My Paper Heart Quotes

But the moment I saw you, I knew there was something more. There was something behind those big, beautiful brown eyes that I had to get to know, and, damn girl you've kept me in a trance ever since. ~ Magan Vernon

The stench that surrounded me suggested that the tarp over my face had been previously used either to transport fertiliser or as toilet paper. ~ Annabel Monaghan

The way my brain processes information is quite odd. I mean, I have Attention Deficit Disorder and another learning disability I can't even spell. I don't even have a high school diploma. I'm smart, but you can't prove it on paper. ~ Ron White

For a minute I was convinced she must have handed me the wrong schedule, so I checked the top of the paper. No, that's me. I wasn't sure what the right reaction was in that situation. You know the one, where the universe decides to put its steel-toed boot up your ass yet again. Crying was out of the question and a screaming hissy-fit laced with maniacal laughter and profanity was, most definitely, off the table, which left me with my only other option‌ - ‌stunned silence. ~ Katja Millay

Everybody always laughs because I feel so much more comfortable with, like, a giant paper bag on my whole body and paint on my face. Sometimes I try really hard to take it all off. But inevitably what's underneath is still not a straight edge. And I don't think it ever will be. ~ Lady Gaga

I made an appointment to see him and then ordered another beer. While I was drinking it I did some doodling on a piece of paper, the algebraic kind that you hope will help you think more clearly. When I finished doing that, I was more confused than ever. Algebra was never my strong subject. ~ Philip Kerr

Soon after I left the Canton I read, in an otherwise unsuccint paper on ecology: "Organisms themselves are relatively transient entities through which materials and energy flow and eventually return to the environment."
In my more skittish moments I am currently inclined to think that I would rather like this sentence as my epitaph. ~ Colin Fletcher

Reading. The erotics of reading for me -- its moment of trembling pleasure -- lie in those times when I realise that what I am reading is just what I was about to say. It is a moment of jealousy and disappointment, as if the occasion had been stolen from me, but it is a moment of excitement, too -- because I think I would like to try and say it better, because now the monologue in my mind has become dialogue. My immediate impulse is to write something, anything, notes to tell me the significance of what I have read, an appreciative letter to the author, the first sentences in a preface to a book that will never be written. Th archives of my readings are monumentally high. I can never let these erotic moments go. They are the paper trail of my mind. ~ Greg Dening

I put things down on sheets of paper and stuff them in my pockets. When I have enough, I have a book. ~ John Lennon

A new thing I've been doing is just making sure I clear off my desk and try to only touch a piece of paper once, so I get the mail, open it up, deal with it then. My son's homework, or what I get from his teachers, the same way. That way, it's not nagging me, things to add to my to-do list. ~ Adina Porter

I said, "What do I think? That's what I'm asking you? What is there to think?" "Looks like he wants you to be his valentine." "Louise, I can read. But what does it mean?" "Oh, you know. His valentine. His love." There was that hateful word again. That treacherous word that yawned up at you like a volcano. "Well, I won't. Most decidedly I won't. Not ever again." "Have you been his valentine before? What do you mean never again?" I couldn't lie to my friend and I wasn't about to freshen old ghosts. "Well, don't answer him then, and that's the end of it." I was a little relieved that she thought it could be gotten rid of so quickly. I tore the note in half and gave her a part. Walking down the hill we minced the paper in a thousand shreds and gave it to the wind. ~ Maya Angelou

Creating a huge personal fortune was never particularly a goal of mine, and the proof of that lies in the fact that even to this day most of my, and my family's, wealth remains in the form of Wal-Mart stock. I think most people in our position would have hedged their bets a long time ago and diversified into all kinds of investments. As it's happened, though, our very simplistic, very personal investment strategy has turned out far better than anyone could ever have expected. So Wal-Mart stock has made the Waltons a very wealthy family - on paper anyway. I ~ Sam Walton

The fact is that these are not my children; they are figures on silvery paper slivered out of time. They represent my children at a fraction of a second on one particular afternoon with infinite variables of light, expression, posture, muscle tension, mood, wind and shade. These are not my children at all; these are children in a photograph. ~ Sally Mann

You," she said, bending an icy eye on Elizabeth, "come with me. You have much to explain, madam, and you can do it while Faulkner attends to your appearance."
"I am not," Elizabeth said in a burst of frustrated anger, "going to think of my appearance at a time like this."
The duchess's brows shot into her hairline. "Have you come to persuade them that your husband is innocent?"
"Well, of course I have. I-"
"Then don't shame him more than you already have! You look like a refugee from a dustbin in Bedlam. You'll be lucky if they don't hang you for putting them to all this trouble!" She started up the staircase with Elizabeth following slowly behind, listening to her tirade with only half her mind. "Now, if your misbegotten brother would do us the honor of showing himself, your husband might not have to spend the night in a dungeon, which is exactly where Jordan thinks he's going to land if the prosecutors have their way."
Elizabeth stopped on the third step. "Will you please listen to me for a moment-" she began angrily.
"I'll listen to you all the way to Westminster," the dowager snapped back sarcastically. "I daresay all London will be eager to hear what you have to say for yourself in tomorrow's paper!"
"For the love of God!" Elizabeth cried at her back, wondering madly to whom she could turn for speedier help. An hour was an eternity! "I have not come merely to show that I'm alive. I can prove that Robert is alive and that he came to no h ~ Judith McNaught

Still on speaking terms with the Toilet Paper People, they consented to a box full of Legos that overnight manifested itself into a recording studio. I quickly remembered the power of my hands, my imagination, my will, and my conscience. These were tools I would never let myself get bored with. I would find myself in Blue Ocean Strategy and in other defining ways. ~ Cherry Tigris

My sister Brenda said I was more interested in the idea of writing a book than actually writing it, because if I really wanted to write, I just would, every day, by myself, for myself, whether it was a book or not. She said a writer felt compelled to write whether they had an idea or not, whether they had a computer or not, whether they had a pen and paper or not. [ ... ] I wanted to write, I just didn't know if I could, and if I ever made a start I was afraid I'd discover that I couldn't. (from How to Fall in Love) ~ Cecelia Ahern

Can you hear me? Sighing. You were right. My requiem is well prepared. Still to be written is the poem that is never complete, an endless rubbing on the ink block, an endless dipping of the pen, an endless swoop over the white paper, the poem of my life. I will try to write it down. Soon, no, now, I will try. The first line. I called him Necktie. I will write: He taught me to see with eyes of feeling. ~ Milena Michiko Flasar

And we're going out.

Kill me.

'Got everything?' Mom asks, her voice all sing-songy. We're acting normal. A short-lived facade when I open my bag and Operation Check Contents begins.

1. Phone to call for help if we have a car crash/get mugged/drive into the path of a tornado

2. Headphones to drown out the sound of people if we get caught in a crowd

3. Bottle of water for if we break down and get stranded in the middle of nowhere

4. Another bottle of water in case that other bottle leaks or evaporates

5. Tissues for nosebleeds, sneezing, crying, and/or drooling

6. Sanitizer to kill the germs you can catch from touching anything

7. Paper bag to breathe into or throw up in

8. Band-Aids and alcohol wipes in case open wounds should occur

9. Inhaler (I grew out of asthma when I was twelve, but you can't be too careful when it comes to breathing)

10. A piece of string that serves no purpose but it's been here since for ever and I'm afraid the world will implode if I don't have it

11. A pair of nail scissors for any one of a trillion reasons, most of which conclude with me being kidnapped

12. And, finally, chewing gum to take away the sour taste I always get when the panic hits

Normal takes a nosedive into my bag, sinks beneath the copious amount of clutter, and dies a slow, painful death. ~ Louise Gornall

I pass off a few more résumés and jet away from her and that cinnamon smell, reserving the last paper in my hand so I can finish reading it. "Whoa - hello. What's this?" I mumble, staring at the paper. "Jess Jordan's How to be Normal Checklist, by Kika Jordan? Who's Kika?" I laugh.

The way her face has turned whiter than the ice at the sports complex, I think this paper is no joke.

"Kika's my little sister. Hand that over!"

Do the right thing. Like she said, this is private information. None of my business.

Only, it could possibly be my business.

Indirectly. Not her fault…not mine…

Jess's eyes have turned wild, exposed. "She made the list for me - as a joke. It's revenge. Last week I made her one on personal hygiene called: How NOT to Repel All Mankind. ~ Anne Eliot

In the morning when I wake
And the sun is coming through,
Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,
And you fill my head with you. ~ The Paper Kites

We go on in her room, where we like to set. I get up in the big chair and she get up on me and smile, bounce a little. "Tell me bout the brown wrapping. And the present." She so excited, she squirming. She has to jump off my lap, squirm a little to get it out. Then she crawl back up.
That's her favorite story cause when I tell it, she get two presents. I take the brown wrapping from my Piggly Wiggly grocery bag and wrap up a little something, like piece a candy, inside. Then I use the white paper from my Cole's Drug Store bag and wrap another one just like it. She take it real serious, the unwrapping, letting me tell the story bout how it ain't the color a the wrapping that count, it's what we is inside. ~ Kathryn Stockett

It's one of these juvenile therapy scams," he went on, sprinkling a pinch of the Golden Virginia tobacco along the rolling paper. "They advertise help for your troubled teen by staring at the stars and singing 'Kumbaya'. Instead, it's a bunch of bearded nutjobs left in charge of some of the craziest kids I've ever seen in my life - bulimics, nymphos, cutters trying to saw their wrists with the plastic spoons from lunch. You wouldn't believe the shit that went on." He shook his head. "Most of the kids had been so mentally screwed by their parents they needed more than twelve weeks of wilderness. They needed reincarnation. To die and just come back as a grasshopper, as a fucking weed. That'd be preferable to the agony they were in just by being alive. ~ Marisha Pessl

It had a crisp paper jacket, unlike the paper-covered library books I was used to, and the way the pages parted, I could tell I was the first to open it ... I valued that half-dream state of being lost in a book so much that I limited the number of pages I let myself read each day in order to put off the inevitable end, my banishment from that world. I still do this. ~ Allison Hoover Bartlett

And then last, but oh, so utterly
first, came George Eliot. It was in the days
when her cult was at its height - thank heaven
I never left her shrine! - and we used to wait
outside Macmillan's shop to seize the new
instalments of Daniel Deronda. She came
for a few minutes to my room, and I was
almost senseless with excitement. I had just
repapered my room with the newest thing in
dolorous Morris papers. Some one must have
called her attention to it, for I remember that
she said in her shy, impressive way, "Your
paper makes a beautiful background for your
face." The ecstasy was too much, and I
knew no more. ~ Jane Ellen Harrison

Shh! She said. The waiter. He's about to take their order. She leaned back and to her left, closer,closer,closer,her body like a giraffe's neck, until her chair shot out from under her and she landed on the floor. The whole restaurant turned to look. I jumped up to help. She stood up, righted the chair, and started in again. Did you see the tattoo one of them has on the inside of his arm? It looked like a roll of tape.

I took a gulp of margarita and settled into my fallback option, which was to wait her out.

Know what one of the guys at the drive-through Starbucks has on his forearm? Bernadette said. A paper clip! It used to be so daring to get a tattoo. And now people are tattooing office supplies on their bodies. You know what I say? Of course this was rhetorical. I say, dare not to get a tattoo. She turned around again, and gasped. Oh My God. It's not just any roll of tape. It's literally Scotch tape, with the green-and-black plaid. This is too hilarious. If you're going to tattoo tape on your arm, at least make it a generic old-fashioned tape dispenser! What do you think happened? Did the Staples catalogue get delivered to the tattoo parlor that day? ~ Maria Semple

Bitch"

Now, when he and I meet, after all these years,
I say to the bitch inside me, don't start growling.
He isn't a trespasser anymore,
Just an old acquaintance tipping his hat.
My voice says, "Nice to see you,"
As the bitch starts to bark hysterically.
He isn't an enemy now,
Where are your manners, I say, as I say,
"How are the children? They must be growing up."
At a kind word from him, a look like the old days,
The bitch changes her tone; she begins to whimper.
She wants to snuggle up to him, to cringe.
Down, girl! Keep your distance
Or I'll give you a taste of the choke-chain.
"Fine, I'm just fine," I tell him.
She slobbers and grovels.
After all, I am her mistress. She is basically loyal.
It's just that she remembers how she came running
Each evening, when she heard his step;
How she lay at his feet and looked up adoringly
Though he was absorbed in his paper;
Or, bored with her devotion, ordered her to the kitchen
Until he was ready to play.
But the small careless kindnesses
When he'd had a good day, or a couple of drinks,
Come back to her now, seem more important
Than the casual cruelties, the ultimate dismissal.
"It's nice to know you are doing so well," I say.
He couldn't have taken you with him;
You were too demonstrative, too clumsy,
Not like the well-groomed pets of his new friends.
"Give my ~ Carolyn Kizer

Iz," Alec said tiredly. "It's not like it's one big bad thing. It's a lot of little invisible things. When Magnus and I were traveling, and I'd call from the road, Dad never asked how he was. When I get up to talk in Clave meetings, no one listens, and I don't know if that's because I'm young or if it's because of something else. I saw Mom talking to a friend about her grandchildren and the second I walked into the room they shut up. Irina Cartwright told me it was a pity no one would ever inherit my blue eyes now." He shrugged and looked toward Magnus, who took a hand off the wheel for a moment to place it on Alec's. "It's not like a stab wound you can protect me from. It's a million little paper cuts every day. ~ Cassandra Clare

I always wanted to do a deal with Russell Simmons, and now I've got my signature on a piece of paper with his. ~ El-P

I've always been a quitter. I quit the Boy Scouts, the glee club, the marching band. Gave up my paper route, turned my back on the church, stuffed the basketball team. I dropped out of college, sidestepped the army with a 4-F on the grounds of mental instability, went back to school, made a go of it, entered a Ph.D. program in nineteenth-century British literature, sat in the front row, took notes assiduously, bought a pair of horn-rims, and quit on the eve of my comprehensive exams. I got married, separated, divorced. Quit smoking, quit jogging, quit eating red meat. I quit jobs: digging graves, pumping gas, selling insurance, showing pornographic films in an art theater in Boston. When I was nineteen I made frantic love to a pinch-faced, sack-bosomed girl I'd known from high school. She got pregnant. I quit town. ~ T.C. Boyle

What the good Lord lets happen, I am not ashamed to print in my paper. ~ Charles A. Dana

There are many different things in this world to hide, but a secret is not one of them. It is difficult to hide an airplane, for instance, because you generally need to find a deep hole or an enormous haystack, and sneak the airplane inside in the middle of the night, but it is easy to hide a secret about an airplane, because you can merely write it on a tiny piece of paper and tape it to the bottom of your mattress any time you are at home. It is difficult to hide a symphony orchestra, because you usually need to rent a soundproof room and borrow as many sleeping bags as you can find, but it is easy to hide a secret about a symphony orchestra, because you can merely whisper it into the ear of a trustworthy friend or music critic. And it is difficult to hind yourself, because you sometimes need to stuff yourself into the trunk of an automobile, or concoct a disguise out of whatever you can find, but it is easy to hide a secret about yourself because you can merely type it into a book and hope it falls into the right hands. My dear sister, if you are reading things I am still alive, and heading north to try and find you. ~ Lemony Snicket

He stared at her again and then smiled a big, goofy smile. "I didn't really think of it like that." He looked lost in thought for a minute and finally, a mischievous grin formed on his face. "Wait here a minute."
He got up and left. He returned a few minutes later and handed her something. A piece of paper, folded too many times.
"What's this?" She took it from him, amused and smiling with curiosity.
He sat down next to her and shrugged. "I dunno, some guy asked me to give it to you."
She tentatively started unfolding, looking up at him with each bend of the paper. Just before the last fold, she could see the crude handwriting inside, as if it were written by a child. She lifted the sheet, opening it up fully and stared at it.
Danarya, will you go with me?
Please mark the box
Yes [ ] or No [ ]
Paul

"Oh my gosh!" she squealed with delight. She burst out laughing. "I haven't received one of these since fifth grade. ~ S. Jackson Rivera

When I write, I feel that I'm writing with my intellect. When I paint, I think it's some other force making me paint. I - as I wrote in my novel 'My Name is Red' - watch with amazement what my hand is doing on the paper, what kind of line, what kind of strange, beautiful thing it's doing in spite of my will, so to speak. ~ Orhan Pamuk