She Knows Too Much Quotes

tourists. "She oughtn't really to go at all," said Mr. Beebe, as they watched her from the window, "and she knows it. I put it down to too much Beethoven. ~ Various

She's going to keep up her public facade of stoicism and generosity and getting on with thungs. She knows she can do it, she can do the stiff upper lip thing. I will survive. But behind closed doors the going is rough. It's when she is alone that it hits her. And she is often alone, too often, she things no one should have to be alone as much as she is. It should have been me: her mind is a morass of old songs now, Errol Brown started it. It should have been me. ~ Kate Pullinger

I don't know what to do with you," he said, his voice growing curt with anger again. "Deceitful little minx. I'm of half a mind to put you to work, milking the goats. But that's out of the question with these hands, now isn't it?" He curled and uncurled her fingers a few times, testing the bandage. "I'll tell Stubb to change this twice a day. Can't risk the wound going septic. And don't use your hands for a few days, at least."
"Don't use my hands? I suppose you're going to spoon-feed me, then? Dress me? Bathe me?"
He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. "Don't use your hands much." His eyes snapped open. "None of that sketching, for instance."
She jerked her hands out of his grip. "You could slice off my hands and toss them to the sharks, and I wouldn't stop sketching. I'd hold the pencil with my teeth if I had to. I'm an artist."
"Really. I thought you were a governess."
"Well, yes. I'm that, too."
He packed up the medical kit, jamming items back in the box with barely controlled fury. "Then start behaving like one. A governess knows her place. Speaks when spoken to. Stays out of the damn way."
Rising to his feet, he opened the drawer and threw the box back in. "From this point forward, you're not to touch a sail, a pin, a rope, or so much as a damned splinter on this vessel. You're not to speak to crewmen when they're on watch. You're forbidden to wander past the foremast, and you need to steer clear of the helm, as well."
"So that le ~ Tessa Dare

There are blondes and blondes and it is almost a joke word nowadays. All blondes have their points, except perhaps the metallic ones who are as blond as a Zulu under the bleach and as to disposition as soft as a sidewalk. There is the small cute blonde who cheeps and twitters, and the big statuesque blonde who straight-arms you with an ice-blue glare. There is the blonde who gives you the up-from-under look and smells lovely and shimmers and hangs on your arm and is always very tired when you take her home. She makes that helpless gesture and has that goddamned headache and you would like to slug her except that you are glad you found out about the headache before you invested too much time and money and hope in her. Because the headache will always be there, a weapon that never wears out and is as deadly as the bravo's rapier or Lucrezia's poison vial. There is the soft and willing and alcoholic blonde who doesn't care what she wears as long as it is mink or where she goes as long as it is the Starlight Roof and there is plenty of dry champagne. There is the small perky blonde who is a little pal and wants to pay her own way and is full of sunshine and common sense and knows judo from the ground up and can toss a truck driver over her shoulder without missing more than one sentence out of the editorial in the Saturday Review. There is the pale, pale blonde with anemia of some non-fatal but incurable type. She is very languid and very shadowy and she speaks softly out of nowh ~ Raymond Chandler

Pinter is leaving for the day?" Isaac commented. "That's a pity."
"Why?"
"Haven't you noticed how he looks at Celia sometimes? I think he might have set his sights on her."
"I thought so, too. Until just now."
"Just now?"
"He did not react exactly as I expected when I-" Oh, dear, perhaps she should not mention that. Isaac might not approve."
"Hetty?" Isaac prodded. "What mischief have you been up to now? You weren't warning him off, were you?"
The disapproval in his tone made her bristle. "And what if I was? The man is the love child of a light-heeled wench and God knows whom."
Isaac's jaw tautened. "I didn't know you were such a snob."
"I am not," she protested. "But given his circumstances, I want to be sure he is interested in Celia for something other than her fortune. I watched my daughter marry a man whom she thought loved her, only to discover that he was merely a more skillful fortune hunter than most. I do not want to make that mistake again."
He sighed. "All right. I suppose I understand your caution. But Pinter? I've never seen a less likely fortune hunter. He talks about people of rank with nothing but contempt."
"And does that not worry you? She is one of those people, after all."
"What it tells me is that he doesn't think much of marrying for rank or fortune."
She gripped his arm. "I suppose. And I must admit that when I hinted I could disinherit her if she married too low-"
"Hetty!"
"I w ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I would prefer," Pat said, his voice a little stiff, as if he expected resistance, "that I be the cosigner on the loan, if you go through with this. I know I'm not a famous billionaire, but I think my credit's just as good."
No, you're wrong about that," Tess said, shaking her head.
What?"
As far as I'm concerned, it's better. I'd much rather do business with you."
They shook on it. It was a deal, after all, not a time for hugging.
Favors, Arnie Vasso had once said. Your father knows all about favors. He had meant it as an insult, a sly reference to the corners the Monaghans and Weinsteins cut here and there. Now Tess saw it for the simple truth it was: Her father understood favors. How to do them, how to accept them, how to walk away when the price was too steep. It was a lesson she wouldn't mind learning someday.
Maybe this was the place to start. ~ Laura Lippman

Perhaps what matters," Sunstein muses, "is not whether people are right on the facts, but whether they are frightened." And people do seem to be frightened. We are locking our doors and pulling our children out of public school and buying guns and ritually sanitizing our hands to allay a wide range of fears, most of which are essentially fears of other people. All the while we are also, in our way, reckless. We get intoxicated, from the Latin "to poison," for fun. This contradiction leads Sunstein to worry that regulatory laws based on the priorities of the general public maybe prone to a pattern of "paranoia and neglect." Too much attention may be spent on minimal risks, while too little is paid to pressing threats. Paranoia, the theorist Eve Sedgwick observes, tends to be contagious. She calls it a "strong theory," meaning a wide-ranging, reductive theory that displaces other ways of thinking. And paranoia very frequently passes for intelligence. As Sedgwick observes, "to theorize out of anything but a paranoid critical stance has come to seem naïve, pious, or complaisant." She does not believe that paranoid thinking is necessarily delusional or wrong, but only that there is value to approaches that are less rooted in suspicion. "Paranoia," Sedgwick writes, "knows some things well and others poorly. ~ Eula Biss

Clarissa will be bereaved, deeply lonely, but she will not die. She will be too much in love with life, with London. Virginia imagines someone else, yes, someone strong of body but frail-minded; someone with a touch of genius, of poetry, ground under by the wheels of the world, by war and government, by doctors; a someone who is, technically speaking insane, because that person sees meaning everywhere, knows that trees are sentient beings and sparrows sing in Greek. Yes, someone like that. Clarissa, sane Clarissa -exultant, ordinary Clarissa - will go on, loving London, loving her life of ordinary pleasures, and someone else, a deranged poet, a visonary, will be the one to die. ~ Michael Cunningham

This, after all, is the literal level on which the incident took place. She asked him to hit her and when he said he didn't want to, she wanted to stop having sex. So why, despite its factual accuracy, does this feel like a dishonest way of narrating what happened? What is the missing element, the excluded part of the story that explains what upset them both? It has something to do with their history, he knows that. Ever since school he has understood his power over her. How she responds to his look or the touch of his hand. The way her face colours, and she goes still as if awaiting some spoken order. His effortless tyranny over someone who seems, to other people, so invulnerable. He has never been able to reconcile himself to the idea of losing this hold over her, like a key to an empty property, left available for future use. In fact he has cultivated it, and he knows he has.
What's left for them, then? There doesn't seem to be a halfway position anymore. Too much has passed between them for that. So it's over, and they're just nothing? What would it even mean, to be nothing to her? He could avoid her, but as soon as he saw her again, even if they only glanced at one another outside a lecture hall, the glance could not contain nothing. He could never really want it to. He has sincerely wanted to die, but he has never sincerely wanted Marianne to forget about him. That's the only part of himself he wants to protect, the part that exists inside her. ~ Sally Rooney

It won't work. You see, he is a liar and a thief. And he's been one for too long. He can't retire now. In addition to which. He has become, I'm afraid, a hack.'
'He may be all those things but she knows he's not.'
'What gives her that curious idea?'
'She's been with him constantly for the last few days. She's seen him shaking with terror, exhausted, ready to quit. She's watched him pull himself together again and she's also seen him be warm and tender. And funny. Not famous-international-wit funny but really funny.'
'Do you think she's an idiot? Do you think she doesn't know what kind of man he is? Or what he needs?'
'And what he needs is L-O-V-E? Uh-uh it's too late. He is 43 years old. Or will be this October. He's been married twice, both times disastrously and there have been too many years of... too much dough, too much bad writing and too much whiskey. He's got nothing left inside to give. Even if he could, which he can't.'
'But that's not true. You can, you have. I just know it.'
'No, you don't. It's lousy. In any case, the problem is you're not in love with the script. You're in love with me. And why shouldn't you be? When suddenly, waltzing into your life comes this charming and relatively handsome stranger. Me. Smooth as silk, with a highly practised line of chatter, specifically designed to knock relatively unsophisticated chicks like you Miss Simpson, right on their ears. Which I'm terribly afraid I've done. Well if it's the last ~ Julien Duvivier

Dear Gerald,

I know it's a little early for me to be saying this, but I think you're probably the best friend I've ever had.
This isn't saying much because I've never had a best friend.
Once I thought I had a best friend, but then she started to get interested in clothes and we ended up not being friends anymore.

I like you a lot because you give a shit, Gerald. You really give a shit.
I know we don't talk much about some stuff because of the rules, but I never felt like anyone could give a shit about Hannah McCarthy.
Everyone knows I'm the junkman's daughter and I decided awhile ago that I was okay with that because there's nothing I can do about that.
And today you turn 17 and I think it's about time that you know that you're the boy from TV and until you leave here, you will always be the boy from TV and I will always be the junkman's daughter.
And I feel a bond with you because of this.
Because neither of us is happy here and I want to find a way out.
Out of Blue Marsh. Of my life. Of my house, of my family. I want a way out. And it looks like you want that, too.
I know this girl from my old job and she wanted out of her family, too, and so she married a guy when she was 17.
Don't worry, I'm not about to propose to you. But I also think that maybe we could find a way out early.
I can't handle senior year. I can't handle another day as Cinderella. I can't handle one more day of living like the j ~ A.S. King

Destiny

The chicken I bought last night,
Frozen,
Returned to life,
Laid the biggest egg in the world,
And was awarded the Nobel Prize.

The phenomenal egg
Was passed from hand to hand,
In a few weeks had gone all round the earth,
And round the sun
In 365 days.

The hen received who knows how much hard currency,
Assessed in buckets of grain
Which she couldn't manage to eat

Because she was invited everywhere,
Gave lectures, granted interviews,
Was photographed.

Very often reporters insisted
That I too should pose
Beside her.
And so, having served art
Throughout my life,
All of a sudden I've attained to fame
As a poultry breeder. ~ Marin Sorescu

If a woman is flourishing in her home and glorifying God while rejoicing in her domestic duties, and doing them well, but still finding extra hours in her day, she is in a position to look for more to do. She has something to export. This might be volunteer work for the community or church, it may be part-time employment, or it might be learning new skills at home. The possibilities are endless when we really think about it. A new wife may be able to ease gradually into assuming more responsibilities outside the home as she becomes more and more proficient at the job God has given her, but it is unwise to do this too quickly. Sometimes a woman can kid herself into thinking she has extra time, when in fact she is actually just barely getting by with the minimum in her basic domestic duties. For example, if she simply rotates three dinners over and over because that's all she knows how to make, her problem is not that she has too much time on her hands. She needs help and input and encouragement, not outside activities to give her more to do. She has to determine to become skilled at the tasks God has assigned for her. ~ Nancy Wilson

Do you think she knows how much I love her?"
"You gave her flowers and said you were sorry."
"I did."
"You kissed her."
I could only nod.
"You painted her pictures and hugged her when she cried."
"Yeah," I whispered.
"You laughed with her too."
I nodded again.
"Those are all the ways to say I love you. ~ Amy Harmon

In that first deal, I said too much. This was not a shock to anyone who knows me. Once I identified this weakness, I sought help to correct it. I turned to Maureen Taylor, a communications coach, who gave me an assignment. She told me that for one week I couldn't give my opinion unless asked. It was one of the longest weeks of my life. If ~ Sheryl Sandberg

Such moments are too often lost, the private interludes between the tribal gatherings, the transit between destinations, when the city becomes an intimate landscape, a secret shared by two. This was once their neighborhood and she wants to reclaim it for a little while, to walk past the apartment where they spent so much of their lives, even if it makes her sad thinking of all that transpired there, and all that's lost. It makes her melancholy to imagine that she might never be here again, that these blocks, their former haunts, and their old building will outlast them; that the city is supremely indifferent to their transit through its arteries, and to their ultimate destination. For now, she wants just to be in between. She knows that later it won't be the party she will remember so much as this, the walk with her husband in the crisp autumn air, bathed in the yellow metropolitan light spilling from thousands of windows, this suspended moment of anticipation before arrival. ~ Jay McInerney

We went hand in hand across four lines of avenues. At the corner she was to go right, and I left.
"I'd like so much to come to your place today and let the blinds down. Today-right this minute" said O, and shyly looked up at me with her round crystal-blue eyes.
she's a funny one. But what could I say? She was with me only yesterday, and she knows as well as I do that our next Sex Day is the day after tomorrow. It's just more of her thought getting ahead of itself, like a spark that flies too early in the ignition, which can do some harm at times.
Saying goodbye, I kissed her twice-no, I'll tell the truth-three times on those wonderful blue eyes of hers that not the least little cloud ever troubled. ~ Yevgeny Zamyatin

How much can a man endure? How long could a man continue? These things I asked myself, for I am a questioning man, yet even as I asked the answers were there before me. If he be a man indeed, he must always go on, he must always endure. Death is an end to torture, to struggle, to suffering, but it is also an end to warmth, light, the beauty of a running horse, the smell of damp leaves, of gunpowder, the walk of a woman when she knows someone watches ... these things, too, are gone. ~ Louis L'Amour

In this sense the Dionysian man resembles Hamlet: both have once looked truly into the essence of things, they have gained knowledge, and nausea inhibits action; for their action could not change anything in the eternal nature of things; they feel it to be ridiculous or humiliating that they should be asked to set right a world that is out of joint. Knowledge kills action; action requires the veils of illusion: that is the doctrine of Hamlet, not that cheap wisdom of Jack the Dreamer who reflects too much and, as it were, from an excess of possibilities does not get around to action. Not reflection, no--true knowledge, an insight into the horrible truth, outweighs any motive for action, both in Hamlet and in the Dionysian man.

Now no comfort avails any more; longing transcends a world after death, even the gods; existence is negated along with its glittering reflection in the gods or in an immortal beyond. Conscious of the truth he has once seen, man now sees everywhere only the horror or absurdity of existence; now he understands what is symbolic in Ophelia's fate; now he understands the wisdom of the sylvan god, Silenus: he is nauseated.

Here, when the danger to his will is greatest, art approaches as a saving sorceress, expert at healing. She alone knows how to turn these nauseous thoughts about the horror or absurdity of existence into notions with which one can live: these are the sublime as the artistic taming of the horrible, and the comic as the ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

I doubt she likes the idea of seeing him put back in a cage." "Maybe not," he said. "But she knows that the Authority are the only people who might be able to help him." "Or kill him," I said. "That too. What is life without risk?" "Long?" Terric laughed, a sort of high whooping that made me - and Zayvion, much to my surprise - smile. Contagious. For all he had a serious exterior, Terric was the guy you'd want to sit next to at a funny movie, just to hear him laugh. ~ Devon Monk

I know you'll be a good Queen, a strong, noble leader, and that's more than these people deserve," she said. "But don't give too much. You need to keep some of yourself for you. And listen to your heart. ~ Amanda Hocking

Oberon could not speak for the burning anger on is tongue. Instead, he drew back his mighty fist and would have knocked his captain clean off the wall, down on the jagged rocks below...
Only suddenly, standing between him and his prey was the gloriously golden image of his wife smiling sweetly up at him.
"Really, darling, such a display. And so public too!" she said, laughing like the ringing of a bell chorus. "What will all the little ones think?'
"Out of my way, Titania!" Oberon bellowed. "Puck has told me of your part in all this nonsense, and I'll be dealing with you next!"
But Titania had seen too many of her husband's tempers over the long centuries of their marriage to mind him much now. "Don't be ridiculous," she said lightly, tapping him on the nose with one long, elegant finger. 'Do you really want to stand in the way of true love? When you start meddling with people's hearts, things never go well, as everyone knows. ~ Camryn Lockhart

A: Funny about my mother. All my life, from the time I was just a little kid, I thought of her as a sad person. I mean, the way some people are tall or fat or skinny. My father always seemed the stronger one. As if he was a bright color and she was a faded color. I know it sounds crazy.
T: Not at all.
A: But later, when I learned the truth about our lives, I found she was still sad. But strong, too. Not faded at all. It wasn't sadness so much as fear
the Never Knows. ~ Robert Cormier

Get the Girl," he demanded. "She knows too much!"
Dammit. Why did people keep presuming that, and if it was true, why the hell couldn't my GPA reflect the fact? ~ Shannon Delany

I remember my mother saying to me on one occasion, 'Mel, I know that I can count on you.' I resolved that she would always be able to count on me. I would not let her down. I loved her too much. Her confidence in me meant everything. Today I still feel that way. I feel that way about the Brethren. I don't ever want to let President Hinckley or any of the other leaders of the Church down. But, even more important, I never want to let the Savior down, because I love Him more than anything else. ~ F. Melvin Hammond

She knows he's not the same. He's different now. The eyes that once held too much contain nothing at all. He is colorless. Faded like sun-drenched wallpaper. The man that stands before her has no answers to her questions, and no ointment for her fears. ~ Alfa Holden

One advantage to being a despised species is that you have freedom, freedom to be any crazy thing you want. If you listen to a group of housewives talk, you'll hear a lot of nonsense, some of it really crazy. This comes, I think, from being alone so much, and pursuing your own odd train of thought without impediment, which some call discipline. The result is craziness, but also brilliance. Ordinary women come out with the damnedest truth. You ignore them at your own risk. And they are permitted to go on making wild statements without being put in one kind of jail or another (some of them, anyway) because everyone knows they're crazy and powerless too. If a woman is religious or earthy, passive or wildly assertive, loving or hating, she doesn't get much more flak than if she isn't: her choices lie between being castigated as a ball and chain or as a whore. ~ Marilyn French

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

Keep it on the down-low." "The what?" "It's a term I've learned from a human. It means keep it secret. It's no one's business and therefore they can't start any trouble if they disagree with the relationship. The male said he did that with an undesirable female." His face grew solemn. "He laughed when I commented that her looks should be irrelevant if she made him happy. I wasn't sure how to take that but I think he cares too much for appearances. The term is the same though. It means being with someone and no one knows." Justice stood. "I don't like that term. Anyone who would dismiss a person because of how they look isn't someone intelligent enough to learn from." "You going home?" Tiger glanced ~ Laurann Dohner

A friend asked one of my daughters, "Do you like politics?" And my daughter said, "No, I don't. And the reason I don't like it is because there's too much fighting, too much yelling. It's so loud, I don't like it." You know, I turned to my friend and I said, "You know, she's really on to something." ~ John Kasich

What's the matter, Rea?" he said, still sounding half asleep.
"What makes you think . . .?"
"You wouldn't have called this late unless you need to talk. Give me a minute to pull my jeans on and I'll go out in the hallway so I won't wake the other guys."
Reagen heard several men moan or swear in the background. When times were good, Noah had a room to himself, but when times were bad in the road game he'd sometimes bunk on the floor in someone else's room.
"I'm listening," he said after a minute.
She wanted to hear his voice more than talk, but that would sound strange, so she told him about her dream and how frightened she'd been.
"I wish I were there to hug you, Rea. We could cuddle up. You could tell me everything while I slept."
"I wish you were too." Neither one said anything for a few breaths, and then she whispered, "I miss you so much sometimes. They'd probably never be as close as they'd been in high school. He was a different man and she'd changed as well, but she still missed the Noah who was half kid, half man.
"What are you wearing?" he whispered, and for a moment she swore she could hear him smiling.
"Shut up."
He laughed. "Just asking. Who knows, one night I might get lucky and you'd be just out of th shower."
"You never give up trying to make me blush." Her bad mood had vanished.
"Come on, Rea, give me a break. I've been wondering what you like naked for years. If I ever get too old to wonder, I hope y ~ Jodi Thomas

I laughed. "You're too young to be so ... pessimistic," I said, using the English word.
"Pessi-what?"
"Pessimistic. It means looking only at the dark side of things."
"Pessimistic ... pessimistic ... " She repeated the English to herself over and over, and then she looked up at me with a fierce glare. "I'm only sixteen," she said, "and I don't know much about the world, but I do know one thing for sure. If I'm pessimistic, then the adults in this world who are not pessimistic are a bunch of idiots. ~ Haruki Murakami

If I should have a daughter…"Instead of "Mom", she's gonna call me "Point B." Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I'm going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say "Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."

She's gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn't coming, I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried.

And "Baby," I'll tell her "don't keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him."

But I know that she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, 'cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix ~ Sarah Kay

She gave a little sob deep in her throat.

'Call it a prophecy, call it a prediction, call it fate - call it what you will. I fought against it hard enough, God knows. But the evidence of my own eyes, my own ears, my own senses, is too much for me. And the time's too short now. I'm afraid to take a chance. I haven't got the nerve to bluff it out, to sit pat. You don't gamble with a human life. Today's the 13th, isn't it? It's too close to the 14th; there isn't time-margin enough left now to be skeptical, to keep it to myself any longer. Day by day I've watched him cross off the date on his desk-calendar, drawing nearer to death. There are only two leaves left now, and I want help! Because on the 14th - at the exact stroke of midnight, as the 15th is beginning -'

She covered her face with both arms and shook silently.

'Yes?' urged McManus. 'Yes?'

'He's become convinced - oh, and almost I have too - that at exactly midnight on the 14th he's to die. Not just die but meet his death in full vigor and health, a death rushing down to him from the stars he was born under - rushing down even before he existed at all. A death inexorable, inescapable. A death horrid and violent, inconceivable here in this part of the world where we live.'

She took a deep, shuddering breath, whispered the rest of it. 'Death at the jaws of a lion.' ("Speak To Me Of Death") ~ Cornell Woolrich

Above all, he encourages her to paint, nodding with approval at even her most unusual experiments with color, light, rough brushwork [...]. She explains to him that she believes painting should reflect nature and life [...]. He nods, although he adds cautiously that he wouldn't want her to know too much about life - nature is a fine subject, but life is grimmer than she can understand. He thinks it is good for her to have something satisfying to do at home; he loves art himself; he sees her gift and wants her to be happy. He knows the charming Morisots. He has met the Manets, and always remarks that they are a good family, despite Édouard's reputation and his immoral experiments (he paints loose women), which make him perhaps too modern - a shame, given his obvious talent.

In fact, Yves takes her to many galleries. They attend the Salon every year, with nearly a million other people, and listen to the gossip about favorite canvases and those critics disdain. Occasionally they stroll in the museums in the Louvre, where she sees art students copying paintings and sculpture, even an unchaperoned woman here and there (surely Americans). She can't quite bring herself to admire nudes in his presence, certainly not the heroic males; she knows she will never paint from a nude model herself. Her own formal training was in the private studios of an academican, copying from plaster casts with her mother present, before she married. ~ Elizabeth Kostova

Okay, calm down, we'll pay,"said Vee, reaching into her back pocket. She stuffed a wad of cash into the bowl, but it was dark and I couldn´t tell how much. "You owe me big-time," she told me.

"You're supposed to let me count the money first," Marcie said, digging through the bowl, trying to recapture Vee´s donation.

"I just assumed twenty was too high for you to count," Vee said. "My apologies." Marcie's eyes went slitty again, then she turned on her heel and carted the bowl back into the house.

"How much did you give her?" I asked Vee.

"I didn't. I tossed in a condom."

I lifted my eyebrows."Since when do you carry condoms?"

"I picked one up off the lawn on our way up the walk. Who knows, maybe Marcie'll use it. Then I'll have done my part to keep her genetic material out of the gene pool. ~ Becca Fitzpatrick

She shifted gears as they left Worth Avenue, hurtling them along the beach at just sublight speed. "Jesus, Addison, you are so blind," she finally exploded. "She comes in playing the damsel in distress, and you buy all of it."
"She did n - "
"'Oh, Richard, I need your help,'" she mimicked, doing a startlingly good impression of Patricia's soft, cultured Brit - especially since the two women had barely spoken a total of five words to one another. "'I've left Peter, and I so badly want to make a new start, but I just don't know how to do it on my own. You're so big and strong and successful, can't you see it in your heart to help me?'" Samantha canted her eyes at him. "Did it go a little like that?"
Christ. "Maybe," he hedged. "But - "
"See? She wants you back."
"Well, she can't have me. I'm taken. But she asked for my help, and I'm partially the reason she's in this position."
"No, she put herself on her back and then you put her in the next position."
"Even so - "
"You can't resist putting on your shining armor, can you?" she said more calmly, blowing out her breath. "And if I know it, then she knows it, too."

"Honestly, Samantha, I think it's more a matter of Patricia actually being helpless than her acting that way to gain my assistance. I doubt she could find a grocery store on her own, much less the toothpaste aisle."
"But she's not after toothpaste."

As they stopped at a light, Richard leaned over and gra ~ Suzanne Enoch

When a mother, as fond mothers will; vows that she knows every thought in her daughter's heart, I think she pretends to know a great deal too much. ~ William Makepeace Thackeray

Don't fall in love with a woman who reads, a woman who feels too much, a woman who writes...
Don't fall in love with an educated, magical, delusional, crazy woman. Don't fall in love with a woman who thinks, who knows what she knows and also knows how to fly; a woman sure of herself.
Don't fall in love with a woman who laughs or cries making love, knows how to turn her spirit into flesh; let alone one that loves poetry (these are the most dangerous), or spends half an hour contemplating a painting and isn't able to live without music.
Don't fall in love with a woman who is interested in politics and is rebellious and feel a huge horror from injustice. One who does not like to watch television at all. Or a woman who is beautiful no matter the features of her face or her body.
Don't fall in love with a woman who is intense, entertaining, lucid and irreverent. Don't wish to fall in love with a woman like that. Because when you fall in love with a woman like that, whether she stays with you or not, whether she loves you or not, from a woman like that, you never come back. ~ Martha Rivera-Garrido

You can go up to the editor of 'Vogue,' and she might think I have horrible style, or maybe she thinks I have great style. Who knows? I don't really know too much about it: I just know what I like and what I don't like. I love clothes and making my own clothes and shoes, like I got to do with Adidas. ~ Big Sean

Okay, superstar. Here's three words for you. You ready?"
I adopt a serious face, though my heart is hammering. "I'm ready."
Looking into my eyes, she says calmly, "Let's get married."
I almost topple over onto the floor. "What?"
"You don't have to shout at me. You did ask for three words, after all."
I'm so astonished I almost can't from a sentence. "B-but I thought… I meant… I love you!"
She smiles serenely at me. "I know you do, Mason. I love you, too. So much."
"No - I meant I thought you were going to say I love you!"
"I know you did, honey, but I figured unless I popped the question first, you'd carry that big pink diamond around for who knows how long before you got around to asking me, so…" She shrugs. "Here we are."
My jaw hangs open. "You know about the ring?"
Waldine throws herself onto one of the sofas, props her feet up on the arm, folds her arms behind her head, and grins at me.
"Son, half of Atlanta knows about the ring. You think you could sneak into a jewelry shop and plunk down millions on a piece of ice in that town and nobody would hear about it? Psh. ~ J.T. Geissinger

It was important to him that i know who she was, so im glad for that. but it makes me sad too. they loved each other so much, and now she's gone. it doesn't seem fair. ~ Nicholas Sparks

Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights: the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like Braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes, never unfold too much, or tell the whole story. I didn't know that Louise would have reading hands. She has translated me into her own book. ~ Jeanette Winterson

No, it is not because woman is lacking in responsibility, but because she has too much of the latter that she demands to know how to prevent conception. ~ Emma Goldman