Not Holding On Too Tightly Quotes

Morley joined them, and after a long, uncomfortable moment, Mrs. Grant decided to ignore his presence. The
guards didn't. Their knuckles were white on their weapons.
May I assist?" he asked, and put his hands behind his back. "I promise not to eat anyone."
Very funny," Mrs. Grant said. Morley gave her a grave look.
I wasn't joking, dear lady," he said. "I do promise. And I never make a promise I don't intend to keep. You
should feel quite secure."
Well, I'm sorry, I don't," she said. "You're just - "
Too overwhelmingly dashing and attractive?" Morley grinned. "A common problem women face with me.
It'll pass. You seem like the no-nonsense sort. I like that."
Claire smiled at the look on Mrs. Grant's face, reflected in the white LED light of the lantern she was holding.
You are really - odd," the older woman said, as if she couldn't quite believe she was even having the
conversation. ~ Rachel Caine

One day you're going to see her holding hands with someone who took your chance. She won't even notice you because she's too busy laughing with the stupid jokes he makes. And it will burn your heart seeing that beautiful smile on her face and realizing that you're not the reason anymore. And then it will hit you: it was her, it was always her. ~ Elisabeth Van Den Abeele

Learning

After some time, you learn the subtle difference between
holding a hand
and imprisoning a soul;
You learn that love does not equal sex,
and that company does not equal security,
and you start to learn….
That kisses are not contracts and gifts are not promises,
and you start to accept defeat with the head up high
and open eyes,
and you learn to build all roads on today,
because the terrain of tomorrow is too insecure for plans…
and the future has its own way of falling apart in half.

And you learn that if it's too much
even the warmth of the sun can burn.

So you plant your own garden and embellish your own soul,
instead of waiting for someone to bring flowers to you.

And you learn that you can actually bear hardship,
that you are actually strong,
and you are actually worthy,
and you learn and learn…and so every day.

Over time you learn that being with someone
because they offer you a good future,
means that sooner or later you'll want to return to your past.

Over time you comprehend that only who is capable
of loving you with your flaws, with no intention of changing you
can bring you all happiness.

Over time you learn that if you are with a person
only to accompany your own solitude,
irremediably you'll end up wishing not to see them again.

Over time you learn that rea ~ Jorge Luis Borges

I say is someone in there?' The voice is the young post-New formalist from
Pittsburgh who affects Continental and wears an ascot that won't stay tight, with that
hesitant knocking of when you know perfectly well someone's in there, the
bathroom door composed of thirty-six that's three times a lengthwise twelve
recessed two-bevelled squares in a warped rectangle of steam-softened wood, not
quite white, the bottom outside corner right here raw wood and mangled from
hitting the cabinets' bottom drawer's wicked metal knob, through the door and
offset 'Red' and glowering actors and calendar and very crowded scene and pubic
spirals of pale blue smoke from the elephant-colored rubble of ash and little
blackened chunks in the foil funnel's cone, the smoke's baby-blanket blue that's sent
her sliding down along the wall past knotted washcloth, towel rack, blood-flower
wallpaper and intricately grimed electrical outlet, the light sharp bitter tint of a heated
sky's blue that's left her uprightly fetal with chin on knees in yet another North
American bathroom, deveiled, too pretty for words, maybe the Prettiest Girl Of All
Time (Prettiest G.O.A.T.), knees to chest, slew-footed by the radiant chill of the
claw-footed tub's porcelain, Molly's had somebody lacquer the tub in blue, lacquer,
she's holding the bottle, recalling vividly its slogan for the past generation was The
Choice of a Nud ~ David Foster Wallace

Andrew followed the direction of her elegant hand and was surprised to see that there was, indeed, a woman in the garden below. "Yes?" He turned toward Vivien and found she was holding out a spyglass for him. "Look a little closer, you could hardly see any detail of her from all the way up here." He tilted his head in increasing confusion. "Vivien - " "Please," she insisted, her tone firm.

With a grunt, Andrew took the glass from her hand and peered through the viewer to the young woman below. As he focused on her face, his breath caught. She was utterly lovely. Chestnut locks framed a face with high cheekbones and full lips, not to mention china-blue eyes that lit up with delight as she paused to sniff this flower or that. Her clothing was well-worn, but when she twisted to observe her surroundings, it accentuated soft curves. Andrew shifted as a most unfamiliar feeling began to stir his loins. Desire, hot and powerful, pumped through his veins, and he lowered the spyglass in shock. He hadn't had such a strong reaction to a woman in years.

"I assume you like what you see," Vivien said softly. Andrew clenched his teeth. There was no hiding the swelling of his cock through the tight breeches he wore, and Vivien was too aware of such things not to notice. "She is, obviously, very pretty," he said coolly as he handed the glass back to Vivien and turned away. He tried to think of anything, anyone, that might force the inconvenient blood upward. "She is look ~ Jess Michaels

The thing about trees is that they know what to do. When a leaf loses its colour, it's not because its time is up and it's dying, it's because the tree is taking back into itself the nutrients the leaf's been holding in reserve for it, out there on the twig, and why leaves change colour in autumn is because the tree is preparing for winter, it's filling itself with its own stored health so it can withstand the season. Then, clever tree, it literally pushes the used leaf off with the growth that's coming behind it. But because that growth has to protect itself through winter too, the tree fills the little wound in its branch or twig where the leaf was with a protective corky stuff which seals it against cold and bacteria.
Otherwise every leaf lost would be an open wound on a tree and a single tree would be covered in thousands of little wounds.
Clever trees. ~ Ali Smith

You have to take this with you too," she said, opening a box and holding up a silver necklace with the Syriac cross (a crucifix with a budding flower shape on each tip) dangling from it. "My mother gave it to me mother, who passed it to me. Now is the right time to give it to you. Not just because you're leaving and will need something that always connects you to your roots, but also because tonight we remember her. ~ Zack Love

Eddie turned away.
"Because I saved you, as tough as those years were for you, as bad as it was with your hand, you got to grow up, too. And because you got to grow up..."
When he turned back, Annie froze. Eddie was holding a baby boy, with a small blue cap on his head.
"Laurence?" Annie whispered.
Eddie stepped forward and placed her son in her trembling arms. Instantly, Annie was whole again, her body complete. She cradled the infant against her chest, a motherly cradle that filled her with the purest feeling. She smiled and wept and she could not stop weeping.
"My baby," she gushed. "Oh, my baby, my baby... ~ Mitch Albom

All the visitors do make an effort to look their best and it's very tender, it's sweet as hell, the way the women wear their prettiest everything, I mean the old ones and the really poor ones too, they make the dearest effort to look nice and smell nice too, and I love them for it. I love the kids too, especially the colored ones. I mean the kids the wives bring. It should be sad, seeing the kids there, but it isn't, they have ribbons in their hair and lots of shine on their shoes, you'd think there was going to be ice cream; and sometimes that's what it's like in the visitors' room, a party. Anyway, it's not like the movies: you know, grim whisperings through a grille. There isn't any grille, just a counter between you and them, and the kids can stand on it to be hugged; all you have to do to kiss somebody is lean across. What I like most, they're so happy to see each other, they've saved up so much to talk about, it isn't possible to be dull, they keep laughing and holding hands. It's different afterwards," she said. "I see them on the train. They sit so quiet watching the river go by. ~ Truman Capote

This attribute of equality within the market system is terribly important; Marx understands it as being fundamental to how capitalism theoretically works. Aristotle, too, understood the need for commensurability and equality in exchange relations, but he couldn't figure out what lay behind it. Why not? Marx's answer is that "Greek society was founded on the labour of slaves, hence had as its natural basis the inequality of men and of their labour-powers" (152). In a slave-holding society there can be no value theory of the sort that we are going to find under capitalism. Again, note the historical specificity of the value theory to capitalism. ~ David Harvey

And hit to you too," Matt says, taking me out of my hypnotic stare-down of his brother but surprising me with a kiss on my cheek. It's so sudden, I don't really have a chance to freak out.
"Mateo!" Nico scolds his brother, and pulls him away from me.
"Oh, shit. Sorry. No touching. I forgot," Matt says, holding his hands out. "I don't have germs. I promise. What do you need? Antibacterial cream? Rubbing alcohol? Shit. I'm so sorry," he says in a rush, seemingly worried I might bolt right out of my own home..
"Great job at not making this weird, man," Nico says. ~ Sidney Halston

She stared at him. Her head tipped to the side and she narrowed her eyes. "That's the best you can come up with? What kind of platitude is that?"
"Give me a second. I can do better." He lifted her hand, then reached for her other one. He pulled her close so they stood toe to toe. She shivered a little. He didn't think it had much to do with the cold. Her arms were bare, but the evening was warm. "Everything happens for a reason. God works in mysterious ways. There's a light at the end of the tunnel."
"You suck at this." But she was smiling.
She was so achingly beautiful. He slid his hands up her arms to her elbows so they were closer still. And then she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he forgot how to breathe.
He stood in the shadows, holding her in his arms, wanting to do the right thing and afraid he'd screw it all up. Her hands nestled the small of his back, thumbs hooked through his belt. Her lips brushed against the sensitive base of his throat. Awareness burned through every single spot her body came in contact with his. This was Danni, all grown up. He wanted one little taste. Just a bit.
So he kissed her. And, without a second's hesitation, she kissed him back. The world around them rocked back on its heels.
Then some small noise interrupted - the sound of footsteps, passing too close. He lifted his head, not wanting any intrusion, and the moment ended as fast as it had begun. ~ Paula Altenburg

Look, Father, I don't think you're being straight with me. I want to join your Church and I'm going to join your Church, but you're holding too much back. I've had a long talk with a Catholic-a very pious, well-educated one, and I've learned a thing or two. For instance, that you have to sleep with your feet pointing East because that's the direction of heaven, and if you die in the night you can walk there. Now I'll sleep with my feet pointing any way that suits Julia, but d'you expect a grown man to believe about walking to heaven? And what about the Pope who made one of his horses a Cardinal? And what about the box you keep in the church porch, and if you put in a pound note with someone's name on it, they get sent to hell. I don't say there mayn't be a good reason for all this, but you ought to tell me about it and not let me find out for myself. ~ Evelyn Waugh

Why don't you like girls?"
Nicky looked startled by the interruption, but he rallied quickly and made a face. "They're so soft."
Neil thought about Renee's bruised knuckles, Dan's fierce spirit, and Allison holding her ground on the court a week after Seth's death. He thought about his mother standing unflinching in the face of his father's violent anger and her ruthlessly leaving bodies in their wake. He felt compelled to say, "Some of the strongest people I've known are women."
"What? Oh, no," Nicky hurried to say. "I mean literally soft. Too many curves, see? I feel like my hands would slide right off. It's totally not my thing. I like…" He drew a box with his fingers as he searched for words. "Erik. Erik's perfect. He's a total outdoors junkie, rock climbing and hiking and mountain biking, all that awful bug-infested fresh-air stuff. But oh my god, you should see what it does to his body. He's like this, all hard edges." He drew another box. "He's stronger than I am, and I like that. I feel like I could lean on him all day and he wouldn't break a sweat. ~ Nora Sakavic

The girls said she was too cynical about love, but how could you not be? On the surface, relations between men and women were all soft kisses and white gowns and hand-holding. But underneath they were a scary, complicated, ugly mess, just waiting to rise to the surface. ~ J. Courtney Sullivan

His bike was lying against the curb, and he righted it, holding the handlebars. "What I do, I do out of hate, not humanity. Because punishing assholes gets me off - not saving victims. And actually all this . . ." He cast his gaze around us. "This isn't doing a fucking thing for me. So if you're not going to jump, I'd just as soon be home in bed."
Home. Well, there was one question answered.
Face burning, I shook my head. "No, I'm not jumping."
"Great." He slung a leg over his crossbar. Face utterly unchanged, the Badger drew his infamous Glock from inside his hoodie, took aim, and shot me in the thigh from five feet.
"Ow, Jesus!" White paint exploded across my favorite jeans, and a bolt of exquisite pain promised a welt.
"That's for wasting my time," he said, replacing the pistol. "I'm too fucking tired for false alarms, so next time have the decency to jump."
My slack mouth produced no words. I watched him glide away, silent and passive once more. As ever.
I glanced at my palm, streaked with white from where I'd grabbed my leg. Looked and felt just like when a bird shits on your hair. You pray it's a raindrop, but it never is.
Fuck you too, Badger. ~ C.M. McKenna

The Marquis de V... - whose falsetto voice and little watery eyes I have always detested - was saying to me with a wicked smile: 'Then again, the master gymnast might break his neck at any moment. What he is doing now is very dangerous, my dear, and the pleasure you take in his performance is the little frisson that danger affords you. Wouldn't it be thrilling, if his sweaty hand failed to grip the bar? The velocity acquired by his rotation about the bar would break his spine quite cleanly, and perhaps a little of the cervical matter might spurt out as far as this! It would be most sensational, and you would have a rare emotion to add to the field of your experience - for you collect emotions, don't you? What a pretty stew of terrors that man in tights stirs up in us!

'Admit that you almost wish that he will fall! Me too. Many others in the auditorium are in the same state of attention and anguish. That is the horrible instinct of a crowd confronted with a spectacle which awakens in it the ideas of lust and death. Those two agreeable companions always travel together! Take it from me that at the very same moment - see, the man is now holding on to the bar by his fingertips alone - at the very same moment, a good number of the women in these boxes are ardently lusting after that man, not so much for his beauty as for the danger he courts.'

The voice subtly changed its tone, suddenly becoming more interested. 'You have singularly pale eyes this evening, my ~ Jean Lorrain

While we're on brunch, how about hollandaise sauce? Not for me. Bacteria love hollandaise. And hollandaise, that delicate emulsion of egg yolks and clarified butter, must be held at a temperature not too hot nor too cold, lest it break when spooned over your poached eggs. Unfortunately, this lukewarm holding temperature is also the favorite environment for bacteria to copulate and reproduce in. Nobody I know has ever made hollandaise to order. Most likely, the stuff on your eggs was made hours ago and held on station. Equally disturbing is the likelihood that the butter used in the hollandaise is melted table butter, heated, clarified, and strained to get out all the breadcrumbs and cigarette butts. Butter is expensive, you know. Hollandaise is a veritable petri-dish of biohazards. ~ Anthony Bourdain

Her gaze flickered to the balcony doors and back, her brows knitted in confusion. "My balcony doesn't connect to yours."
"I jumped." He grinned at the flash of concern he saw in "her eyes. "At dinner, your grandmother informed me that you'd be moving to the room beside mine. She also mentioned how close my balcony was to yours; so close that even an old lady like herself could leap between the two without the least effort."
Venetia's cheeks heated and she pulled her nightgown closer. "Grandmama is anything but subtle."
"Almost as subtle as your mother."
"Oh, no! Not Mama, too."

Gregor paused beside a small table to pick up a silver tray holding a cut crystal decanter and matching glasses and set it on the table before Venetia. "Your mother was concerned I might be afraid of heights. She told me that if she were thinking of jumping between the balconies and couldn't bring herself to make the leap, it might be possible to pick the lock on the connecting door with, say, a cravat pin."
Venetia blushed. "I'm surprised they aren't in here now, throwing rose petals before you as you walk."
"I would never countenance petal tossing. Too showy. ~ Karen Hawkins

You're holding a challenge in a fencing club?"

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?" He pulled on his black pants and the heavy silk green shirt I loved for him to wear because the material seemed to caress hisskin.

No, it's just kind of an incongruous place to hold something so serious as a challenge, isn't it?"

He finished with his shoes, grabbed another towel, and shook it out for me. I made sure Pal still had his back to me, hurrying out of the pool to clasp the towel around me.

"It is no less incongruous than holding a challenge in a bar."

I smiled. "Yes, but my challenge to you wasn't serious. I hope you'll notice that I'm not freaking out about this at all. I haven't even asked you how good you are with asword."

"I noticed." His mouth burned on mine for a moment, his fire being shared between us as his tongue twined around mine in a fiery - albeit brief - dance. "You are learning to have faith in me as is proper between a mateand her wyvern."

"No, I am learning to ask around. Pal told me earlier today that Dmitri had picked swords and that you were pleased because you were some sort of master swordsman a few centuries ago. You'd better not have forgotten anything."

Pal peeked at me out of the corner of his eye, his grin not too obvious. Drake pinched my bare behind as punishment for my saucy tone. "I never forget. Istvan will drive you when you are ready. The challenge is not f ~ Katie MacAlister

There are cameras and mirrors watching us everywhere. I fix my hair and try not to look too drunk. At the checkout stand we line up on the border of sanity holding our passports, our visa cards. Some women will make it. Others will be asked to stay with their carts, they will be given different clothes, lobotomies, and schizophrenic outbursts, until they look like they grew out of the pavement without mothers or fathers. A number will be tattooed on their neck and they will be ushered outside through special doors that never let you back in. ~ Mary Woronov

When the logs in the fireplace crackle merrily, the corpse of a beech or oak is going up in flames. The paper in the book you are holding in your hands right now is made from the shavings of spruce, and birches were expressly felled (that is to say, killed) for this purpose. Does that sound over the top? I don't think so. For if we keep in mind all we have learned in the previous chapters, parallels can definitely be drawn to pigs and pork. Not to put too fine a point on it, we use living things killed for our purposes. Does that make our behavior reprehensible? Not necessarily. After all, we are also part of Nature, and we are made in such a way that we can survive only with the help of organic substances from other species. We share this necessity with all other animals. The real question is whether we help ourselves only to what we need from the forest ecosystem, and-analogous to our treatment of animals-whether we spare the trees unnecessary suffering when we do this.

That means it is okay to use wood as long as trees are allowed to live in a way that is appropriate to their species. And that means that they should be allowed to fulfill their social needs, to grow in a true forest environment on undisturbed ground, and to pass their knowledge on to the next generation. And at least some of them should be allowed to grow old with dignity and finally die a natural death. ~ Peter Wohlleben

As we pass the mirror in the bedroom, my attention is drawn to the lovely couple in the reflection. There is a man, tall with broad shoulders. His red hair cut short. He has nothing but a towel on. In his arms is a female, slender but muscular. Her wheat colored hair is pulled back in a neat bun on top of her head. Both of their skin is smooth and flawless, a little paler than most, but still complete perfection. You can tell by the way the man holds her, he cares a lot for her. You can also tell that he is afraid of holding her too tight, not wanting to crush her smaller frame into his body. Looking at this young pair in the mirror, one can only wonder of all the possibilities. What led them to this place? What is in store for them? Will there be a happy ending? ~ Elle A. Rose

You take your flashlight out on your walks, right?" Simon asked.
"Depends on the moonlight."
"From now on, take it with you every night. When you're out
walking this way, you'll pass the gazebo, where, chances are, I will
be smoking."
"Then what?"
"You can signal - say, three times if you want to take a walk with
me. Twice if you want to walk alone. that way I'll just let you walk
on. It'll be like a military code. No one gets hurt."
I laughed. "that's silly and charming."
"I try. I can signal back with my cigarette lighter too," Simon
said, holding up the lighter and firing off three short bursts of
flame. "So, like, if I see you first and I happen to not wish to talk to
you, I can fire off two bursts and block you in your tracks. ~ Amanda Howells

Waiting here for Everyman
Make it on your own if you think you can
If you see somewhere to go I understand
I'm not trying to tell you
That I've seen the plan
Turn and walk away if you think I am
But don't think too badly
Of one who's left holding sand
He's just another dreamer,
Dreaming 'bout Everyman. ~ Jackson Browne

Who are you? What do you want? Who are you? Her voice was light and fast and intense and her mouth trembled. She seemed to be on the narrow edge of emotional disaster, holding herself in check with the greatest effort. And about her was a rich and heavy scent of brandy, and an unsteadiness, the eyes too swift and not exactly in focus. ~ John D. MacDonald

The coat of arms of the human race ought to consist of a man with an axe on his shoulder proceeding toward a grindstone. Or, it ought to represent the several members of the human race holding out the hat to each other. For we are all beggars. Each in his own way. One beggar is too proud to beg for pennies but will beg a loan of dollars, knowing he can't repay; another will not beg a loan but will beg for a postmastership; another will not do that but will beg for an introduction to "society"; one, being rich, will not beg a hod of coal of the railway company but will beg a pass; his neighbor will not beg coal, nor pass, but in social converse with a lawyer will place before him a supposititious case in the hope of getting an opinion out of him for nothing; one who would disdain to beg for any of these things will beg frankly for the presidency. None of the lot is ashamed of himself, but he despises the rest of the mendicants. Each admires his own dignity, and carefully guards it, but in his opinion the others haven't any. ~ Mark Twain

Closing his eyes again, Beck repositions his head on the back of his seat, and in one sure movement, reaches over and grabs my hand. Even with his eyes closed, he knew where to find me. I want to cry for a thousand reasons, laugh for a thousand others; this is my anomalous balance, the place where Beck and I can let the ridiculousness of our collective sentences marinate, and other things, too. It's a singular moment of clarity between two people, and rare or not, I'm not about to let go.
I'm done roaming hillsides.
I've scoured the corners of the earth.
And I've found my people.
God, I'm almost jealous of myself.
Holding Beck's hand in my lap, I find a courage I never knew I had and drop my head on his shoulder. ~ David Arnold

He was completely detached from every thing except the story he was writing and he was living in it as he built it. The difficult parts he had dreaded he now faced one after another and as he did the people, the country, the days and the nights, and the weather were all there as he wrote. He went on working and he felt as tired as if he had spent the night crossing the broken volcanic desert and the sun had caught him and the others with the dry gray lakes still ahead. He could feel the weight of the heavy double-barreled rifle carried over his shoulder, his hand on the muzzle, and he tasted the pebble in his mouth. Across the shimmer of the dry lakes he could see the distant blue of the escarpment. Ahead of him there was no one, and behind was the long line of porters who knew that they had reached this point three hours too late.
It was not him, of course, who had stood there that morning, nor had he even worn the patched corduroy jacket faded almost white now, the armpits rotted through by sweat, that he took off then and handed to his Kamba servant and brother who shared with him the guilt and knowledge of the delay, watching him smell the sour, vinegary smell and shake his head in disgust and then grin as he swung the jacket over his black shoulder holding it by the sleeves as they started off across the dry-baked gray, the gun muzzles in their right hands, the barrels balanced on their shoulders, the heavy stocks pointing back toward the line of porters.
It wa ~ Ernest Hemingway

What the hell is going on?" I demand, craning my neck to look at Jeanine. "We agreed-cooperation in exchange for results! We agreed--"
"This is entirely separate from our agreement," says Jeanine, glancing at her watch. "This is not about you, Beatrice."
The door opens again.
Tobias walks in--limps in--flanked by Dauntless traitors. His face is bruised and there's a cut above his eyebrow. He does not move with his usual care; he's holding himself perfectly straight. He must be injured. I try not to think about how he got that way.
"What is this?" he says, his voice rough and creaky.
From screaming, probably.
My throat feels swollen.
"Tris," he says, and he lurches toward me, but the Dauntless traitors are too quick. They grab him before he can move more than a few steps. "Tris, are you okay?"
"Yeah," I say. "Are you?"
He nods. I don't believe him. ~ Veronica Roth

I wake sometimes in the dark terrified by my life's precariousness, its thready breath. Beside me, my husband's pulse beats at his throat; in their beds, my children's skin shows every faintest scratch. A breeze would blow them over, and the world is filled with more than breezes: diseases and disasters, monsters and pain in a thousand variations. I do not forget either my father and his kind hanging over us, bright and sharp as swords, aimed at our tearing flesh. If they do not fall on us in spite and malice, then they will fall by accident or whim. My breath fights in my throat. How can I live on beneath such a burden of doom? I rise then and go to my herbs. I create something, I transform something. My witchcraft is as strong as ever, stronger. This too is good fortune. How many have such power and leisure and defense as I do? Telemachus comes from our bed to find me. He sits with me in the greensmelling darkness, holding my hand. Our faces are both lined now, marked with our years. Circe, he says, it will be all right. It is not the saying of an oracle or a prophet. They are words you might speak to a child. I have heard him say them to our daughters, when he rocked them back to sleep from a nightmare, when he dressed their small cuts, soothed whatever stung. His skin is familiar as my own beneath my fingers. I listen to his breath, warm upon the night air, and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean it does not hurt. He does not mean we are not frightened. Only that: we ~ Madeline Miller

So here we are, in the family planning aisle with a cart full of sports drinks and our hands full of . . . "Trojans, Ramses, Magnum . . . Jeez, these are worse than names for muscle cars," Jase observes, sliding his finger along the display.
"They do sound sorta, well, forceful." I flip over the box I'm holding to read the instructions.
Jase glances up to smile at me. "Don't worry, Sam. It's just us."
"I don't get what half these descriptions mean . . . What's a vibrating ring?"
"Sounds like the part that breaks on the washing machine. What's extra-sensitive? That sounds like how we describe George."
I'm giggling. "Okay, would that be better or worse than 'ultimate feeling' - and look - there's 'shared pleasure' condoms and 'her pleasure' condoms. But there's no 'his pleasure.'"
"I'm pretty sure that comes with the territory," Jase says dryly. "Put down those Technicolor ones. No freaking way."
"But blue's my favorite color," I say, batting my eyelashes at him.
"Put them down. The glow-in-the-dark ones too. Jesus. Why do they even make those?"
"For the visually impaired?" I ask, reshelving the boxes.
We move to the checkout line. "Enjoy the rest of your evening," the clerk calls as we leave.
"Do you think he knew?" I ask.
"You're blushing again," Jase mutters absently. "Did who know what?"
"The sales guy. Why we were buying these?"
A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Of course not. I'm sure it never ~ Huntley Fitzpatrick

While this is all very amusing, the kiss that will free the girl is the kiss that she most desires," she said. "Only that and nothing more."

Jace's heart started to pound. He met the Queen's eyes with his own. "Why are you doing this?"

… "Desire is not always lessened by disgust…And as my words bind my magic, so you can know the truth. If she doesn't desire your kiss, she won't be free."

"You don't have to do this, Clary, it's a trick - " (Simon)

...Isabelle sounded exasperated. 'Who cares, anyway? It's just a kiss."

"That's right," Jace said. Clary looked up, then finally, and her wide green eyes rested on him. He moved toward her... and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him… He could feel the tension in his own body, the effort of holding back, of not pulling her against him and taking this one chance, however dangerous and stupid and unwise, and kissing her the way he had thought he would never, in his life, be able to kiss her again. "It's just a kiss," he said, and heard the roughness in his own voice, and wondered if she heard it, too.

Not that it mattered - there was no way to hide it. It was too much. He had never wanted like this before... She understood him, laughed when he laughed, saw through the defenses he put up to what was underneath. There was no Jace Wayland more real than the one he saw in her eyes when she looked at him… All he knew was that whatever he had to owe to Hell or ~ Cassandra Clare

I am really excited about Battle of the Stars, the line-up looks fantastic. I've no doubt that despite their fame my hand holding will still be in high demand as they take on the judges often harsh words. Lets just hope I'm not having to mop up too many tears! ~ Kate Thornton

Stop or I'll kill him!" Sophia shouted at the angels as she tore out a fistful of arrows and leaped on Cam. Straddling him, she raised the silver shafts above his head.
His dark hair was matted and greasy. His hands were pale and trembling. Miss Sophia studied these details with a smirk.
"I do so love to see an angel die." She cackled, holding the starshots high. "And such an arrogant one to kill." She looked back down at Cam. "His death will be a beautiful thing to behold."
"Go ahead." Cam's voice came for the first time, low and even. Luce nearly cried out when she heard him mutter: "I never asked for a happy ending."
Luce had watched Sophia kill Penn with her bare hands and no remorse. It would not happen again. "No!" Luce shouted, struggling to break free from Daniel's grip and dragging him with her into the chapel.
Slowly Miss Sophia craned her body around toward Luce and Daniel, clutching her fistful of starshots. Her eyes gleamed silver and her thin lips curled in a ghastly smile as Luce tugged Daniel forward, pulling against his relentless grip.
"We have to stop her, Daniel!"
"No, Luce, it's too dangerous."
"Oh, there you are, dear." Miss Sophia beamed. "And Daniel Grigori! How nice. I've been waiting for you." Then she winked and whipped the starshots over her head in a dense cluster aimed straight at Daniel and Luce. ~ Lauren Kate

I'm a good girl. I'm a nice girl. I'm a straight-A, strait-laced, good daughter, good career girl, and I never stole anybody's boyfriend and I never ran out on a girlfriend, and I put up with my parents' shit and brother's shit and I'm not a girl anyhow, I'm over forty fucking years old, and I'm good at my job and I'm great with kids and I held my mother's hand when she died,after four years of holding her hand while she was dying, and I speak to my father ever day on the telephone
every day, mind you, and what kind of weather do you have on your side of the river, because here it's pretty gray and a big muggy too? It was supposed to say "Great Artist" on my tombstone, but if I died right now it would say "Such a good teacher/daughter/friend" instead; and what I really want to shout, and want in big letters on that grave, too, is FUCK YOU ALL. ~ Claire Messud

A dog creates, transcribes, a new landscape for you. A dog like Colter sharpens your joy of all the seasons, and for a while, sometimes a long while, such a dog seems capable, by himself alone, of holding time in place--of pinning it, and holding it taught. And then when he is gone, it is as if the world is taken away.

Dogs like that are young for what seems like a very long time....

One you have lost a dog--especially the first you trained from a pup, the one you first set sail into the world with--you can never fully give of yourself to another dog. You can never again look at a dog you love without hedging a tiny bit, if only subconsciously, against the day when that dog, too, must leave. You can never again hunt or enter the future so recklessly, so joyously, with that weight of forethought....

As I sleep restlessly, night after night, or more often, as I lie there awake, I can see him running and I feel guilty that I am not there to honor the birds he is finding... One way or the other, he is still out there running. He will never rest.... I will always want him to know a moment's rest, and peace, and he will always know in his hot heart that the only peace to be gotten is by never resting, by always pushing on.

He is my Colter.... I am still his, and he is still mine. ~ Rick Bass

Does it mean I'm your wife?" He playfully teased holding up his long slender finger showcasing the band.
"Yep, but I'll be good to you." They kissed again.
"You're too good." Dai whispered. "But I'm not going to be the lady of the house."
Shi gasped in mock surprise. "You mean you're not going to cook for me and do the laundry?"
Dai laughed. "Depends."
"On?"
"How good you suck cock." Dai leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
"Really? I didn't realize I was marrying someone so demanding."-Dai and Shi ~ Rochelle H. Ragnarok

I can't pretend this isn't important. I can't act like it doesn't exist. It's ironic, but true. There are a lot of things I'm really good at keeping secret. But I've learned I'm not too good at that with you. I can't pull it off. I don't want to just hook up. I don't want a secret relationship."
"Well, that's a relief," I said, grabbing for both of his hands and holding on for dear life.
Doubt started giving way to recognition, but he needed to hear it. "Why's that?"
"Because I'm really sick of secrets. ~ Diana Peterfreund

Look, my son, she is so beautiful, she has fair skin and green eyes and brown hair.'

'She's English?' I asked cheekily, holding the cheap photo print with trepidation.

Which unfortunate victim had they found for me to marry in what backwater, unbeknownst that my heart was not for trading? Honour would quote Shakespeare to make a point; for me, it was always Rumi.

'La hawla wala kuwwat... May God protect us from such misfortune... you think I have lost my senses that I would marry you to a white girl?' My mum used the word gori as an insult and yet when she talked about Billo she said 'Look how gori she is.'

Oh, Mum, the irony.

'Well, you seem pretty obsessed with green eyes and skin colour,' I mumbled.

'She is gorgeous.' Mum went on ignoring me. 'Think how beautiful your children, my grandchildren, will be? They will have cats' eyes, just like Billo.'

Honour has fair skin and green eyes too, and just think how beautiful your grandchildren will be if they're mixed race, I thought.

I didn't say that to my mum, obviously. ~ Ruth Ahmed

As we were getting Mia's things ready for her discharge, her nurse started to excuse herself to get a wheelchair to transport Mia to the car. Instantly, Mia said, "I'm not riding in a wheelchair."
"Yes, you are, Mia. It's a hospital regulation," I said, believing that was true.
"Mom," she protested, "they said I'm supposed to walk as much as possible. I'm walking to the car."
I saw a certain look in Mia's eyes as she made this announcement, the look that says "I am going to push hard for this." I knew she was determined, and I would fight a losing battle to try to talk her out of it.
"I'm walking out of here," she said again.
I guess the medical staff noticed that look too because they allowed her to try to walk, with a nurse close beside her. Seeing that little girl limp her way down the hall, holding Reed's hand, was one of the proudest moments of my life. I was absolutely amazed by her spunk and determination. I grabbed my cell phone from my purse and snapped a picture.
She is such a fighter, I thought as Jase and I followed her. Visually, she looked roughed up, as though she had been through about fifteen rounds in a boxing match. But in that moment, she showed a level of toughness and resilience I have never seen in a child.
Remembering the information we were told on that first visit to ICI when Mia was seventeen days old, that she would need physical therapy to help her walk again after this surgery, I thanked God as I watched our da ~ Missy Robertson

The sound of a chainsaw going off inside the building had me meeting Amari's gaze, and he shot me a funny expression.

"You scared?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Why? If I say yes, will you hold my hand?"

Well, I hadn't been asking to flirt. I'd just been joking. But….

"No," I replied. "I'm going to be too busy holding Zac's hand. I don't want him having nightmares tonight."

He chuckled just as I felt a hand land on the back of my neck again, molding itself around it.

Tilting my head back, I found those familiar baby blues on me. I whispered, "But for real, I don't think I'll get scared, but if I do, I'm using you as a human shield. You've lived a much fuller life than I have. Technically, Amari's bigger but - "

My old friend scoffed. "We're the same size. You know people still call me 'Big Texas,' don't you?"

"Yeah, I know, but I started calling you that back when you were the biggest guy I knew. You're not even that big."

"Excuse me?"

It was too much fun to pick on him. "You're big, but you're not that big."

Zac's head reared back. "Aren't you five feet tall?"

"Five foot two."

Zac blinked.

I blinked.

He narrowed his eyes. "Swear to God, I'm tellin' Mama on you. ~ Mariana Zapata

Maintaining the status quo is the same as regressing; while you are holding your own, others are passing you by. Be harsh on yourself. Do not ever think that you have made it; do not ever be staisfied by what you have done. Drive yourself for the rest of your life. If you do not move, you become paralyzed. Develop your potential to the fullest, for you, too, can wake the sleeping genius at will. ~ Kim Woo-jung

She wanted desperately to put out her hand
and clutch his arm and explain why she was
sad, and not because of Tom, who had suddenly
become quite unimportant, but because
she loved him so much and he didn't care
two straws for her.
'I'm very happy,' she said a shade too
loudly. As the waiter went past she took
another glass of champagne.
'Happy? Oh yes, and I'm sure you will
be - -because you will make your own happiness.
You'll tend it with all the care of
someone holding a last candle in the dark.
You'll learn to make do with second best; a
great many men and women do, you know.
Just a few know what real happiness is -
to love someone so much that nothing else
matters any more, only the two of you and
the life you share.' Gideon smiled faintly.
'We could have been like that, you and I. You know that deep in your heart, don't you,
my darling? And do you know something
else? If it would make you happy, I would
give up all I have and live in a desert with
you, or on top of a mountain. I'd pluck the
moon from the sky and hang the stars round
your beautiful neck. The world could be paradise.'
He sighed. 'But most of us, as I said,
make do with second best.'
Amelia drank in every word, her insides
glowing with excitement. He loved her - he
must, to talk to her like that. She had only to
explain...

The next minute sh ~ Betty Neels

Hey, look - Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"
Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.
"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family. ~ J.K. Rowling

I glance over my shoulder, at the car following close behind us. It's impossible to see the driver. To tell if it's Cassian. After a moment, it pulls around and passes us. I sigh.
"Why do I get the feeling that I'm abducting you? Should I be on alert for sirens in the rearview mirror?"
"I left willingly." I force a grin and tease, "I don't think you'll get arrested."
"Great. You don't 'think.' That's encouraging." He gives me a wincing smile. "But maybe not. I am eighteen, after all - "
"You're eighteen? But you're a sophomore."
An uneasy look passes over his face. "I missed a lot of school a few years back. Half of seventh grade and all of eighth, in fact. I was sick."
"Sick?" I echo. That reminder of his mortality crashes down on me. It'll always be there, smoke rising between us. Xander had mentioned Will being ill, but I never imagined it as anything serious.
"How? I mean, what . . ."
He shrugs like it's nothing, but he won't glance at me. He stares at the road. "Leukemia. But I'm better now. Completely cured."
"Were you very . . . bad off?"
"For about a year. The prognosis wasn't - " He stops suddenly, like he's said too much, and I get that sense again. The feeling that he's not telling me something. That he's holding back. A muscle in his jaw ripples with tension. "Look, don't worry about it. Aren't I a perfect male specimen now?" He sends me a wink. "Don't I look healthy?"
I really didn't like when I found out tha ~ Sophie Jordan