My Name Is Enough Quotes

My mother wasn't a psychotic criminal. (Kiara)
No. I'm sure she was a wonderful lady who loved you dearly. That she held you when you cried, probably even baked you cookies and gave you hugs and kisses before she sent you off to bed at night, and it's a damn shame a decent woman like her died so tragically. My mother, whore that she was, abandoned me and my sister to our father so that she could return to her cushy life and pretend we didn't exist while she left us in that house with a man whose name, even though he'd been dead for decades, can still make an assassin wet his pants. And if you think his cruelty was reserved for strangers, think again. My sister and I were target practice for him. So don't you dare talk to me about pain. My father wrote the book on it and he rammed it down my throat every day of my childhood until they killed him. And the real kicker is, my life under his demented fist was a lot better than Nykyrian's. At least I was able to hide sometimes from the ones trying to kill me. You want me to call your daddy, baby? Go right ahead. I'll be more than happy to take you to him. But know that Aksel will have his hands on you in a matter of hours. Then you'll be able to talk to me about pain and you'll finally have an idea of what we've endured. You won't live long enough to apologize, but true clarity will be yours before you die. (Syn) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Did you know sometimes it frightens me--
when you say my name and I can't see you?
will you ever learn to materialize before you speak?
impetuous boy, if that's what you really are.
how many centuries since you've climbed a balcony
or do you do this every night with someone else?
you tell me that you'll never leave
and I am almost afraid to believe it.
why is it me you've chosen to follow?
did you like the way I look when I am sleeping?
was my hair more fun to tangle?
are my dreams more entertaining?
do you laugh when I'm complaining that I'm all alone?
where were you when I searched the sea
for a friend to talk to me?
in a year where will you be?
is it enough for you to steal into my mind
filling up my page with music written in my hand
you know I'll take the credit for I must have made you come to me somehow.
but please try to close the curtains when you leave at night,
or I'll have to find someone to stay and warm me.
will you always attend my midnight tea parties--
as long as I set it at your place?
if one day your sugar sits untouched
will you have gone forever?
would you miss me in a thousand years--
when you will dry another's tears?
but you say you'll never leave me
and I wonder if you'll have the decency
to pass through my wall to the next room
while I dress for dinner
but when I'm stuck in conversation
with s ~ Emilie Autumn

Poshlust," or in a better transliteration poshlost, has many nuances, and evidently I have not described them clearly enough in my little book on Gogol, if you think one can ask anybody if he is tempted by poshlost. Corny trash, vulgar clichés, Philistinism in all its phases, imitations of imitations, bogus profundities, crude, moronic, and dishonest pseudo-literature - these are obvious examples. Now, if we want to pin down poshlost in contemporary writing, we must look for it in Freudian symbolism, moth-eaten mythologies, social comment, humanistic messages, political allegories, overconcern with class or race, and the journalistic generalities we all know. Poshlost speaks in such concepts as "America is no better than Russia" or "We all share in Germany's guilt." The flowers of poshlost bloom in such phrases and terms as "the moment of truth," "charisma," "existential" (used seriously), "dialogue" (as applied to political talks between nations), and "vocabulary" (as applied to a dauber). Listing in one breath Auschwitz, Hiroshima, and Vietnam is seditious poshlost. Belonging to a very select club (which sports one Jewish name - that of the treasurer) is genteel poshlost. Hack reviews are frequently poshlost, but it also lurks in certain highbrow essays. Poshlost calls Mr. Blank a great poet and Mr. Bluff a great novelist. One of poshlost's favorite breeding places has always been the Art Exhibition; there it is produced by so-called sculptors working with the tools of wrec ~ Vladimir Nabokov

I'm sorry," he interrupted, his arm sliding around her waist. He pulled her into the shelter of his body, her back fitting against his hairy chest. "I didn't mean to nettle you. Here, rest against me." He nuzzled into the pale streamers of her hair. "What a fiery little wench you are."
"I'm not fiery," Lottie protested, for that quality was hardly something that befitted a ladylike graduate of Maidstone's.
"Yes, you are." His hand curved possessively over her hip. "I've known it from the moment we met. It's one of the reasons I wanted you."
"You said you wanted me merely for convenience."
"Well, there is that," he said with a grin, and reacted swiftly as she tried to elbow him. "But in truth, convenience had nothing to do with it. I wanted you more than any woman I've ever met."
"Why did you insist on marriage, when I offered to be your mistress?"
"Because being a mistress wasn't good enough for you." He paused before adding quietly, "You deserve everything I can give you, including my name."

-Nick & Lottie ~ Lisa Kleypas

My Dear Lord, please help me. Place me in the Center of Your Perfect Will.
Adoro te devote, latens Deitas.
Bread of Life by bread concealed, speaking heart to heart.
Tibi se cor meum totum subjicit.
Let Your presence draw me in here my senses fail.
Visus cactus, gustus in te falliti.
This is truth enough for me.
Peto quod petivit latro paenitens.
Seeing You upon the Cross, flesh and blood, I find.
Plagas, sicut Thomas, non intueor.
I see not but name You still God and Prince of Life.
O memoriale mortis Domini.
How I thirst to meet Your gaze gloriously revealed. After life's obscurity, let me wake to see. Beauty shining from Your Face for eternity.
Amen. ~ Gina Marinello-Sweeney

We realize, though, because we must, that remembrance is finite. It crosses only so many generations before it fades to indistinction. One man remembers his father and perhaps his grandfather and the details of the lives that were lived. But it's harder to see further back in time. I know the name of my great-grandfather, but our living time did not intersect. We did not walk the earth at the same time. Thus, to me he's a photograph; a story I heard my grandfather tell. He's not a life I remember. And my children may not know him at all, unless by chance they can find him in a book. In time, he will be forgotten entirely, just as we all will with enough revolutions of the earth around the slowly expiring sun. Each fragile heart now beating will one day stop ... We are little more than one tree's growth of leaves in hillside forest. We will enjoy our brief moment in the sun, only to fall away with all the other to make way for the next bright young generation. ~ Phillip Lewis

All right. Your name before mine. You are the greatest sword maker, you deserve to come first."
"Have a good trip back."
"WHY WON'T YOU?"
"Because, my friend Yeste, you are very famous and very rich, and so you should be, because you make
wonderful weapons. But you must also make them for any fool who happens along. I am poor, and no
one knows me in all the world except you and Inigo, but I do not have to suffer fools."
"You are an artist," Yeste said.
"No. Not yet. A craftsman only. But I dream to be an artist. I pray that someday, if I work with enough
care, if I am very very lucky, I will make a weapon that is a work of art. Call me an artist then, and I will
answer. ~ William Goldman

Does your husband dictate where you can and cannot go?"
The woman looked as though she expected to be proven right.
"My husband would never do that." Rose informed her coolly. "Although there will always be unsavory characters at any social gathering, my husband trusts me to decide the ones I wish to attend."
The woman flushed, and Rose felt a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that her barb had struck a nerve. "If that's true, he must have changed immensely since the days when we were acquainted."
Ahh. Now the claws came out. No wonder the woman had made such vile aspirations earlier. She was jealous.
"He has." Rose held the other woman's gaze, not caring a whit for how she said the word "acquainted." This woman had slept with her husband, and oddly enough she wasn't the least bit jealous. She did, however, feel sorry for the woman because Grey had been a different man back then. "My husband is very attentive and courteous to my wishes. I couldn't be more satisfied with my situation." Oh God, had she actually said that? The innuendo practically stood up on its own and waved to everyone in the room.
What was it about Grey-no, about this woman-that made her feel as though she had to defend her marriage, and brag about her sex life? It was just so pretty.
"You were once a friend of the duke's, were you not, Lady Devane?" The woman-whose name Rose could not remember-slanted a devious glance in the blonde woman's direction.
Everyone ~ Kathryn Smith

I am a plant, she said, I need fire, earth, water. Otherwise I will be stunted. And: Is marriage not such a stunting? The fire goes out. The wind grows weak. The earth dries out. The water dwindles. I would die. You too. She tossed her hair over her shoulders. Purple lavender. And what if it wasn't like that, I argued. What if the daily routine, our daily routine, is my promise to you? Your toothbrush next to mine. You get annoyed because I've forgotten to turn the light off in the bathroom. We choose wallpaper we think is horrible a year later. You tell me I'm getting a belly. Your forgetfulness. You've left your umbrella somewhere again. I snore, you can't sleep. In my dream I whisper your name...You tie my tie. Wave goodbye to me as I go to work. I think: you are like a fluttering flag. I think it with a stabbing pain in my heart. For Heaven's sake, is that not enough? Is that not enough to be happy? She turned away: Give me time. I'll think about it. ~ Milena Michiko Flasar

Do you remember, Meir, that epigram quoted in the name of Rabbi Johanan ben Zaccai: 'There is no truth unless there be a faith on which it may rest'? Ironically enough the only sure principle I have achieved is this which I have known almost all my life. And it is so. For all truths rest ultimately on some act of faith, geometry on axioms, the sciences on the assumptions of the objective existence and orderliness of the world of nature. In every realm one must lay down postulates or he shall have nothing at all. So with morality and religion. Faith and reason are not antagonists. On the contrary, salvation is through the commingling of the two, the former to establish first premises, the latter to purify them of confusion and to draw the fullness of their implications. It is not certainty which one acquires so, only plausibility, but that is the best we can hope for. ~ Milton Steinberg

February 22, 2005

Right now the rumor on leaving is the latest the 22nd, but I am still supposed to leave on the first. Hopefully. I want to get home to see my baby and my son. I miss both of y'all something awful. Time is going a little faster now because of working again. I had a long enough break and it's about time I got back out. I'm still making a name for myself by adding to my numbers. I know I never say it, but it does feel good to have all the people talking about me in a good way. Anyway, I love you and miss you. You mean the world to me. Please take care of yourself and I will call you soon. Smoooooooooch!!!!! I can't wait to give you a real one. Carefully go over every inch of your body. I am soooo horny! I love you, baby!
-XOXOXOXOXXXXX ~ Taya Kyle

Colin's chuckles grew more heartfelt. "You really ought to have more faith in your favorite brother, dear sis."
"He's your favorite brother?" Simon asked, one dark brow raised in disbelief.
"Only because Gregory put a toad in my bed last night," Daphne bit off, "and Benedict's standing has never recovered from the time he beheaded my favorite doll."
"Makes me wonder what Anthony's done to deny him even an honorable mention," Colin murmured.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Daphne asked pointedly.
Colin shrugged. "Not really."
"Didn't," she asked through clenched teeth, "you just tell me you promised a dance to Prudence Featherington?"
"Gads, no. You must have misheard."
"Perhaps Mother is looking for you, then. In fact, I'm certain I hear her calling your name."
Colin grinned at her discomfort. "You're not supposed to be so obvious," he said in a stage whisper, purposely loud enough for Simon to hear. "He'll figure out that you like him."
Simon's entire body jerked with barely contained mirth.
"It's not his company I'm trying to secure," Daphne said acidly. "It's yours I'm trying to avoid."
Colin clapped a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Daff." He turned to Simon. "Oh, how she wounds me."
"You missed your calling, Bridgerton," Simon said genially. "You should have been on the stage."
"An interesting idea," Colin replied, "but one that would surely give my mother the vapors." His eyes lit up. "Now ~ Julia Quinn

You aren't really a nigger-lover, then, are you?"
"I certainly am. I do my best to love everybody ... I'm hard put, sometimes - baby, it's never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name. It just shows you how poor that person is, it doesn't hurt you. So don't let Mrs. Dubose get you down. She has enough troubles of her own. ~ Harper Lee

Must I accept the barren Gift?
-learn death, and lose my Mastery?
Then let them know whose blood and breath
will take the Gift and set them free:
whose is the voice and whose the mind
to set at naught the well-sung Game-
when finned Finality arrives
and calls me by my secret Name.

Not old enough to love as yet,
but old enough to die, indeed-
-the death-fear bites my throat and heart,
fanged cousin to the Pale One's breed.
But past the fear lies life for all-
perhaps for me: and, past my dread,
past loss of Mastery and life,
the Sea shall yet give up Her dead!

Lone Power, I accept your Gift!
Freely I make death a part of me;
By my accept it is bound
into the lives of all the Sea-

yet what I do now binds to it
a gift I feel of equal worth:
I take Death with me, out of Time,
and make of it a path, a birth!

Let the teeth come! As they tear me,
they tear Your ancient hate for aye-
-so rage, proud Power! Fail again,
and see my blood teach Death to die! ~ Diane Duane

I can not remember telling my parents that I was studying classics, they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all the subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard-put to name one less useful in Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys of an executive bathroom. Now I would like to make it clear in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date for blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction. The moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I can not criticize my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor. And I quite agree with them, that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty, entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression, It means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is something by which to pride yourself, but poverty itself, is romanticized only by fools. But I feared at your age was not poverty, but failure... Now, I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted, and well educated, that you have never known heartbreak, hardship, or heartache. Talent and intelligence, never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the fates... ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure. ~ J.K. Rowling

In order to write a memoir, I've sat still inside the swirling vortex of my own complicated history like a piece of old driftwood, battered by the sea. I've waited - sometimes patiently, sometimes in despair - for the story under pressure of concealment to reveal itself to me. I've been doing this work long enough to know that our feelings - that vast range of fear, joy, grief, sorrow, rage, you name it - are incoherent in the immediacy of the moment. It is only with distance that we are able to turn our powers of observation on ourselves, thus fashioning stories in which we are characters ~ Dani Shapiro

Approaching the trail, he broke through the thicket a short distance ahead of the Empath. Causing the Empaths horse to startle as the surprised rider jerked on the reins. Cap was equally surprised to find a young girl before him instead of an older, experienced male Empath. Cap brought his horse to a quick halt. The young girl pulled a small knife from her boot and cautioned him. "I don't know where you came from, but I'm not easy prey." Her voice shook slightly with fear as she raised the knife.
Not sure how to proceed, they stared silently at each other. Cap had always believed that Empaths didn't carry weapons. This pretty, chestnut haired girl couldn't be more than 18 years old. Her long straight tresses covered the spot on her jacket where the Empathic Emblem was usually worn, causing Cap to doubt she was the one he sought. Not wanting to frighten her any more than he already had, Cap tried to explain. "I'm Commander Caplin Taylor. I'm looking for an Empath that is headed for the Western Hunting Lodge."
"My name is Kendra; I am the Empath you seek." She answered cautiously, still holding the blade. A noise from the brush drew her attention as a small rodent pounced out, trying to evade an unseen predator. Cap was just close enough to lurch forward and snatch the dirk from her hand. Her head jerked back in alarm.
"Bosen May has been mauled by a Sraeb, his shoulder is a mass of pulp." Cap spoke quickly not wanting to hesitate any longer.
That was all Ke ~ Alaina Stanford

Rocking Chair
Sad is.
Scared is.
That is all.
The rocking chair I live in rocks like a paper boat. Sometimes I am all words, and no boot.
No muster. No yes. All lag and tired pray,
all miss my hometown. Miss the woods
and the quiet porch and the talking slow.
I caught the snow on my tongue.
Snow angel, I.
My heart a blue lamp.
My mother calling me home.
We cannot be called home enough times in our lives.
Dear lonely,
what is your name?
I will open my front door
and ring it through the streets. ~ Andrea Gibson

When was the last time you were kissed?" he went on easily. "And I'm not talking about the dry, noncommittal, meaningless kiss you forget about as soon as it's over."

I scrambled out of my stupor long enough to quip, "Like last night's kiss?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "That so? I wonder, then, why you moaned my name after you drifted to sleep."

"I did not!"

"If only I'd had a video recorder. When was the last time you were really kissed?" he repeated.

"You seriously think I'm going to tell you?"

"Your ex?" he guessed.

"And if he was?"

"Was it your ex who taught you to be ashamed and uncomfortable with intimacy? He took from you what he wanted, but never seemed to be around when you wanted something back, isn't that right? What do you want, Britt?" he asked me point-blank.
"Do you really want to pretend like last night never happened?"

"Whatever happened between me and Calvin isn't your business," I fired back.

"For your information, he was a really great boyfriend. I-I wish I was with him right now!" I exclaimed untruthfully. My careless comment made him flinch, but he recovered quickly.

"Does he love you?"

"What?" I said, flustered.

"If you know him so well, it shouldn't be a hard question. Is he in love with you? Was he ever in love with you?"

I tossed my head back haughtily. "I know what you're doing. You' ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

I'd known enough flush times and lean ones to understand that money came and went. And that one day I'd also lose my looks, my seemingly boundless energy and maybe the ability to catch the eye of an attractive man and the audacity to Rollerblade. My name would be forgotten. So would bad reviews, and good ones. But loving a child is something that lasts. Long after all the rest is gone, that's what endures. ~ Joyce Maynard

I made my name and reputation DJing in hip-hop clubs in New York. 'Celebrity DJ' is a term that I hated. To me a celebrity DJ is someone that's on 'Big Brother' or in some kind of B-movie who gets a gig to DJ even though they're not talented enough to do it. ~ Mark Ronson

Scout," said Atticus, "nigger-lover is just one of those terms that don't mean anything - like snot-nose. It's hard to explain - ignorant, trashy people use it when they think somebody's favoring Negroes over and above themselves. It's slipped into usage with some people like ourselves, when they want a common, ugly term to label somebody." "You aren't really a nigger-lover, then, are you?" "I certainly am. I do my best to love everybody . . . I'm hard put, sometimes - baby, it's never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name. It just shows you how poor that person is, it doesn't hurt you. So don't let Mrs. Dubose get you down. She has enough troubles of her own." One ~ Harper Lee

I fell in love with the young assistant professor who took me through my first poetry course. Really in love--that is, enough to alarm Mother. Although naturally I never breathed my feelings to a soul--although naturally the first time she suggested that I might invite him home for tea I went to my room and shook for forty minutes. So she may have noticed something. In any case, in order to patrol the situation, she enrolled in his courses. And, as we bore the same name, she was seated beside me where not the flickering of an eyelash escaped her attention. I never have heard of this happening to anyone else in the history of education. ~ Agnes De Mille

Pete," I say. "Beg your pardon?" He glares at me. "My name is Pete," I say. "We should probably be on a first name basis if you're going to get intimate enough to chop my nuts off." I motion to his hatchet. He blows out a quick breath, grins, and shakes his head. ~ Tammy Falkner

It seems like I've only shut my eyes for a few minutes, but when I open them, I flinch at the sight of Haymitch sitting a couple of feet from my bed. Waiting. Possibly for several hours if the clck is right. I think about hollering for a witness, but I'm going to have to face him sooner or later.

Haymitch leans forward and dangles something on a thin white wire in front of my nose. It's hard to focus on, but I'm pretty sur what it is. He drops it in to the sheets. "That is your earpiece. I will give you exactly one more chance to wear it. If you remove it from your ear again, I'll have you fitted with this." He holds up some sort of metal headgear that I instantly name the head shackle. "It's alternative audio unit that locks around your skull and under your chin until it's opened with a key. And I'll have the only key. If for some reason you're clever enough to disable it" ---- Haymitch dumps the head shackle on the bed and whips out a tiny silver chip--- "I'll authorize them to surgically implant this transmitter into your ear so that I may speak to you twenty-four hours a day."
Haymitch in my head full-time. Horrifying. "I'll keep the earpiece in," I mutter
"Excuse me?" He says
"I'll keep the earpiece in!" I say loud enough to wake half the hospital.
"You sure? Because I'm equally happy with any of the three options," he tells me
"I'm sure," I say. I scrunch up the earpiece protectivley in my fist and fling the head shakle back in ~ Suzanne Collins

Is that what God does? He helps? Tell me, why didn't God help my innocent friend who died for no reason while the guilty ran free? Okay. Fine. Forget the one offs. How about the countless wars declared in his name? Okay. Fine. Let's skip the random, meaningless murder for a second, shall we? How about the racist, sexist, phobia soup we've all been drowning in because of him? And I'm not just talking about Jesus. I'm talking about all organized religion. Exclusive groups created to manage control. A dealer getting people hooked on the drug of hope. His followers, nothing but addicts who want their hit of bullshit to keep their dopamine of ignorance. Addicts. Afraid to believe the truth. That there's no order. There's no power. That all religions are just metastasizing mind worms, meant to divide us so it's easier to rule us by the charlatans that wanna run us. All we are to them are paying fanboys of their poorly-written sci-fi franchise. If I don't listen to my imaginary friend, why the fuck should I listen to yours? People think their worship's some key to happiness. That's just how he owns you. Even I'm not crazy enough to believe that distortion of reality. So fuck God. He's not a good enough scapegoat for me. ~ Elliot Alderson

If I had known all the things you didnt want me to
I would have worried more about you but I would not have walked away
Beautiful man with the freckles underneath the tan
Understanding underneath the grin
I would not have walked away

You couldnt have got rid of me back then
Not even if you tried
Cause I couldnt wait to really be your friend
I always thought that wed have time

Now I look up, I think I see you in a silvery cup
Trying to tell us that weve cried enough but I dont want to walk away
Youre with me in a way that you will always be
And I hope that you feel free
I know this world is never gonna be the same
Im gonna keep saying your name
I dont want to walk away

You cant get rid of me that fast
Ill come and find you in my dreams
Youre a part of all things that last
All the way to eternity ~ Catie Curtis

Fast-forward about twenty years: I was in Bora Bora on vacation. I was scuba diving, and thirty or so lemon sharks started hovering around me in the water. My first thought was, Wow, this is a lot more terrifying up close and personal than it is on Discovery Channel Shark Week. My next thought was, What do I do? I know the name lemon shark sounds sweet, but look it up. They are the ugliest, most terrifying sharks, and they get up to about ten feet long. That's big enough to take off your head in a single bite. I hadn't signed up for a shark encounter. In fact, they didn't tell us much about what to expect down there, and there was no training session. It was more like, "Are you certified? Okay, just jump in." After several minutes of being stalked by this pack of predators, I was overcome by a calmness. I remember feeling the sharks brush past my head and knock into my back. I couldn't keep my eye on all of them--they were everywhere--so I just let it be. They didn't bother me, and I didn't bother them. Instead, the thing that freaked me out on the dive was a harmless little suckerfish that decided to hang out in my face. Every time I turned around, he was there, stalking me. ~ Derek Hough

I have written about everything at Brekkukot, both indoors and out, which can be given a name; but I have scarcely said a word yet about my grandmother, who was certainly not some useless ornament about the place. On the other hand, if she were likened to the heart of the house, one could say exactly the same about her as one does about healthy hearts in general, that whoever is lucky enough to have such a heart is quite unaware of having a heart at all. ~ Halldor Laxness

So it is fair enough that you are paying me what I ask for, because it is my name you are using to sell the film. If the producer gives me a guarantee that he will sell the film at a lower price to the distributors, fair enough, then I will charge less! ~ Ajay Devgan

I love 'The Walking Dead,' 'Shameless,' and - this is going to sound really dorky - I'm obsessed with 'Dance Moms.' I love Abby Lee Miller. Honestly, if there's such a thing as past lives, I was definitely a dancer. Maybe if I ever get a big enough name, I can call Abby Lee Miller myself and ask her to be my private coach. ~ Liana Liberato

What are you looking to do?" Aaron asked as we walked into his workroom.
"Nothing too complicated," I said, displaying my wrist. "I want Bailey's name on my wrist."
Aaron exhaled slowly. "Are you sure? The Johanssons don't play when it comes having their women's names on their wrists. It's forever shit for them. That's how I knew Cooper wasn't fucking around with Farah."
"Bailey's mine, but I can't find a way to make her truly believe. When I try, it feels like just words. I know her name on my wrist is a word too, but maybe it's one that she'll know means forever."
"Fair enough. Just know once the Johansson boys see her name on your wrist, it's like you've gotten on one knee and proposed. Trust me that Bailey and Jodi will be talking wedding dates behind your back. If you lose interest or cheat or break it off, it's not going down softly. The shit will hit the fan."
"The only way Bailey gets rid of me is to put me in the ground. ~ Bijou Hunter

when the wine is gone
and you remove your tired body from
your steaming bath, come to bed.
do not worry about putting
on your night clothes, naked you'll
come as you know the moon
loves the sight of your bare flesh
through the window.
the sheets are calling your name
my dear.
come as you are.
there is enough love
in me to birth an entirely
new universe and to it
we can run whenever this world
becomes too heavy for our
shaking shoulders. ~ Christopher Poindexter

Sex is not required to sell my film. My name is enough. ~ Shahrukh Khan

I almost could.
I could almost leave and never look back.
Like Mr. Bender, I could leave everything I was behind, including my name.
Leave because of Allys
and all the things she says I am.
Leave because of all the things I am afraid that I will never be again.
Leave, because maybe I'm not enough.
Leave because of Allys, Senator Harris, and half the world knows better than Father and Mother and maybe Ethan, too.
Leave.
Because the old Jenna was so absorbed in her own needs
that she said yes when she knows she should have said no,
and the shame of night
could be hidden in a new place behind a new name.
But friends are complicated.
There is the staying.
Staying because of Kara and Locke and all that they will never
be except trapped.
Staying because for them, time is running out and I am their
their last chance.
Staying for the old Jenna and all she owes Kara and Locke and maybe all the new Jenna owes them, too.
Staying because of ten percent and all I hope I might be.
Staying because of Mr. Bender's erased life and regrets.
Staying for connection.
Staying because two me
is enough to make one of me
worth nothing at all.
And staying because maybe Lily does love the new Jenna
as much as the old one, after all.
Because maybe, given time, people do change,
maybe laws change.
Maybe we all change. ~ Mary E. Pearson

I have never heard enough classical music to be able to enjoy it; & the simple truth is, I detest it. Not mildly, but will all my heart. To me an opera is the very climax & cap-stone of the absurd, the fantastic the unjustifiable. I hate the very name of opera - partly because of the nights of suffering I have endured in its presence, & partly because I want to love it and can't. ~ Mark Twain

As an enlisted sailor, I don't feel that the Navy is advancing me in rank fast enough, so I'm going to change my last name to Stains. My guess is they would rather promote me than to have to refer to me as Seaman Stains. ~ Brad Wilkerson

Dr. Kevorkian has just unstrapped me from the gurney after yet another controlled near-death experience. I was lucky enough on this trip to interview none other than the late Adolf Hitler.
I was gratified to learn that he now feels remorse for any actions of his, however indirectly, which might have had anything to do with the violent deaths suffered by thirty-five million people during World War II. He and his mistress Eva Braun, of course, were among those casualties, along with four million other Germans, six million Jews, eighteen million members of the Soviet Union, and so on.
I paid my dues along with everybody else," he said.
It is his hope that a modest monument, possibly a stone cross, since he was a Christian, will be erected somewhere in his memory, possibly on the grounds of the United Nations headquarters in New York. It should be incised, he said, with his name and dates 1889-1945. Underneath should be a two-word sentence in German: "Entschuldigen Sie."
Roughly translated into English, this comes out, "I Beg Your Pardon," or "Excuse Me. ~ Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

Elizabeth."
I feel my smile on my face as I understand what she is doing. Though it's a strange one, she has a name-sound just like I do, and she's telling me what it is. I try to make the same sounds.
"Ehh..beh." I frown. Why is her name-sound so difficult and so long?
She frowns right back at me and says it again. "Elizabeth."
"Beh-tah-babaa."
She sighs and her forehead wrinkles.
"Elizabeth. Eeee-lizzzz-ahh-beth."
"Laahh...baaay."
She taps her chest again.
"Beth!"
The sound is shorter but still very odd.
"Beh-bet."
"Beth," she repeats.
I've had enough. I reach out and touch her should.
"Beh."
"Beth."
I tap her a little harder and growl.
"Beh", I repeat. I tap her again. "BEH!"
Her eyes widen a bit, and she inhales sharply. A moment later, her shoulders drop and she sighs.
"Beh," she says quietly. ~ Shay Savage

Your lingering presence erodes me. Heartbeat by heartbeat. Cell by aging cell. Washing away any sense of self I ever had. Intruding into a nothingness I've struggled to find the pieces to fill. A jar filled with stones, piled with pebbles, topped with sand, only to be left with the knowledge that water, with enough time and persistence, has the power to wash it all away.
Your name is on my lips. Frozen. A familiar cadence of syllables that once soothed me.
A name I can't speak. Can't think of.
Not on this shore, at our lake. Not on this day. When only a year ago, with a foreshadowing that is now ice in my veins, you stood next to me, in this jacket, your hand in mine, so warm, and stared out at this expanse and whispered in awe, This is what a cold lake looks like. ~ S.A. McAuley

I tell Dylan I have to go to the bathroom. I shut the door and try to pee, but my dick's already sticking straight up at the ceiling. Great. I'm sure she caught that minor detail. We haven't even kissed yet. I shake my head and do my best to pee. I pull my pants back up, trying to make my hard-on less obvious. I stare at myself in the mirror and splash cold water on my face to calm down. My face flushed.
I concentrate on one critical thing. Last, Gray. You've got to make it last. No two pumps, you're done. Don't be that guy. You're stronger than that.
Think sports.
Try to name every candy bar you can.
Think about anything but what her body feel like, because as soon as you let yourself go there, It's over.
Enough with the pep talk. I take a deep breath. This is it. It's what you were born to do. ~ Katie Kacvinsky

Mrs. Indianapolis was in town again. She looked like a can of Sprite in her green and yellow outfit. She always likes to come down to the front desk just to chat. It was 4:04 am and thankfully I was awake and at the front desk when she got off the elevator and walked towards me. 

"Good morning, Jacob," she said.

"My name is Jarod," I replied.

"When did you change your name?"
"I was born Jarod, and I'll probably die. Maybe."

"You must be new here. You look like a guy named Jacob that used to work at the front desk."

"Nope, I'm not new. And there's no Jacob that's worked the front desk, nor anybody who looks or looked like me. How can I assist you, Mrs. Indianapolis?"

"I'd like to inform you that the pool is emitting a certain odor."

"What sort of odor?"

"Bleach."

"Ah, that's what we like to call chlorine. It's the latest craze in the sanitation of public pools. Between you and me, though, I think it's just a fad."

"Don't get sassy with me, young man. I know what chlorine is. I expect a clean pool when I go swimming. But what I don't expect is enough bleach to get the grass stain out of a shirt the size of Kentucky."

"That's not our policy, ma'am. We only use about as much chlorine as it would take to remove a coffee stain the size of Seattle from a light gray shirt the size of Washington."
"Jerry, I don't usually give advice to underlings, but I'm feeling charitable tonight. So I'll tell you that if yo ~ Jarod Kintz

Call me D."
"D?"
"You asked my name, I told ya."
"Yeah, it's just that... well, most of the time in names, D is followed by some more letters. Like -onald, or -avid."
D stared at him for a few seconds, then seemed to relax.
"D's good enough. ~ Jane Seville

These last weeks, since Christmas, have been odd ones. I have begun to doubt that I knew you as well as I thought. I have even wondered if you wished to keep some part of yourself hidden from me in order to preserve your privacy and your autonomy. I will understand if you refuse to give me an answer tonight, and although I freely admit I will be hurt by such a refusal, you must not allow my feelings to influence your answer." I looked up into his face. "The question I have for you, then is this: How are the fairies in your garden?"

By the yellow streetlights, I saw the trepidation that had been building up in face give way to a flash of relief, then to the familiar signs of outrage: the bulging eyes, the purpling skin, the thin lips. He cleared his throat.

"I am not a man much given to violence," he began, calmly enough, "but I declare that if that man Doyle came before me today, I should be hard-pressed to avoid trouncing him." The image was a pleasing one, two gentlemen on the far side of middle age, one built like a bulldog and the other like a bulldong, engaging in fisticuffs. "It is difficult enough to surmount Watson's apparently endless blather in order to have my voice heard as a scientist, but now, when people hear my name, all they will think of is that disgusting dreamy-eyed little girl and her preposterous paper cutouts. I knew the man was limited, but I did not even suspect that he was insane!"

"Oh, well, Holmes," I drawled int ~ Laurie R. King

Shortly after I returned home from the Ukraine, I became severely ill with what doctors believed was a parasite. I couldn't hold my food down and lost a lot of weight. Different doctors kept prescribing me antibiotics, but none of them seemed to help. For a couple of months, I was poked and tested in a variety of ways, only to have more questions surface than answers. Then I was sent to an ear, nose, and throat doctor for an evaluation. I was sitting in a waiting room with a bunch of toddlers, when my name was called. By the time I got into the examination room I knew I'd had enough.
"Hey, I'm outta here," I told the doctor. "I'll take my chance with the resurrection."
Well, a couple of weeks later, my insurance agent called me. He was one of my lifelong friends and sounded concerned.
"Hey, Jase," he said. "Your insurance company wants you to see a psychiatrist."
Apparently, the ear, nose, and throat doctor recommended I undergo a full psychiatric evaluation based on my refusal to be examined, along with my speech on the resurrection! Apparently, he thought I was crazy. I convinced my buddy that I didn't need a psychiatrist and eventually got over my illness. I would later read a passage of scripture in the Bible that caused me to smile in reflection on the entire ordeal. Second Corinthians 5:13 says: "If we are out of our mind, as some say, it is for God; if we are in our right mind, it is for you. ~ Jase Robertson

The steeper the climb, the more incentive to reach the top.

Even in the midst of the darkness, there is always a shard of light if we will but search for it hard enough and believe in it strongly enough.

A name portrays the nature of its wearer. The meaning of a name, however, portrays the trueness of its wearer in depths that very few ever come to comprehend.

May God bless you and keep you and give you peace in all that you do, and may we rest assured of this: that though we travel far apart and in many different directions and for long periods of time, we will meet again, if not in this lifetime, then in eternity, and there we will never have to say 'good-bye' again.

Courage is not found in lacking fear, courage is found in not allowing your fear to rule you.

Courage is really just facing fear.

Do not put too much stock in the stars my boy, they are fickle and distant and do not affect the lives of men by very great a margin. ~ Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

We walked home in silence,which I guess was pretty normal, since he was a dog after all.When we arrived at the house, he wasn't impressed at all.In fact, he showed me just how unimpressed he was by growling at the walls for at least three straight hours.
"Enough already. The wall is not gonna bark back, Mister Fancy Pants!"
He growled at me.Maybe he didn't like his name? "Don't pee on my carpet,no sniffing, no barking, and no chewing while I'm gone. Stay away from the coffee - touch it and you're gone." He blinked at me and then snapped his head back at the walls and went back to circling them like a sentry - well,a growling, whining sentry. My cell phone rang, startling me, and I answered it.I winced as the dog continued to go off at the walls as if they would
attack him. "Stop barking!"
"What?" Ryder asked.
"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Mister Fancy Pants." I should seriously change his name. It was too long.
"Who the fuck is Mister Fancy Pants?"
I snickered as he said my dog's name. Coming out of his mouth,
it really sounded bad. ~ Amelia Hutchins

There is a bench in the back of my garden shaded by Virginia creeper, climbing roses, and a white pine where I sit early in the morning and watch the action. Light blue bells of a dwarf campanula drift over the rock garden just before my eyes. Behind it, a three-foot stand of aconite is flowering now, each dark blue cowl-like corolla bowed for worship or intrigue: thus its common name, monkshood. Next to the aconite, black madonna lilies with their seductive Easter scent are just coming into bloom. At the back of the garden, a hollow log, used in its glory days for a base to split kindling, now spills white cascade petunias and lobelia.

I can't get enough of watching the bees and trying to imagine how they experience the abundance of, say, a blue campanula blosssom, the dizzy light pulsing, every fiber of being immersed in the flower. ...

Last night, after a day in the garden, I asked Robin to explain (again) photosynthesis to me. I can't take in this business of _eating light_ and turning it into stem and thorn and flower...

I would not call this meditation, sitting in the back garden. Maybe I would call it eating light. Mystical traditions recognize two kinds of practice: _apophatic mysticism_, which is the dark surrender of Zen, the Via Negativa of John of the Cross, and _kataphatic mysticism_, less well defined: an openhearted surrender to the beauty of creation. Maybe Francis of Assissi was, on the whole, a kataphatic mystic, as was Thér ~ Mary Rose O'Reilley

I KNEW IT WAS OVER

when tonight you couldn't make the phone ring
when you used to make the sun rise
when trees used to throw themselves
in front of you
to be paper for love letters
that was how i knew i had to do it

swaddle the kids we never had
against january's cold slice
bundle them in winter
clothes they never needed
so i could drop them off at my mom's
even though she lives on the other side of the country
and at this late west coast hour is
assuredly east coast sleeping
peacefully

her house was lit like a candle
the way homes should be
warm and golden
and home
and the kids ran in
and jumped at the bichon frise
named lucky
that she never had
they hugged the dog
it wriggled
and the kids were happy
yours and mine
the ones we never had
and my mom was

grand maternal, which is to say, with style
that only comes when you've seen
enough to know grace

like when to pretend it's christmas or
a birthday so
she lit her voice with tiny
lights and pretended
she didn't see me crying

as i drove away
to the hotel connected to the bar
where i ordered the cheapest whisky they had

just because it shares your first name
because they don't make a whisky
called baby
and i only thought what i got
was what
i ordered

i ~ Daphne Gottlieb

But I have never ceased to think of that girl. I have written to her, but I can not direct the epistle because her name is one of those nine-jointed Russian affairs, and there are not letters enough in our alphabet to hold out. I am not reckless enough to try to pronounce it when I am awake, but I make a stagger at it in my dreams, ~ Mark Twain

No. Please do not name either child after me, Elayne. Let them live their own lives. My shadow will be long enough as it is.'
-Rand ~ Robert Jordan

I don't have a crush on her! Yet!"
"Say no more, Dylan-whatever your middle name is-Blair!"
"David."
"Whatever. By the power and duty of big brother, I command you to not have a crush on my sister, until I know you better enough!"
"That's actually quite fair." "But I don't have a crush on her! ~ Rea Lidde

The baron reminds me of someone, but I can't quite put my finger on who it is," Ramsey remarked.
"I swear my own father never talked to me the way Gillian's uncle just did."
"Your father died before you were old enough to know him."
"It was humiliating, damn it. He sure as certain wasn't what I expected. The way Gillian talked about him, I pictured a mild-mannered gentleman. She thinks he's ... gentle. Is the woman blind? How in God's name can she love such a crotchety old ... "
Ramsey's head snapped up, and he suddenly burst into laughter, breaking Brodick's train of thought. "It's you."
"What?"
"Morgan ... he reminds me of you. My God, Gillian married a man just like her uncle. Look at the baron and you'll see yourself in twenty years."
"Are you suggesting I'm going to become a belligerent, foul-tempered old man?"
"Hell, you're already belligerent and foul-tempered. No wonder she fell in love with you," he drawled ~ Julie Garwood

I think of how, even as a feminist lesbian, I have so wanted to ignore my own homophobia, my own hatred of myself for being queer. I have not wanted to admit that my deepest personal sense of myself has not quite "caught up" with my "woman-identified" politics. I have been afraid to criticize lesbian writers who choose to "skip over" these issues in the name of feminism. In 1979, we talk of "old gay" and "butch and femme" roles as if they were ancient history. We toss them aside as merely patriarchal notions. And yet, the truth of the matter is that I have sometimes taken society's fear and hatred of lesbians to bed with me. I have sometimes hated my lover for loving me. I have sometimes felt "not woman enough" for her. I have sometimes felt "not man enough." For a lesbian trying to survive in a heterosexist society, there is no easy way around these emotions. Similarly, in a white-dominated world, there is little getting around racism and our own internalization of it. It's always there, embodied in someone we least expect to rub up against. ~ Cherrie L Moraga

Reagan Truman's cell phone clamored in the darkness. It took several rings to find it.
"Hello," she mumbled, hoping she didn't wake her uncle in the next room.
"Rea, this is Noah."
"It's late, Noah." She pulled she string on an old Tiffany-style lamp that was probably five times her age. Something was wrong; not even Noah called this late.
"I know, Rea. But I need to talk to you."
She shoved her hair out of her face and tried to force sleep away. "All right, what's up?"
"I'm in the hospital, Rea. I was hurt tonight in Memphis."
"How bad?" she laughed nervously. She'd almost asked if he was still alive. There was a long pause on the line. "I don't know. Bad. Broken arm, two ribs, but it's my back that has me worried." He didn't speak for a moment. When he began again, he sounded more like a frightened boy than a man of twenty. "I'm hurt bad enough to maybe kick me off the circuit. When I hit the dirt, I was out cold. They said I kept yelling your name in the ambulance, but I don't remember. All I remember is the pain."
"Noah, what can I do? Do you want me to go over to your folk's house? I think they're in town. I could call your sister, Alex."
"No, I don't want them to worry. I know mom. She'll freak out and dad will start lecturing me like I'm still a kid. I don't want them to know anything until I know how serious it is. They're still not telling me much yet." He paused, and she knew he was fighting to keep his voice calm. "Rea, ~ Jodi Thomas

What man is capable of the insane self-conceit of believing that an eternity of himself would be tolerable even to himself? Those who try to believe it postulate that they shall be
made perfect first. But if you make me perfect I shall no longer be myself, nor will it be possible for me to conceive my present imperfections (and what I cannot conceive I cannot remember); so that you may just as well give me a new name and face the fact that I am a new person and that the old Bernard Shaw is as dead as mutton. Thus,oddly enough, the conventional belief in the matter comes to this: that if you wish to live for ever you must be wicked enough to be irretrievably damned, since the saved are no longer what they were, and in hell alone do people retain their sinful nature: that is to say, their individuality. And this sort of hell, however convenient as a means of intimidating persons who have practically no honor and no conscience, is not a fact. ~ George Bernard Shaw

There is not a name for what I'm feeling. There is no description for it.
To call it yearning would be like calling the ocean water.
Whatever this thing is, it shoves you inside itself and you can't measure its boundaries because they go too far and you don't have enough time. Or you move toward the boundaries and they move away.
There has been an earthquake in my life.
Catastrophic, civilization-ending. ~ R.A. Nelson

Anytime in my life when I see an accumulation of items, a title of ownership in my name, I feel my insides swell. What am I going to do with all of this? Where am I going to put it? So I get rid of it. And I feel calm again. I am a library patron, a renter without an option to buy, a Salvation Arm donator, a spring cleaner of the highest order.
Why then, why in the world, do I work here, surrounded by all of this? It's easy enough. This is art, and it is not mine. I am only looking after it while the real owners are away. Most of all, I suppose, although I may not want things, I don't mind touching them for a while. ~ Kevin Wilson

It wasn't until he turned that she saw him, a huge, towering man close enough to hear everything they were saying. She gasped, and Beckett laughed. "Don't scare her to death!" He pulled Candy over to the man in the shadows, smiling. "This is my security detail. Mouse, meet Candy Cox." Mouse nodded. "Hey, Candy." He stepped forward, and she noticed he was younger than she'd initially thought. His voice was high and squeaky. He made no comment about her name, and that made her like him. Beckett slapped Mouse on the arm but missed the look of pure devotion on the man's face because he'd turned back to speak to her. "If you ever see this dude around, know I sent him. He's safe." Candy held out her hand formally, like her family had ingrained in her. Mouse took it and gave her a gentle smile. "Thanks, Mouse. Nice to meet you." He nodded and stepped back, scanning the area. ~ Debra Anastasia

What the hell is all this I read in the papers?"
"Narrow it down for me," Alan suggested.
"I suppose it might have been a misprint," Daniel considered, frowning at the tip of his cigar before he tapped it in the ashtray he kept secreted in the bottom drawer of his desk. "I think I know my own flesh and blood well enough."
"Narrow it just a bit further," Alan requested, though he'd already gotten the drift.It was simply too good to end it too soon.
"When I read that my own son-my heir, as things are-is spending time fraternizing with a Campbell, I know it's a simple matter of misspelling. What's the girl's name?"
Along with a surge of affection, Alan felt a tug of pure and simple mischief. "Which girl is that?"
"Dammit,boy! The girl you're seeing who looks like a pixie.Fetching young thing from the picture I saw.Good bones; holds herself well."
"Shelby," Alan said, then waited a beat. "Shelby Campbell."
Dead silence.Leaning back in his chair, Alan wondered how long it would be before his father remembered to take a breath. It was a pity, he mused, a real pity that he couldn't see the old pirate's face.
"Campbell!" The word erupted. "A thieving, murdering Campbell!"
"Yes,she's fond of MacGregor's as well."
"No son of mine gives the time of day to one of the clan Campbell!" Daniel bellowed. "I'll take a strap to you, Alan Duncan MacGregor!" The threat was as empty now as it had been when Alan had been eight, but delivered in ~ Nora Roberts

Velius
so who is she? no wait, let me guess. skin of the finest porcelain. hair of the softest silk. a voice like birdsong, a smile like sunshine, and a mouth that would sate your brightest and darkest wishes
Rumbold
You've m-met her?
Velius
oh yes, my friend. we all know her. we've all pursued her. some of us have even been lucky enough to have her. we've been drunk on her sin, become fools of her favor. she might have borne a different face each time, but her name was always the same. Trouble ~ Alethea Kontis

The only thing that scares me now is me.
The [person] I might become. The [person] I dont ever want to be.
Everybody has fears, right? But how many have my fear?
Enough, it seems. Because there's a name for it.
Autophobia.
Fear of oneself. ~ Carrie Jones

He was right! Said you'd go straight after 'em, sword and knife. What's with you?"
"You said, 'A trap.' I thought it was them," I muttered through suddenly numb lips. "Wasn't it?"
"Didn't you see the riding of greeners?" Bran retorted. "It was Debegri, right enough. He had paid informants in those inns, for he was on the watch for your return. Why d'you think Vidanric sent the escort?"
"Vidanric?"
"His name," Branaric said, still staring at me with that odd gaze. "You could try to use it--only polite. After all, Shevraeth is just a title, and he doesn't go about calling either of us Tlanth."
I'd rather cut out my tongue, I thought, but I said nothing.
"Anyway--life, sister--if he'd wanted me dead, why not in the comfort of his own home, where he could do a better job?"
I shook my head. "It made sense to me."
"It makes sense when you have a castle-sized grudge." He sighed. "It was the Renselaeus escort, hard on their heels, that attacked Debegri's gang and saved my life. Our friend the Marquis wasn't far behind--he'd just found out about the spies, he said. Between us we pieced together what happened, and what I said, and what you'd likely do. I thought you'd stay home. He said you'd ride back down the mountain breathing fire and hunting his blood. He was right." He stared to laugh, but it came out a groan, and he closed his eyes for a long breath. Then, "Arrow clipped me on the right, or I'd be finished. But I can't talk long--I'm alrea ~ Sherwood Smith

I am Nikolai Wroth."
Why did that name sound so familiar? She squinted up at him. "You are a friend of my aunts?" she said, her voice sounding faint.
"With one. And it seems only one." A short laugh with no humor. "Myst is my wife."
"Myst married?" Was that where she'd been? No, no way. "That's funny."
"The jest's on me, I'm afraid." As they reached the manor, he bellowed, "Annika, call off the goddamn wraiths and let me in."
Emma stared up at the sky, seeing swirling red swaths of ragged cloth circling the house. Occasionally she spied a gaunt, skeletal face, but it would change to beauty if you met its eyes.
The price for their protection was hair from each of the Valkyrie within. The wraiths wove each lock into a massive braid, and when it grew long enough, they bent all living Valkyrie to their will for a time.
"Myst hasn't returned yet," someone called from the house. "But you know that, or else you'd both be naked and fornicating on the front lawn."
"The night's young. Give us time." To himself, he murmured, "And it was a field a mile away."
"Don't you have an appointment to go to, vampire?"
Emma stiffened. Vampire? But his eyes weren't red. "Did you follow me?"
"No, I was awaiting Myst's return from shopping and sensed you trace into the woods."
A vampire waiting for Myst? He'd said she was his wife. She sucked in a breath. "You're the general, aren't you," she whispered. "The one Myst had to be pried from."Kresley Cole