Something Is Not Right With Me Quotes

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

I flip the lock back in place and turn, hitting a concrete wall of a man.

"What's he made of? Concrete and sex?" I whisper into the phone like the man in front of me can't hear me.

"Good, he's already there," I hear Elle say as my eyes travel up and up an endless span of chest. Up, up, up, until my eyes finally land on a hard face with a clenched jaw.

He's hot in that oh-my-God-he-could-crush-me way. Wait, is that hot?

"Listen here, Hulk. You can take your incredible body and vacate my home. I won't be needing your services."

"I'm standing in the middle of your apartment, and you didn't so much as scream. This is despite you knowing someone has been stalking you. I could have been that someone. Fuck. I could be that someone."

I snort and roll my eyes.

"Yeah right, Hulk-man." I pat him on the chest before resting my hand there. I start to rub. I only meant to do a quick pat, but now I can't seem to remove my hand. I like the feel of him. I don't think I've ever liked the feel of a man before. I don't think I've ever had the urge to touch one before.

"You think I couldn't hurt you?" He grabs my wrist, pulling it away from his chest. The action makes me frown. Oh, I know he could hurt me, but someone like him would never stalk me. That just didn't add up to me. If anything, I'd end up stalking him.

"Oh, I'm sure you could Hulk smash me." Now that I'm not touching him, I bring my o ~ Alexa Riley

That part of the press release about me asking your father's permission to marry you was true - well, partly true, anyway. I didn't ask permission - I knew you wouldn't like that, it's sexist. You're not your father's property. But I did see him before we left, to tell him I was going to propose to you this weekend, and ask for his blessing."
I was stunned. "Wait . . . is this what you meant when you said before we left that you'd talked to my parents?"
"Yes. I spoke to your mother, too, because she played an even bigger role in raising you. I thought it was the right thing to do. How do you think you got out of doing all those events - and birthday Cirque du Soleil with your grandmother - so easily? ~ Meg Cabot

I'm not so comfortable with politicians. Meeting them always just feels weird and a bit creepy, no matter who it is. For example, I met Tony Blair during The Osbournes period at this thing called the Pride of Britain Awards. He was all right, I suppose; very charming. But I couldn't get over the fact that our young soldiers were dying out in the Middle East and he could still find the time to hang around with pop stars.
Then he came over to me and said, 'I was in a rock'n'roll band once, y'know?'
I said, 'So I believe, Prime Minister.'
'But I could never work out the chords to "Iron Man".'
I wanted to say, 'F**k me, Tony, that's a staggering piece of information, that is. I mean, you're at war with Afghanistan, people are getting blown up all over the place, so who honestly gives a f**k that you could never work out the chords to "Iron Man"?'
But they're all the same, so there's no point getting wound up about it. ~ Ozzy Osbourne

I don't ever want to lose sight of how short my time is here. And I don't ever want to forget that resistance must be its own reward, since resistance, at least within the life span of the resistors, almost always fails. I don't ever want to forget, even with whatever personal victories I achieve, even in the victories we achieve as a people or a nation, that the larger story of America and the world probably does not end well. Our story is a tragedy. I know it sounds odd, but that belief does not depress me. It focuses me. After all, I am an atheist and thus do not believe anything, even a strongly held belief, is destiny. And if tragedy is to be proven wrong, if there really is hope out there, I think it can only be made manifest by remembering the cost of it being proven right. No one - not our fathers, not our police, and not our gods - is coming to save us. The worst really is possible. My aim is to never be caught, as the rappers say, acting like it can't happen. And my ambition is to write both in defiance of tragedy and in blindness of its possibility, to keep screaming into the waves - just as my ancestors did. ~ Ta-Nehisi Coates

My thoughts on the descent of our moral prejudices – for that is what this polemic is about – were first set out in a sketchy and provisional way in the collection of aphorisms entitled Human, All Too Human. A Book for Free Spirits, which I began to write in Sorrento during a winter that enabled me to pause, like a wanderer pauses, to take in the vast and dangerous land through which my mind had hitherto travelled. This was in the winter of 1876–7; the thoughts themselves go back further. They were mainly the same thoughts which I shall be taking up again in the present essays – let us hope that the long interval has done them good, that they have become riper, brighter, stronger and more perfect! The fact that I still stick to them today, and that they themselves in the meantime have stuck together increasingly firmly, even growing into one another and growing into one, makes me all the more blithely confident that from the first, they did not arise in me individually, randomly or sporadically but as stemming from a single root, from a fundamental will to knowledge deep inside me which took control, speaking more and more clearly and making ever clearer demands. And this is the only thing proper for a philosopher. We have no right to stand out individually: we must not either make mistakes or hit on the truth individually. Instead, our thoughts, values, every 'yes', 'no', 'if ' and 'but' grow from us with the same inevitability as fruits borne on the tree – all related and r ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

It's not that I'm complaining,' said Angua, 'but when we were assigned this job I thought it was me who was going to be the decoy and you who was going to be the back up, Nobby.'
'Yeah, but what with you bein' . . .' Nobby's expression creased as he edged his way into
unfamiliar linguistic territory, '... mor phor . . . log . . . is . . : ally gifted. . .'
'A werewolf, Nobby. I know the word.'
'Right . . . well, obviously, you'd be a lot better at lurkin', an' . . . an' obviously it's not right, women havin' to act as decoys in police work. . .'
Angua hesitated, as she so often did when attempting to talk to Nobby on difficult matters, and waved her hands in front of her as if trying to shape the invisible dough of her thoughts.
'It's just that . . . I mean, people might . . .' she began. 'I mean . . . well, you know what people call men who wear wigs and gowns, don't you?'
'Yes, miss.'
'You do?'
'Yes, miss. Lawyers, miss.'
'Good. Yes. Good,' said Angua slowly. 'Now try another one . . .'
'Er . . . actors, miss?'
Angua gave up. 'You look good in taffeta, Nobby,' she said.
'You don't think it makes me look too fat?'
Angua sniffed. 'Oh, no . . .' she said quietly. ~ Terry Pratchett

You asked me when is the right time to tell your lover that you love her and the answer is when you think you love her. That's also the right time to tell her what your love for her means to you. If you continue using avoidance as the main tactic in your romantic relationships with women, you're going to stunt not only your happiness, but your life. ~ Cheryl Strayed

Lucian attempted a wan smile, although he did not open his eyes. "You are the miracle my brother has named you in his thoughts."
"Has he named me a miracle?" Even her voice was soothing and tranquil to Gabriel's ears. He wanted to touch her, bask forever in her beauty, in her serenity. After the chaos of a bleak, gray world filled with violence, she was a miracle.
"Yes, and for once, he was right." There was an edge of weariness to the beautiful pitch of Lucian's voice and it alarmed Gabriel. He had never heard his invincible twin sound so utterly drained of strength.
"I am right at all times," Gabriel corrected, moving at once to his brother's side. "It is a peculiar phenomenon Lucian finds difficult to live with, but all the same . . ."
Lucian opened his eyes to regard his brother with an icy stare clearly meant to intimidate. "Francesca, my dear sister, you have tied yourself to one who has a much inflated opinion of himself. I do not remember a time when he was right about anything."
Gabriel moved to the couch, seating himself beside his brother. "Do not listen to him, my love, he practices his intimidating stare in the mirror on a daily basis. He thinks to silence me with his glare. ~ Christine Feehan

You telephoned me every evening. I was very grateful to you. Sometimes we would talk for five or ten minutes, and sometimes for three-quarters of an hour. I liked to be in bed before you rant at ten o'clock, and I always asked if everything was all right. Of course things were not, and never will be all right, but you were all right with me. That is what matters throughout the whole of the world. "You are all right with me." (22) ~ Sarah Ferguson

[THE DAILY BREATH]

The greatest mystery in this Universe: the relationship between us and God - is revealed on Earth in the simplest and most beautiful way: our relationship with our own children.

Do you know that "Even before He made the world, God loved you?"
You may say "That's nice" but not really grasp the deep meaning and full revelation of this truth. Think with me.

I don't have kids, but when I think of having my own children in the future, right now, years before they are conceived and born, I love them with my life and heart. Before I prepare their bedroom and their toys, I love them. In the same way God loves you. Before He made the world and anything else for you, He loved you.

Just as you love your children for life, God loves you for eternity. I love Him back. ~ Dragos Bratasanu

You know, I'm really trying to cut down on this stuff. But..." Peabody ripped into the pack of cookies. "Thing is, weird, McNab doesn't think I'm chubby. And when a guy sees you naked, he knows where the extra layers are."

"Peabody, do you have some delusion that I want to hear how McNab sees you naked?"

She crunched into a cookie. "I'm just saying. Anyway, you know we have sex, so you've probably reached the conclusion we're naked when we're having it. You being an ace detective and all."

"Peabody, in the chain of command, you may, on rare occasions and due to my astonishing good nature, respond to sarcasm with sarcasm. You are not permitted to lead with it. Give me a damn cookie."

"They're coconut crunchies. You hate coconut."

"Then why did you buy coconut?"

"To piss you off." Grinning now, Peabody pulled another pack of cookies from her bag. "Then I bought chocolate chip, just for you."

"Well, hand them over then."

"Okay, so ..." Peabody ripped open the second pack, offered Eve a cookie. "Anyway, McNab's got a little, bitty butt, and hardly any shoulders. Still -- "

"Stop. Stop right there. If I get an image of a naked McNab in my head, you're going back to traffic detail."

Peabody munched, hummed, waited.

"Damn it! There he is."

Hooting with laughter, Peabody polished off the last cookie. "Sorry. Dallas, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. Kinda c ~ J.D. Robb

It was my teacher's genius, her quick sympathy, her loving tact
which made the first years of my education so beautiful. It was
because she seized the right moment to impart knowledge that made
it so pleasant and acceptable to me. She realized that a child's
mind is like a shallow brook which ripples and dances merrily
over the stony course of its education and reflects here a
flower, there a bush, yonder a fleecy cloud; and she attempted to
guide my mind on its way, knowing that like a brook it should be
fed by mountain streams and hidden springs, until it broadened
out into a deep river, capable of reflecting in its placid
surface, billowy hills, the luminous shadows of trees and the
blue heavens, as well as the sweet face of a little flower.
Any teacher can take a child to the classroom, but not every
teacher can make him learn. He will not work joyously unless he
feels that liberty is his, whether he is busy or at rest; he must
feel the flush of victory and the heart-sinking of disappointment
before he takes with a will the tasks distasteful to him and
resolves to dance his way bravely through a dull routine of
textbooks.
My teacher is so near to me that I scarcely think of myself apart
from her. How much of my delight in all beautiful things is
innate, and how much is due to her influence, I can never tell. I
feel that her being is inseparab ~ Helen Keller

The chair and desk and stuff, they change in the darkness. Like people change. And I lay in my bed and I think, you know, this is the way the chair really is. The way it looks in the daytime, that's just a foolie. It looks that way to make me think it's all right. But it's an ugly thing, a chair at night is. And I know even in the day that it's ugly underneath. It will be ugly again, when I'm alone with it. When it's dark...I'm scared of chairs... I try not to be scared of things. I try to fight it. But I'm not good at it. It's everywhere at once. It's like fighting the night. ~ Torey L. Hayden

So,I'm curious." Alex dragged me from my pleasant contemplation of cowardice and back in the bathroom. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his feet almost touching mine. "What is it you like so much about this guy? I looked up his stuff. It's good, but nothing out of the ordinary."
What a difference a week and a shock to the ideals makes. I felt my defense of Edward sticking a little in my troat. "I like his portraits. He really saw people.It was his great strength, that intensity."
Alex tilted his chin toward the picture. "Not to seem crude, but she could be any girl with a nice ass." When I glared at him, he uncrossed his arms quickly and held up his hands in surrender. "Hey,all I mean is that if I were all about really seeing someone, that's not the angle I would choose."
He was probably right. No matter how I looked at it, he was probably right. "You're probably right," I told him.
He bowed. The small space suddenly got a lot smaller. "Stick with me, Grasshopper. I will never lead you wrong. ~ Melissa Jensen

How English you are, Basil! If one puts
forward an idea to a real Englishman, - always a rash
thing to do, - he never dreams of considering whether the
idea is right or wrong. The only thing he considers of any
importance is whether one believes it one's self. Now, the
value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the
sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the
probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it
will not be colored by either his wants, his desires, or his
prejudices. However, I don't propose to discuss politics,
sociology, or metaphysics with you. I like persons better
than principles. Tell me more about Dorian Gray. How
often do you see him? ~ Oscar Wilde

You seem disappointed that I am not more responsive to your interest in "spiritual direction". Actually, I am more than a little ambivalent about the term, particularly in the ways it is being used so loosely without any sense of knowledge of the church's traditions in these matters.

If by spiritual direction you mean entering into a friendship with another person in which an awareness and responsiveness to God's Spirit in the everydayness of your life is cultivated, fine. Then why call in an awkward term like "spiritual direction"? Why not just "friend"?

Spiritual direction strikes me as pretentious in these circumstances, as if there were some expertise that can be acquired more or less on its own and then dispensed on demand.

The other reason for my lack of enthusiasm is my well-founded fear of professionalism in any and all matters of the Christian life. Or maybe the right label for my fear is "functionalism". The moment an aspect of Christian living (human life, for that matter) is defined as a role, it is distorted, debased - and eventually destroyed. We are brothers and sisters with one another, friends and lovers, saints and sinners.

The irony here is that the rise of interest in spiritual direction almost certainly comes from the proliferation of role-defined activism in our culture. We are sick and tired of being slotted into a function and then manipulated with Scripture and prayer to do what someone has decided (often wi ~ Eugene H. Peterson

Reason, truth, innocence" --Royce sat back against the wall and folded his arms--"unicorns, pixies, and dragons; you're not that young to believe in such things. How is it that you fancy yourself a resident of a make-believe world."
"I told you. At this point, it's a choice."
"It's not. It's fooling yourself. I can decide between eating fish or pork, but I can only pretend to eat unicorn meat. I can't actually eat a unicorn. The world is the world, and you live in it with open eyes or choose to be blind. It's all the same to me, but don't stand there pretending your right. ~ Michael J. Sullivan

those glasses aren't for the sun they're for darkness, exclaims Rue. Sometimes when we harvest through the night, they'll pass out a few pairs to those of us highest in the trees. Where the torchlight doesn't reach. One time, this boy Martin, he tried to keep his pair. Hid it in his pants. They killed him on the spot. They killed a boy for taking these/ I say Yes. and everyone knew he was no danger. Martin wasn't right in the head. I mean he still acted like a three year old. He just wanted the glasses to play with, says Rue. Hearing this makes me feel like District 12 is some sort of safe haven. Of course, people keel over from starvation all the time, but I can't imagine the peacekeepers murdering a simpleminded child. There's a little girl, one of greasy sae's gradkids, who wanders around the Hob. She's not quite right but she's treated as a sort of pet. People toss her scraps and things. ~ Suzanne Collins

Consider how challenging it is to negotiate or compromise with a man who operates on the following tenets (whether or not he ever says them aloud):
1. "An argument should only last as long as my patience does. Once I've had enough, the discussion is over and it's time for you to shut up."
2. "If the issue we're struggling over is important to me, I should get what I want. If you don't back off, you're wronging me."
3. "I know what is best for you and for our relationship. If you continue disagreeing with me after I've made it clear which path is the right one, you're acting stupid."
4. "If my control and authority seem to be slipping, I have the right to take steps to reestablish the rule of my will, including abuse if necessary."
The last item on this list is the one that most distinguishes the abuser from other people: Perhaps any of us can slip into having feelings like the ones in numbers one through three, but the abuser gives himself permission to take action on the basis of his beliefs. With him, the foregoing statements aren't feelings; they are closely held convictions that he uses to guide his actions. That is why they lead to so much bullying behavior. ~ Lundy Bancroft

I've dreamed of you so much you're losing your reality.
Is there still time to reach that living body and kiss
onto that mouth the birth of the voice so dear to me?
I've dreamed of you so much that my arms, accustomed
to being crossed on my breast while hugging your shadow
would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
And, faced with the real appearance of what has haunted
and ruled me for days and years, I would probably
become a shadow.
o sentimental balances.
I've dreamed of you so much it's no longer right
for me to awaken. I sleep standing up, my body exposed
to all signs of life and love, and you
the only one who matters to me now, I'd be less able
to touch your face and your lips than the face and the lips
of the first woman who came along. I've dreamed of you so much, walked so much, spoken
and lain with your phantom that perhaps nothing more is left me
than to be a phantom among phantoms and a hundred times more shadow
than the shadow that walks and will joyfully walk
on the sundial of your life. ~ Robert Desnos

Did your brother make it?" Uriah says.
"Yeah." Finally I see Tobias, his hand gripping Caleb's arm, coming toward us.
"Not sure why an Erudite like you can't get it through his head," Tobias is saying, "but you aren't going to be able to outrun me."
"He's right," says Uriah. "Four's fast. Not as fast as me, but definitely faster than a Nose like you."
Christina laughs. "A what?"
"Nose." Uriah touches the side of his nose. "It's a play on words. 'Knows' with a 'K,' knowledge, Erudite…get it? It's like Stiff."
"The Dauntless have the weirdest slang. Pansycake, Nose…is there a term for the Candor?"
"Of course." Uriah grins. "Jerks."
Christina shoves Uriah, hard, making him drop the flashlight. Tobias, laughing, leads us to the rest of the group, standing a few feet away. ~ Veronica Roth

But Pastor Prince, doesn't such preaching just make believers feel that it is all right to go on sinning?"
Let me ask you a question: when a truly born-again believer knows that he is forgiven of all his sins, does he go, "Yippee! Now I can go sin all I want"?
I submit to you that no true believer of Jesus is looking for an excuse to sin. Many may be struggling with sin, but they are looking for a way out. They know that what they are doing is self-destructive and not glorifying to their Lord and Savior.
"Oh, Pastor Prince, I know of so-and-so, who says he is under grace, and now he has left his wife to be with his mistress."
Friend, let me be the first to tell you that this person isn't living under grace. The Word of God tells us in no uncertain terms that "sin shall not have dominion over you, for you are not under law but under grace" (Rom. 6:14).
This Scripture shows us that when a person is truly under grace, he is not ruled by sin, nor does he happily continue to live a sinful lifestyle. Notice that it also tells us that the way to be liberated from sin's dominion is to come under grace. ~ Joseph Prince

I can't pretend it isn't about my life, she said to me once, it is m life. It's a difficult thing to live in a country that has erased your past. She fell silent, and the sensation created by her words
I remember experiencing it as a subtle shift in the air pressure of the room
deepened in the silence, so that all we could hear was the going and coming outside my office door. She had closed her eyes for a moment, as though she had fallen asleep. But then she continued, her shut eyelids now trembling. There are almost no Native Americans in New York City, and very few in all of the Northeast. It isn't right that people are not terrified by this because this is a terrifying thing that happened to a vast population. And it's not in the past, it is still with us today:; at least, it's still with me. ~ Teju Cole

Mrs. Sol Schwimmer is suing me because I made her bridge as I felt it and not to fit her ridiculous mouth! That's right! I can't work to order like a common tradesman! I decided her bridge should be enormous and billowing, with wild, explosive teeth flaring up in every direction like fire! Now she is upset because it won't fit in her mouth! She is so bourgeois and stupid. I want to smash her! I tried forcing the false plate in but it sticks out like a star burst chandelier. Still, I find it beautiful. ~ Woody Allen

He was known by three names. The official records have the first one: Marcos Maria Ribeira. And his official data. Born 1929. Died 1970. Worked in the steel foundry. Perfect safety record. Never arrested. A wife, six children. A model citizen, because he never did anything bad enough to go on the public record.
The second name he had was Marcao. Big Marcos. Because he was a giant of a man. Reached his adult size early in his life. How old was he when he reached two meters? Eleven? Definitely by the time he was twelve. His size and strength made him valuable in the foundry,where the lots of steel are so small that much of the work is controlled by hand and strength matters. People's lives depended on Marcao's strength.
His third name was Cao. Dog. That was the name you used for him when you heard his wife, Novinha, had another black eye, walked with a limp, had stitches in her lip. He was an animal to do that to her.
Not that any of you liked Novinha. Not that cold woman who never gave any of you good morning. But she was smaller than he was, and she was the mother of his children, and when he beat her, he deserved the name of Cao.
Tell me, is this the man you knew? Spent more hours in the bars than anyone but never made any friends there, never the camaraderie of alcohol for him. You couldn't even tell how much he had been drinking. He was surly and short-tempered before he had a drink and he was surly and short-tempered right before he passed out-nob ~ Orson Scott Card

Frankly, I am quite tired of those who tout Christianity as a way to stop smoking or drinking or break wild habits of the world. Is that all Christianity is, to keep us from some bad habit? Of course, regeneration will clean us up, and the new birth will make a man right. If that is what Christianity is all about, what about the person whose life is not that bad? The purpose of God in redemption is to restore us again to the divine imperative of worship. We were created to worship, but sin destroyed that ability. Jesus Christ, on the cross, redeemed us and brought us back to the place where we now can worship and have fellowship with God Almighty. My clean life is a by-product of my conversion. My life may have pointed out to me that I needed a drastic change, but that is not the purpose for which I was converted. The essence of conversion is to bring me into a right relationship with God and have fellowship with Him. ~ A.W. Tozer

…95 percent of political commentary, whether spoken or written, is now polluted by the very politics it's supposed to be about. Meaning it's become totally ideological and reductive: The writer/speaker has certain political convictions or affiliations, and proceeds to filter all reality and spin all assertion according to those convictions and loyalties. Everybody's pissed off and exasperated and impervious to argument from any other side. Opposing viewpoints are not just incorrect but contemptible, corrupt, evil […] Political discourse is now a formulaic matter of preaching to one's own choir and demonizing the opposition. Everything's relentlessly black-and-whitened…. Since the truth is way, way more gray and complicated than any one ideology can capture, the whole thing seems to me not just stupid but stupefying… How can any of this possibly help me, the average citizen, deliberate about whom to choose to decide my country's macroeconomic policy, or how even to conceive for myself what that policy's outlines should be, or how to minimize the chances of North Korea nuking the DMZ and pulling us into a ghastly foreign war, or how to balance domestic security concerns with civil liberties? Questions like these are all massively complicated, and much of the complication is not sexy, and well over 90 percent of political commentary now simply abets the uncomplicatedly sexy delusion that one side is Right and Just and the other Wrong and Dangerous. Which is of course a pleasant ~ David Foster Wallace

One day a man came to watch him work on a painting he was doing of Jesus and his disciples. The man sat there all day, and Leonardo only made one stroke the whole time. 'You stood there all day and only made one stroke,' the man said. Leonardo just looked at him. 'Yeah, but it was the right stroke,' he said." Dan sat quietly for a second. I was not sure if he was angry or if he didn't see the relevance of the analogy. Then, all of a sudden, he burst out laughing. "That's pretty good, Nerburn," he said. He reached over and pushed me playfully. "What was that guy's name?" "Leonardo da Vinci." "I've got to remember that. Leonardo Duvishhi. You sure he wasn't an Indian?" "Might have been Wapashaw's long-lost uncle," I said. Dan laughed heartily. "This is a good day, Nerburn. I'm glad you came to visit me." The hawk cut great arcs against the towering sky. The eastern horizon was filling with pinks and lavenders. "So am I, Dan," I said. "It's been too long. ~ Kent Nerburn

To hell with you. You just don't want to admit it. Those people, they're animals. They want to see someone's brains on the road, that's why they turn out. They'd just as soon see yours."
"That isn't the point," McVries said calmly. "Didn't you say you went to see the Long Walk when you were younger?"
"Yes, when I didn't know any better!"
"Well, that makes it okay, doesn't it?" McVries uttered a short, ugly-sounding laugh. "Sure they're animals. You think you just found out a new principle? Sometimes I wonder just how naive you really are. The French lords and ladies used to screw after the guillotinings. The old Romans used to stuff each other during the gladiatorial matches. That's entertainment, Garraty. It's nothing new." He laughed againd. Garraty stared at him, fascinated.
[...]
"Death is great for the appetites," McVries said. [...] "But even that's not the real point of this little expedition, Garraty. The point is, they're the smart ones. They're not getting thrown to the lions. They're not staggering along and hoping they won't have to take a shit with two warnings against them. You're dumb, Garraty. You and me and Pearson and Barkovitch and Stebbins, we're all dumb. Scramm's dumb because he thinks he understands and he doesn't. Olson's dumb because he understood too much too late. They're animals, all right. But why are you so goddam sure that makes us human beings?"
He paused, badly out of breath.
[...]
"Then why are you doi ~ Richard Bachman

Her hands moved to his chest, stroking over his shoulders. "So I've made my big, dramatic scene. Isn't this the part where you kiss me, Lieutenant?"

"I can't kiss you right now."

"Why not?"

His chest rose and fell with a shudder underneath her hands. "I'm looking at you sitting there all puffy-eyed from crying over me. If I kiss you right now, I'll never stop."

Her heart pounded a wild beat. "Just one little kiss?"

Derek groaned. "God, this is how it's going to be with you, isn't it? When I can't make love to you properly, you'll beg me for it? I think you're trying to kill me. ~ Tessa Bailey

Rose stood in the last faint beams of sunset.
"Whoa!"
"Is he wearing a leather cat suit?"
"Holy Mother!"
"Dude!"
The guys all quickly averted their eyes and raised their hands to further block any chance of catching a view. Anything to not see Rose in his painted-on leather one-piece that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"Stunning, right?" Rose spread his palms as far as the cuffs would allow.
"Oh, I'm stunned." Ayden looked ill.
Rose looked down at himself with admiration. "Not many males can pull off this look."
"No male can pull off that look."
"Actually, his finely sculptured physique would be considered the perfect complement for this type of anatomically revealing attire which accentuates his - "
"Bloody hell, Jayden, shut it!"
"Dude, this is so not right."
"I feel like it's looking at me."
"Feel like what's looking at - ? Oh. Oh! Ugh, now I feel like it's looking at me too."
"How can it be looking at both of us?" "Are you serious?"
"I'm gonna be sick."
"Someone please gouge out my eyes. ~ A. Kirk

Unconditional Love - Love Without Condition


I love you as you are, as you seek to find your own special way to relate to the world.
I honour your choices to learn in the way you feel is right for you.


I know it is important that you are the person you want to be and not someone that I or others think you "should" be. I realise that I cannot know what is best for you, although perhaps sometimes I think I do.

I have not been where you have been, viewing life from the angle you have. I do not know what you have chosen to learn, how you have chosen to learn it, with whom or in what time period. I have not walked life looking through your eyes, so how can I know what you need.

I allow you to be in the world without a thought or word of judgement from me about the deeds you undertake. I see no error in the things you say and do. In this place where I am, I see that there are many ways to perceive and experience the different facets of our world. I allow without reservation the choices you make in each moment. I make no judgement of this, for if I would deny your right to your evolution, then I would deny that right for myself and all others.

To those who would choose a way I cannot walk, whilst I may not choose to add my power and my energy to this way, I will never deny you the gift of love that God has bestowed within me, for all creation. As I love you, so I shall be loved. As I sow, so shall I reap.
Sandy Stevenson

I know you're in there, Mercedes," Faye says. "I can see your dirty Converse shoes. You really should get a new pair."

"Did you see it?" I croak. "If you saw it, you probably saw a lot more of me. You probably shouldn't be seen talking to me. And I should probably switch schools."

"That's the thing," Faye says, stopping right outside the stall door and rapping on the metal with her fist.

"What's the thing?" I say, pushing my shoe against the toilet paper dispenser, making no move to let her in.

"I never was any good at doing what people tell me."

And like that, her head appears under the stall door, followed by her body. She pulls herself in and wipes her hands on her jeans.

I raise my eyebrows. "You know how disgusting that floor is?" I say. "Janitorial service at this school leaves a lot to be desired."

She cocks her head and puts her hands on her hips. She looks like what I imagine a stern parent would look like, not that I know from experience. I wonder if she got that posture from Lydia.

"First of all, you didn't let me in, so I had no choice. ~ Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

Jack: "We were in danger. We shall probably get pneumonia."
Mary: "Isch!"
"There! You're sneezing already."
"I am not sneezing. That was an exclamation of disgust."
"It sounded like a sneeze. It must have been, for you've every reason to sneeze; but why you should utter exclamations of disgust I cannot imagine."
"I'm disgusted with you - with your meanness. You deliberately tricked me into saying - - "
"Saying - - ?"
She was silent.
"What you said was that you loved me with all your heart and soul. You can't get away from that, and it's good enough for me."
"Well, it's not true any longer."
"Yes, it is," said Wilton, comfortably, "bless it."
"It is not. I'm going right away now, and I shall never speak to you again."
She moved away from him, and prepared to sit down.
"There's a jelly-fish just where you're going to sit," said Wilton.
"I don't care."
"It will. I speak from experience, as one on whom you have sat so often."
"I'm not amused."
"Have patience. I can be funnier than that." - Wilton's Holiday ~ P.G. Wodehouse

Most people think Marv is crazy, but I don't believe that.
I'm no shrink and I'm not saying I've got Marv all figured out or anything, but "crazy" just doesn't explain him. Not to me. Sometimes I think he's retarded, a big, brutal kid who never learned the ground rules about how people are supposed to act around each other. But that doesn't have the right ring to it either. No, it's more like there's nothing wrong with Marv, nothing at all
except that he had the rotten luck of being born at the wrong time in history. He'd have been okay if he'd been born a couple of thousand years ago. He'd be right at home on some ancient battlefield, swinging an ax into somebody's face. Or in a roman arena, taking a sword to other gladiators like him.
They'd have tossed him girls like Nancy, back then. ~ Frank Miller

I have of sorrow so great wound That joy get I never none, Now that I see my lady bright, That I have loved with all my might, Is from me dead, and is agone. Alas, Death, what aileth thee, That thou should'st not have taken me, When thou took my lady sweet, That was so fair, so fresh, so free, So good, that men may well say Of all goodness she had no meet! Right on this same, as I have said Was wholly all my love laid For certes she was, that sweet wife, My suffisaunce, my lust, my life, Mine hap, mine health and all my bless, My world's welfare and my goddess, And I wholly hers, and everydel. ~ Anya Seton

This is the definition of peace.
The definition is interrupted by Toraf's ringtone. Why did Rachel get Toraf a phone? Does she hate me? Fumbling behind him in the sand, Galen puts a hand on it right before it stops ringing. He waits five seconds and...Yep, he's calling again.
"Hello?" he whispers.
"Galen, it's Toraf."
Galen snorts. "You think?"
"Rayna's ready to leave. Where are you?"
Galen sighs. "We're on the beach. Emma's still sleeping. We'll walk back in a few minutes." Emma braved her mom's wrath by skipping curfew again last night to be with him. Grom's mating ceremony is tomorrow, and Galen and Rayna's attendance is required. He'll have to leave her in Toraf's care until he gets back.
"Sorry, Highness. I told you, Rayna's ready to go. You have about two minutes of privacy. She's heading your way. "The phone disconnects.
Galen leans down and sweeps his lips over her sweet neck. "Emma," he whispers.
She sighs. "I heard him," she groans drowsily. "You should tell Toraf that he doesn't have to yell into the phone. And if he keeps doing it, I'm going to accidentally break it."
Galen grins. "He'll get the hang of it soon. He's not a complete idiot."
At this, Emma opens one eye.
He shrugs. "Well, three quarters maybe. But not a complete one."
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" she says, sitting up and stretching.
"You know I do. But I think this mating ceremony will be interesting enough wi ~ Anna Banks

I glance back at Drew, who is still
eyeing his phone and being awfully quiet. "Seriously, Baylor, I'm about to
confiscate that thing."
He raises a brow at me, and gives me his old, innocent grin - which I am not
falling for. "You really are a mom, aren't you?"
"As I recall, you played the role of Mom. I was Dad."
"Doesn't that mean we're on a date now? And all I get is this lousy dinner?"
Drew leans his arms on the table. "Where are my flowers?"
"I'll make it up to you with sweet talk later. Now answer the question, Battle.
What the hell is up with the phone?"
As if I've activated it, the damn thing lights up, and Drew glances down. He
fights to hide his smile. "What can I say? I'm totally pussy whipped by my wife to
be. That's right, I'm replacing you with Anna. ~ Kristen Callihan

The Clock on the Morning Lenape Building

Must Clocks be circles?
Time is not a circle.
Suppose the Mother of All Minutes started
right here, on the sidewalk
in front of the Morning Lenape Building, and the parade
of minutes that followed--each of them, say, one inch long--
headed out that way, down Bridge Street.
Where would Now be? This minute?
Out past the moon?
Jupiter?
The nearest star?

Who came up with minutes, anyway?
Who needs them?
Name one good thing a minute's ever done.
They shorten fun and measure misery.
Get rid of them, I say.
Down with minutes!
And while you're at it--take hours
with you too. Don't get me started
on them.

Clocks--that's the problem.
Every clock is a nest of minutes and hours.
Clocks strap us into their shape.
Instead of heading for the nearest star, all we do
is corkscrew.
Clocks lock us into minutes, make Ferris wheel
riders of us all, lug us round and round
from number to number,
dice the time of our lives into tiny bits
until the bits are all we know
and the only question we care to ask is
"What time is it?"

As if minutes could tell.
As if Arnold could look up at this clock on
the Lenape Building and read:
15 Minutes till Found.
As if Charlie's time is not forever stuck
on Half Past Grace.
As if a swarm of stinging minutes wa ~ Jerry Spinelli

Then Toraf opens the passenger side door…Wait. That's not Toraf.
I've never seen this man before, yet he's eerily familiar. His silhouette sitting next to Galen was definitely classic Syrena male, but the glare from the sun had hidden his face. I'd naturally just assumed that where there's a Galen, there's a Toraf. Now that his face is in full view though, I see that this man looks like a slightly older version of Galen. Slightly older as in slightly more jaded. Other than that, he could be his twin brother. It may be because he's wearing some of Galen's clothes, a wrinkled brown polo shirt and plaid shorts. But he shares other things, too, besides clothes.
He's handsome like Galen, with the same strong jaw and the same eyebrow shape and the way he's wearing the same expression on his face that Galen is-that he's found what he's been looking for. Only, the stranger's expression clearly divulges that he's been looking for a lot longer than Galen has-and this man is not looking at me.
And that's when I know just exactly who he is. That's when I believe the look in Galen's eyes. That he didn't lie to me, that he loves me. Because this man has to be Grom.
Mom confirms it with a half cry, half growl. "No. No. It can't be." Even if she weren't handcuffed to Rachel right now, I'm not sure she'd actually be able to move. Disbelief has a special way of paralyzing you.
With every step the man takes toward Rachel's car, he shakes his head more vigorously. It's l ~ Anna Banks