
George's fingers groped for the side of his head.
"Saintlike," he murmured.
"What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?"
"Saintlike," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. "You see…I'm holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?"
Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred's pale face.
"Pathetic," he told George. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?"
"Ah well," said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. "You'll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum. ~ J.K. Rowling

I was looking for a name with an old English sound, very easy to pronounce in every language and easy to remember. At the beginning I used J. P. Tod's, but then in 1999 it was shortened since too many people were asking who was Mr. J. P. Tod's. ~ Diego Della Valle

Dont go looking for Mr. Right, look for Mr. Right-now. And eventually, if he's worthy then one day that 'now' part is just going to drop away. Naturally. ~ Nina Ardianti

You know you found the right one when you stop looking for more. ~ Laurel House

Sex and the City was about looking for Mr Big and trying to find him. ~ Candace Bushnell

I have the honour to be quite of your Lordship's opinion," said Mr. Lovel, looking maliciously at Mrs. Selwyn, "for I have an insuperable aversion to strength, either of body or mind, in a female."
"Faith, and so have I," said Mr. Coverley; "for egad I'd as soon see a woman chop wood, as hear her chop logic."
"So would every man in his senses," said Lord Merton; "for a woman wants nothing to recommend her but beauty and good nature; in every thing else she is either impertinent or unnatural. For my part, deuce take me if ever I wish to hear a word of sense from a woman as long as I live!"
"It has always been agreed," said Mrs. Selwyn, looking round her with the utmost contempt, "that no man ought to be connected with a woman whose understanding is superior to his own. Now I very much fear, that to accommodate all this good company, according to such a rule, would be utterly impracticable, unless we should chuse subjects from Swift's hospital of idiots. ~ Fanny Burney

Don't you agree?"
"Indeed," Robert answered without thought, and then sharply shook his head. "I beg your pardon. You were saying?"
"That Mr. Warner is a thorough investigator, and despite his doubts, I believe he will succeed in ferreting out our master criminal." She stared up at him from the settee, looking quite at ease.
"Master criminal?"
"Yes, Les and Morley could hardly be accused of the cleverness needed for such a planned endeavor."
"Yes … no…" With a frown, Robert scanned the room. "Indeed, a master … Where is Mr. Warner?"
Lydia laughed, a delightful carillon. "Robert, my dear friend, you were woolgathering. I thought as much; your expression was rather blank."
"Was it?" Robert was very glad to know that he did not look the lovesick calf he felt. ~ Cindy Anstey

Manton told me I was one of the first to have it."
"One of the first," Jackson emphasized. "It appears Lady Celia was the first."
She shot him a warning look. He ignored it.
"What Mr. Pinter meant to say," she said smoothly, "was that Mr. Manton probably tells all his customers that."
"That is not what I meant to say, my lady," Jackson retorted, unreasonably annoyed. "I said what I meant, and I'd thank you not to put words in my mouth."
"I'd thank you not to provoke m-" She caught herself, casting a furtive glance at her listening suitors. "Forgive me, sir. I wasn't trying to 'put words in your mouth.'"
"Of course you were." He was more than willing to draw her fire if it drove her into showing her real self. "That's why you spoke as if you could read my thoughts. Which we both know you can't." If she could, she'd know that right now he wanted nothing more than to drag her away from these curst gentlemen and kiss every inch of her.
"I say, Pinter," Gabe put in, "you're awfully argumentative today."
"The word you're looking for is 'prickly,'" Celia said, a militant glint in her eye. "Mr. Pinter doesn't like having a mere woman speaking for him."
That sparked his temper. "I don't like having anyone , man or woman, speaking for me. I daresay you feel much the same."
She colored but didn't turn away, her eyes flashing at him. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Twice Flush had done his utmost to kill his enemy; twice he had failed. And why had he failed, he asked himself? Because he loved Miss Barrett. Looking up at her from under his eyebrows as she lay, severe and silent on the sofa, he knew that he must love her for ever. Things are not simple but complex. If he bit Mr. Browning he bit her too. Hatred is not hatred; hatred is also love. ~ Virginia Woolf

JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN stands with his hands behind his back, beside
the piano, listening to FRIDA FOLDAL, who is playing the last
bars of the "Danse Macabre.


BORKMAN.
Can you guess where I first heard tones like these?

FRIDA.
[Looking up at him.] No, Mr. Borkman.

BORKMAN.
It was down in the mines.

FRIDA.
[Not understanding.] Indeed? Down in the mines?

BORKMAN.
I am a miner's son, you know. Or perhaps you did not know?

FRIDA.
No, Mr. Borkman.

BORKMAN.
A miner's son. And my father used sometimes to take me with
him into the mines. The metal sings down there.

FRIDA.
Really? Sings?

BORKMAN.
[Nodding.] When it is loosened. The hammer-strokes that loosen
it are the midnight bell clanging to set it free; and that is why
the metal sings--in its own way--for gladness.

FRIDA.
Why does it do that, Mr. Borkman?

BORKMAN.
It wants to come up into the light of day and serve mankind. ~ Henrik Ibsen

You see!" said a strained voice. Tonks was glaring at Lupin. "She still wants to marry him, even though he's been bitten! She doesn't care!"
"It's different," said Lupin, barely moving his lips and looking suddenly tense. "Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely-"
"But I don't care either, I don't care!" said Tonks, seizing the front of Lupin's robes and shaking them. "I've told you a million times...."
And the meaning of Tonk's Patronus and her mouse-colored hair, and the reason she had come running to find Dumbledore when she had heard a rumor someone had been attacked by Greyback, all suddenly became clear to Harry; it had not been Sirius that Tonks had fallen in love with after all.
"And I've told you a million times," said Lupin, refusing to meet her eyes, staring at the floor, "that I am too old for you, too poor....too dangerous...."
"I've said all along you're taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus," said Mrs. Weasley over Fleur's shoulder as she patted her on the back.
"I am not being ridiculous," said Lupin steadily. "Tonks deserves somebody young and whole."
"But she wants you," said Mr. Weasley, with a small smile. "And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so."
He gestured sadly at his son, lying between them.
"This is....not the moment to discuss it," said Lupin, avoiding everybody's eyes as he looked around distractedly. "Dumbledore is dead...."
"Dumbledore wo ~ J.K. Rowling

Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir." "I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No offense, sir, no offense meant - " "Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for - " "It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger - " "I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy. "Ha!" said Harry under his breath, pleased to see Draco looking both abashed and angry. ~ J.K. Rowling

Robot Boy
Mr. an Mrs. Smith had a wonderful life.
They were a normal, happy husband and wife.
One day they got news that made Mr. Smith glad.
Mrs. Smith would would be a mom
which would make him the dad!
But something was wrong with their bundle of joy.
It wasn't human at all,
it was a robot boy!
He wasn't warm and cuddly
and he didn't have skin.
Instead there was a cold, thin layer of tin.
There were wires and tubes sticking out of his head.
He just lay there and stared,
not living or dead.

The only time he seemed alive at all
was with a long extension cord
plugged into the wall.

Mr. Smith yelled at the doctor,
"What have you done to my boy?
He's not flesh and blood,
he's aluminum alloy!"

The doctor said gently,
"What I'm going to say
will sound pretty wild.
But you're not the father
of this strange looking child.
You see, there still is some question
about the child's gender,
but we think that its father
is a microwave blender."

The Smith's lives were now filled
with misery and strife.
Mrs. Smith hated her husband,
and he hated his wife.
He never forgave her unholy alliance:
a sexual encounter
with a kitchen appliance.

And Robot Boy
grew to be a young man.

Though he was often mistaken
for a garbage can. ~ Tim Burton

The child probably overheard their voices; for, looking up to the window, with a bright, but naughty smile of mirth and intelligence, she threw one of the prickly burrs at the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. The sensitive clergyman shrunk, with nervous dread, from the light missile. ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend. ~ Jane Austen

Pearl Harbor Address to the Nation
Delivered on December 8, 1941
Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, Members of the Senate, and of the House of Representatives:
Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 -- a date which will live in infamy -- the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.
The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.
Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American island of Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.
It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.
The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American shi ~ Franklin D. Roosevelt

She remembers rehearsals. Wrong notes turning to right ones, dissonance becoming harmony. She remembers "O Holy Night" sounding so perfect, in the end, her voice wrapping itself around Jonah's like they were created just for this. She remembers his smile at her from across their shared mic.
She remembers getting asked to reprise her duet with Jonah a year later. Just after everything happened with Luke. But then Mr. Boyden took her aside. Told her that Jonah had backed out. He'd said he was too busy for extra rehearsals, but she knew: it was because of her. She saw it in Jonah's face, in the way he avoided her eyes. She saw it in everyone else's faces too. She was a bullet he'd just dodged.
She remembers standing up for the solo she was given instead - her last performance before she quit choir. She remembers opening her mouth, nothing coming out. She'd cleared her throat, tried again. Her voice emerged, but all wrong: small and shaky and sharp. With everyone looking at her, with the rumors still swirling, she felt exposed. She felt small and shaky and sharp. Vulnerable, but made of angles and thorns. ~ Kathryn Holmes

The change will do you good," she said simply, when he had finished; "and you must be sure to go and see Ellen," she added, looking him straight in the eyes with her cloudless smile, and speaking in the tone she might have employed in urging him not to neglect some irksome family duty.

It was the only word that passed between them on the subject; but in the code in which they had both been trained it meant: "Of course you understand that I know all that people have been saying about Ellen, and heartily sympathize with my family in their effort to get her to return to her husband. I also know that, for some reason you have not chosen to tell me, you have advised her against this course, which all the older men of the family, as well as our grandmother, agree in approving; and that it is owing to your encouragement that Ellen defies us all, and exposes herself to the kind of criticism of which Mr. Sillerton Jackson probably gave you this evening, the hint that has made you so irritable… Hints have indeed not been wanting; but since you appear unwilling to take them from others, I offer you this one myself, in the only form in which well-bred people of our kind can communicate unpleasant things to each other: by letting you understand that I know you mean to see Ellen when you are in Washington, and are perhaps going there expressly for that purpose; and that, since you are sure to see her, I wish you to do so with my full and explicit approval - and to take the oppor ~ Edith Wharton

Matthew turned as he became aware of someone approaching from behind. It was the pair of constables, looking disgruntled. "It's procedure for lawbreakers to wear 'and cuffs while they're being transported to Bow Street," one of them said. He gave Daisy an accusing glance. "Pardon, miss, but what did you do with the cuffs that was removed from Mr. Phelan?"
Daisy looked back at him innocently. "I gave them to a maidservant. I'm afraid she's very forgetful. She probably misplaced them."
"Where should we start looking?" the officer asked with a puff of impatience.
Her expression did not change as she replied, "I would suggest a thorough search of all the chamberpots. ~ Lisa Kleypas

I couldn't put Rose and Mr. P. off forever. They were going to talk to Teresa sooner rather than later and I hadn't exactly been straight with them. It wasn't that I was afraid she'd get railroaded, because I knew there was no way she would have been sneaking around Edison Hall's house looking for something to take. It was because I knew there was at least a possibility that she had been. ~ Sofie Ryan

Down the Woodstock Road towards them an elderly, abnormally thin man was pedalling, his thin white hair streaming in the wind and sheer desperation in his eyes. Immediately behind him, running for their lives, came Scylla and Charybdis; behind them, a milling, shouting rout of undergraduates, with Mr Adrian Barnaby (on a bicycle) well in the van; behind them, the junior proctor, the University Marshal, and two bullers, packed into a small Austin car and looking very elect, severe and ineffectual; and last of all, faint but pursuing, lumbered the ungainly form of Mr Hoskins. ~ Edmund Crispin

So are you here looking for Nick Santucci as a possible Mr. Right? 'Cause, honey, Mr.
Right could be fat, bald or married - and very possibly, all three."
Bliss blinked. "It's scary how much we think alike. And the answer is not just no, but hell
no. I think. So, are you not looking for Mr. Right, either?"
"There's no such animal," Fran scoffed. "But I wouldn't mind a few rounds with Mr.
Wrong," she said, and surprisingly enough, she almost sounded wistful. ~ Paris Brandon

There were shoppers everywhere. Counter after counter. Salesgirls, mostly white, with a sprinkling of Japanese as department managers. The din was terrific.

After some confusion Mr. Baynes located the men's clothing department. He stopped at the racks of men's trousers and began to inspect them. Presently a clerk, a young white, came over, greeting him.

Mr. Baynes said, 'I have returned for a pair of dark brown wool slacks which I was looking at yesterday.' Meeting the clerk's gaze he said, 'You're not the man I spoke to. ... ~ Philip K. Dick

One of the biggest reasons I left Elkton Hills was because I was surrounded by phonies. That's all. They were coming in the goddam window. For instance, they had this headmaster, Mr. Haas, that was the phoniest bastard I ever met in my life. Ten times worse than old Thurmer. On Sundays, for instance, old Haas went around shaking hands with everybody's parents when they drove up to school. He'd be charming as hell and all. Except if some boy had little old funny-looking parents. You should've seen the way he did with my roommate's parents. I mean if a boy's mother was sort of fat or corny-looking or something, and if somebody's father was one of those guys that wear those suits with very big shoulders and corny black-and-white shoes, then old Haas would just shake hands with them and give them a phony smile and then he'd go talk, for maybe a half an hour, with somebody else's parents. I can't stand that stuff. It drives me crazy. It makes me so depressed I go crazy. I hated that goddam Elkton Hills ~ J.D. Salinger

Gil sat baking in the sun for at least 45 minutes before one of the tour guides noticed him looking listless and leaning to his left side. As she approached him, she noticed that he had a stupid grin on his face.
"Are you all right, Mr. Cohen?" she asked as she tried to slowly help him to his feet.
His shirt was drenched with sweat and his skin was mostly clammy, signally that he was suffering from the middle stages of heat stroke.
"It's not so bad?" he muttered as he struggled to stand straight up. "What not so bad, Mr. Cohen?" one of the tour guides asked.
"Death," Gil stated in a glazed response.
The guide looked at the heat-stricken man who appeared to have amoment of clarity amidst all of the sweat and dehydration. "Why is death not so bad?" she pressed on. Gil took a big swig of Gatorade and replied, "Because life wasn't so great. ~ Phil Wohl

Mr. Severin, may I ask something personal?"
"Of course."
"Why did you offer to be my oyster?" A hot blush climbed her face. "Is it because I'm pretty?"
His head lifted. "Partly," he admitted without a hint of shame. "But I also liked what you said- that you never nag or slam doors, and you're not looking for love. I'm not either." He paused, his vibrant gaze holding hers. "I think we would be a good match."
"I didn't mean I don't want love," Cassandra protested. "I only meant I'd be willing to let love grow in time. To be clear, I want a husband who could also love me back."
Mr. Severin took his time about replying. "What if you had a husband who, although not handsome, was not altogether bad-looking and happened to be very rich? What if he were kind and considerate, and gave you whatever you asked for- mansions, jewels, trips abroad, your own private yacht and luxury railway carriage? What if he were exceptionally good at..." He paused, appearing to think better of what he'd been about to say. "What if he were your protector and friend? Would it really matter so much if he couldn't love you?"
"Why couldn't he?" Cassandra asked, intrigued and perturbed. "Is he missing a heart altogether?"
"No, he has one, but it's never worked that way. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Alone in the bathroom, I stared into the mirror over the sink. Who was I looking at? Andrew or Drew? The boy on the lawn had been wearing my jeans, my T-shirt, my running shoes. I was wearing his clothes. I'd whistled for his dog the way he would have. I'd called his mother "Mama" as naturally as I'd once called my mother "Mom." If I stayed here long enough, would I sink down into Andrew's life and forget I'd ever been anyone else?
No, no, no. Splashing cold water on my face, I reminded myself I was just acting a part. When I won the marble game, the curtain would go down on the last act. I'd be Drew again and Andrew would be Andrew--for keeps. Till then, I'd call Mrs. Tyler "Mama" and Mr. Tyler "Papa," I'd think of Hannah and Theo as my brother and sister, I'd whistle for Buster, I'd do whatever my role demanded.
Outside, a horn blew and Theo yelled, "Andrew, hurry up or we'll leave without you!"
Yes--I'd even ride in a genuine Model T. ~ Mary Downing Hahn

When I'm in the house of God, I don't wear my jewelry, if you're looking for my jewelry. All you see is my heart of gold. ~ Mr. T

Let me in! Quick, Caroline!"
Ma opened the door and Pa slammed it quickly behind him. He was out of breath. He pushed back his cap and said: "Whew! I'm scared yet."
"What was it, Charles?" said Ma.
"A panther," Pa said.
He had hurried as fast as he could go to Mr. Scott's. When he got there, the house was dark and everything was quiet. Pa went all around the house, listening, and looking with the lantern. He could not find a sign of anything wrong. So he felt like a fool, to think he had got up and dressed in the middle of the night and walked two miles, all because he heard the wind howl.
He did not want Mr. and Mrs. Scott to know about it. So he did not wake them up. He came home as fast as he could because the wind was bitter cold. And he was hurrying along the path, where it went on the edge of the bluff, when all of a sudden he heard that scream right under his feet.
"I tell you my hair stood up till it lifted my cap," he told Laura. "I lit out for home like a scared rabbit."
"Where was the panther, Pa?" she asked him.
"In a tree-top," said Pa. "In the top of that big cottonwood that grows against the bluffs there."
"Pa, did it come after you?" Laura asked, and he said, "I don't know, Laura."
"Well, you're safe now, Charles," said Ma.
"Yes, and I'm glad of it. This is too dark a night to be out with panthers," Pa said. ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

I'm not desperately looking for a man, but I'm sure one of these days, I'll find my Mr. Right. ~ Sakshi Tanwar

I grabbed the arm of a skinny guy carrying a case of beer. "Can you tell us where we can find Fred Tanner?"

"Freddie T? Second door on the right." He looked me up and down slowly. "If you're looking for a good time, you've already found it." Ethan deftly stepped between us.

"Kaylie hates fun."

"Actually, I think punching annoying fraternity guys is fun," I muttered. "Maybe later. Let's find Mr. Tanner first. ~ E.J. King

THERE ARE FEW THINGS as beautiful as a glass bottle filled with deep amber whiskey. Liquor shines when the light hits it, reminiscent of precious things like jewels and gold. But whiskey is better than some lifeless bracelet or coronet. Whiskey is a living thing capable of any emotion that you are. It's love and deep laughter and brotherhood of the type that bonds nations together. Whiskey is your friend when nobody else comes around. And whiskey is solace that holds you tighter than most lovers can. I thought all that while looking at my sealed bottle. And I knew for a fact that it was all true. True the way a lover's pillow talk is true. True the way a mother's dreams for her napping infant are true. But the whiskey mind couldn't think its way out of the problems I had. So I took Mr. Seagram's, put him in his box, and placed him up on the shelf where he belonged. ~ Walter Mosley

J.P. Morgan, then past 70, was asked by the son of an eminent father why he [Morgan] didn't retire. When did your father retire? asked Mr. Morgan, without looking up from his desk. In 1902. When did he die? Oh, at the end of 1904. Huh! snapped Mr. Morgan, If he had kept on working he would have been alive still. Work is God's best medicine. It is God's medicine for man. ~ B.C. Forbes

That year I was going to take you up in the Rockies. No more of that. We'll have to choose Old Flat Top because I don't want Violet getting all tired out with a long climb. And I don't want me getting all tired out either. The rest of you are tough enough." Grandfather looked up to see that every Alden was looking at him. The four shining faces answered him. There were four nods. "You do have the strangest ideas, Benny," said Jessie. "What put that into your head?" "Well," said Benny, "I've been reading about that place in school." "About Flat Top?" asked Violet. "Oh, you have, have you?" said Henry. "You chose Flat Top yourself?" "Right," said Benny. "I don't want to climb too much myself. I get lame." Mr. Alden said, "Well, my answer is yes. Old Flat Top is easy enough for all of us, and yet it is interesting all the way up. And we'll all be able to get a good rest on the smooth top." "Just like airplanes landing on an airplane carrier," said Benny. ~ Gertrude Chandler Warner

But his son hated him. He hated him for coming up to them, for stopping and looking down on them; he hated him for interrupting them; he hated him for the exaltation and sublimity of his gestures; for the magnificence of his head; for his exactingness and egotism (for there he stood, commanding then to attend to him); but most of all he hated the twang and twitter of his father's emotion which, vibrating round them, disturbed the perfect simplicity and good sense of his relations with his mother. By looking fixedly at the page, he hoped to make him move on; by pointing his finger at a word, he hoped to recall his mother's attention, which, he knew angrily, wavered instantly his father stopped. But, no. Nothing would make Mr. Ramsay move on. There he stood, demanding sympathy. ~ Virginia Woolf

Well, everyone except me. My eyes were darting around the room to try to figure out who I would be partners with. The one problem with team projects was the idea of working in a team. The worst feeling in the world was looking around a classroom and realizing that you knew everyone, yet at the same time you knew no one at all. "Don't act like I don't see you all panicking and searching for who you will be paired with. Your partners aren't here." Mr. Harper held up a finger, silencing our ~ Brittainy C. Cherry

Tell me, Princess Olivia... why do you have to stay in your tower?"
The soft entreaty made Livia feel as if she were melting inside. She laughed unsteadily, wishing for a moment that she dared to trust him. But the habit of independence was too strong. Shaking her head, Livia approached him, expecting him to back away from the doorway. He retreated half a step, his hands still grasping the edges of the doorway, so that she couldn't help but walk into an open-armed embrace. The bonnet ribbons slipped from her fingers.
"Mr. Shaw-" she began, making the mistake of looking up at him.
"Gideon," he whispered. "I want to know your secrets, Olivia."
A bitter half smile touched her lips. "You'll hear them sooner or later from other people."
"I want to hear them from you."
As Livia began to retreat into the glasshouse, Shaw deftly caught the little cloth belt of her walking dress. His long fingers hooked beneath the reinforced fabric.
Unable to back away from him, Livia clamped her hand over his, while a hectic blush flooded her face. She knew that he was toying with her, and that she once might have been able to manage this situation with relative ease. But not now.
When she spoke, her voice was husky. "I can't do this, Mr. Shaw."
To her amazement, he seemed to understand exactly what she meant. "You don't have to do anything," he said softly. "Just let me come closer... and stay right there..." His head bent, and he found her mouth easily. ~ Lisa Kleypas

My own acid-eating experience is limited in terms of total consumption, but widely varied as to company and circumstances ... and if I had a choice of repeating any one of the half dozen bouts I recall, I would choose one of those Hell's Angels parties in La Honda, complete with all the mad lighting, cops on the road, a Ron Boise sculpture looming out of the woods, and all the big speakers vibrating with Bob Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man." It was a very electric atmosphere. If the Angels lent a feeling of menace, they also made it more interesting ... and far more alive than anything likely to come out of a controlled experiment or a politely brittle gathering of well-educated truth-seekers looking for wisdom in a capsule. Dropping acid with the Angels was an adventure; they were too ignorant to know what to expect, and too wild to care. They just swallowed the stuff and hung on ... which is probably just as dangerous as the experts say, but a far, far nuttier trip than sitting in some sterile chamber with a condescending guide and a handful of nervous, would-be hipsters. ~ Hunter S. Thompson