Quotes About Time Never Come Again
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One minute you're closer to someone than anyone in the whole world, next minute they need only to say the words 'time apart', 'serious talk' or 'maybe you ... ' and you're never going to see them again and will have to spend the next six months having imaginary conversations in which they beg to come back, and bursting into tears at the sight of their toothbrush. ~ Helen Fielding
Poor little wife," he murmured, cupping his hands over her bottom and urging her hard against his body. "I haven't done well by you, if you've been left so unsatisfied you had to come looking for me." He nibbled at the tender spot just beneath her ear. "I'll just have to work harder to keep up with your appetite."
"Derek," she protested, her hands working aimlessly over his shoulders as he kissed her again. Her heart began to race, and she couldn't suppress a little moan of pleasure. "I-I was just concerned that you wouldn't have enough sleep for the night."
He strung a necklace of kisses around her throat. "You were right about that. I won't. And neither will you."
"I'll never take you away from a game again," she said, feeling the need to apologize. "I didn't mean to disrupt your evening-"
"I'm glad you did," Derek murmured. He grinned as he stared into her soft blue eyes. "Any time you want me, Mrs. Craven... I'm at your service. ~ Lisa Kleypas
The ending is coming. I can feel it. I don't know if I can take it this time. But then again, I say that every time and yet, every time I take it. And, I come back to her again for more. I will take whatever time I can get with her. I will do that for a lifetime. I will. I know that much about myself. She is my water. I can never get enough of her, and it appears that I will die trying to love her, to keep her, to hold her with me, even though our time together seems to evaporate so swiftly. It slips through our fingers so damn fast that we don't even have time to savor it when we're together. ~ Katherine Owen
[...]"Come on. Let's run away."
"Where to?"
Rincewind sighed. He'd tried to make his basic philosophy clear time and again, and
people never got the message.
"Don't you worry about to," he said. "In my experience that always takes care of itself.
The important word is away. ~ Terry Pratchett
Finally, he backs off and looks at me, smiling. "First time you've been kissed by a man, Puss? A real man?"
I come back to my senses and says, breathlessly, "Put out the fire, Jared."
"If you mean the fire down below, Jacky, that will never go out ... ," he says, coming for me again.
"The fire on the desk, you fool! ~ L.A. Meyer
The young man looked at her a moment. 'You are very much changed,' he said.
'I am glad to hear it,' Gertrude declared.
'I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you were.'
'I am much obliged to you,' said Gertrude. 'I must be going home.'
He, on his side, gave a little laugh. 'You certainly do avoid me - you see!'
'Avoid me, then.' said the girl.
He looked at her again; and then, very gently, 'No, I will not avoid you,' he replied; 'but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. I think you will remember - after a while - some of the things you have forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in that.'
This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong reproachful force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned away and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but when she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into tears. Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and for some moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently passed away. There was something a little hard in Gertrude; and she never wept again. ~ Henry James
It's hard to remember that this day will never come again. That the time is now and the place is here and that there are no second chances at a single moment. ~ Jeanette Winterson
Maris smiled as he saw that day so clearly in his mind. He'd been pinned to the school wall by a bully who'd been pounding on him. Out of nowhere, this tiny little red-haired boy had come charging in like a hurricane. Barely five years old, Darling had been short for his age. But what he lacked in height, he made up for in ferocity. In no time at all, he'd beat the bully back and had him on the ground, crying for his mother. After making him swear he'd never even look at Maris again, Darling had stood up and come over to him. Forever proud and fierce, Darling had wiped the blood from his lips, then offered Maris his other hand. "Hi, I'm Darling Cruel. We should be friends." Maris had fallen in love instantly. And he'd been in love with Darling every day since. "You ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon
The situation on Earth today is too dire for us to act from habit - to reenact again and again the same kinds of solutions that brought us to our present extremity. Where does the wisdom to act in entirely new ways come from? It comes from nowhere, from the void; it comes from inaction. When we see it, we realize it was right in front of us all along. It is never far away; yet at the same time it is in a different universe - a different Story of the World. ~ Charles Eisenstein
The small Japanese immortal sat cross-legged, his two swords resting flat on the ground before him. He folded his hands in his lap, closed his eyes and breathing through his nose, forcing the chill night air deep into his chest. He held it for a count of five, then shaped his lips into an O and blew it out again, puncturing a tiny hole in the swirling fog before his face.
Even though he would never admit it to anyone, Niten loved this moment. He had no affection for what was to come, but this brief time, when all preparations for battle were made and there was nothing left to do but wait, when the world felt still, as if it was holding its breath, was special. This moment, when he was facing death, was when he felt completely, fully alive.
He'd still been called Miyamoto Musashi and had been a teenager when he'd first discovered the genuine beauty of the quiet moment before a fight. Every breath suddenly tasted like the finest food, every sound was distinct and divine, and even on the foulest battlefields, his eyes would be drawn to something simple and elegant: a flower, the shape of a branch, the curl of a cloud.
A hundred years ago, Aoife had given him a book as a birthday present. He hadn't had the heart to tell her that she'd missed his birthday by a month, but he had treasured the book, the first edition of The Professor by Charlotte Bronte. It included a line he had never forgotten: In the midst of life we are in death. Years later, he'd heard Ghandi tak ~ Michael Scott
I saw her, once.
"She passed through our village, through fields littered with dead soldiers after her forces overwhelmed the nation of Dumor. Her other Elites followed and then rows of white-robed Inquisitors, wielding the white-and-silver banners of the White Wolf. Where they went, the sky dimmed and the ground cracked - the clouds gathered behind the army as if a creature alive, black and churning in fury. As if the goddess of Death herself had come.
"She paused to look down at one of our dying soldiers. He trembled on the ground, but his eyes stayed on her. He spat something at her. She only stared back at him. I don't know what he saw in her expression, but his muscles tightened, his legs pushing against the dirt as he tried in vain to get away from her. Then the man started to scream. It is a sound I shall never forget as long as I live. She nodded to her Rainmaker, and he descended from his horse to plunge a sword through the dying soldier. Her face did not change at all. She simply rode on.
"I never saw her again. But even now, as an old man, I remember her as clearly as if she were standing before me. She was ice personified. There was once a time when darkness shrouded the world, and the darkness had a queen."
- A witness's account of Queen Adelina's siege on the nation of Dumor
The Village of Pon-de-Terre
28 Marzien, 1402 ~ Marie Lu
Then I saw the keyboard of an organ which filled one whole side of the walls. On the desk was a music-book covered with red notes. I asked leave to look at it and read, 'Don Juan Triumphant.' 'Yes,' he said, 'I compose sometimes.' I began that work twenty years ago. When I have finished, I shall take it away with me in that coffin and never wake up again.' 'You must work at it as seldom as you can,' I said. He replied, 'I sometimes work at it for fourteen days and nights together, during which I live on music only, and then I rest for years at a time.' 'Will you play me something out of your Don Juan Triumphant?' I asked, thinking to please him. 'You must never ask me that,' he said, in a gloomy voice. 'I will play you Mozart, if you like, which will only make you weep; but my Don Juan, Christine, burns; and yet he is not struck by fire from Heaven.' Thereupon we returned to the drawing-room. I noticed that there was no mirror in the whole apartment. I was going to remark upon this, but Erik had already sat down to the piano. He said, 'You see, Christine, there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all those who approach it. Fortunately, you have not come to that music yet, for you would lose all your pretty coloring and nobody would know you when you returned to Paris. Let us sing something from the Opera, Christine Daae.' He spoke these last words as though he were flinging an insult at me."
"What did you do?"
"I had no time to think about ~ Gaston Leroux
The days I'd passed with my mom before she died were still there, it seemed, seared into the corners of my heart.
The atmosphere of the station brought it all back. I could see myself running to the hospital, glad to be seeing my mother again. You never know you're happy until later. Because physical sensations like smells and exhaustion don't figure into our memories, I guess. Only the good bits bob up into view.
I was always startled by the snatches of memory that I saw as happy, how they came.
This time, it was the feeling I got when I stepped out onto the platform. The sense of what it had been like to be on my way to see my mom, for her still to be alive, if only for the time being, if only for that day. The happiness of that knowledge had come back to life inside me.
And the loneliness of that moment. The helplessness. ~ Banana Yoshimoto
Our job is to record, each in his own way, this world of light and shadow and time that will never come again exactly as it is today. ~ Edward Abbey
The tattoos around his eyes burned as he scanned the surrounding area. No one but him probably noticed, but the plumes of darkness branching in every direction were writhing and groaning, desperate to avoid the light of the moon and street lamps.
Come to me, he beseeched them.
They didn't hesitate. As if they'd merely been waiting for the invitation, they danced toward him, flattening against his car, shielding it - and thereby him - from prying eyes.
"Freaks me out every damn time you do that," Rowan said as he crawled into the front passenger seat. For the first time, Sean's friend had accompanied him to "keep you from doing something you'll regret." Not that Gabby had known. Rowan had lain in the backseat the entire drive. "I can't see a damn thing."
"I can." Sean's gaze could cut through shadows as easily as a knife through butter.
Gabby was in the process of settling behind the wheel of her car. Though more than two weeks had passed since their kiss, they hadn't touched again. Not even a brush of fingers.
He was becoming desperate for more.
That kiss . . . it was the hottest of his life. He'd forgotten where he was, what - and who - was around him. He'd never, never, risked discovery like that. But that night, having Gabby so close, those lush lips of hers parted and ready, those brown eyes watching him as if he were something delicious, he'd been unable to stop himself. He'd beckoned the shadows around them, meshed their lips together, ~ Gena Showalter
When I close my eyes to see, to hear, to smell, to touch a country I have known, I feel my body shake and fill with joy as if a beloved person had come near me.
A rabbi was once asked the following question: 'When you say that the Jews should return to Palestine, you mean, surely, the heavenly, the immaterial, the spiritual Palestine, our true homeland?' The rabbi jabbed his staff into the ground in wrath and shouted, 'No! I want the Palestine down here, the one you can touch with your hands, with its stones, its thorns and its mud!'
Neither am I nourished by fleshless, abstract memories. If I expected my mind to distill from a turbid host of bodily joys and bitternesses an immaterial, crystal-clear thought, I would die of hunger. When I close my eyes in order to enjoy a country again, my five senses, the five mouth-filled tentacles of my body, pounce upon it and bring it to me. Colors, fruits, women. The smells of orchards, of filthy narrow alleys, of armpits. Endless snows with blue, glittering reflections. Scorching, wavy deserts of sand shimmering under the hot sun. Tears, cries, songs, distant bells of mules, camels or troikas. The acrid, nauseating stench of some Mongolian cities will never leave my nostrils. And I will eternally hold in my hands – eternally, that is, until my hands rot – the melons of Bukhara, the watermelons of the Volga, the cool, dainty hand of a Japanese girl…
For a time, in my early youth, I struggled to nourish my ~ Nikos Kazantzakis
well it's going to be very long and boring i guess so , i am sorry in advance. Now i won't waste anymore time ...so here i go .....
ummm so you saw him/her for the first time and felt something different was that feeling is called love ? was that love at first sight? If you think so you are absolutely whom it was just some sort of attraction the first step towards love /? naah ...it was first step towards infatuation . confused? Let me explain it is the same feeling as love people get so mad that they start saying that they can't live without the person they love , they just give remote of their life to them so that they can do whatever they want to do with you , and if you like that person just because of their looks then its not love. when they talk to someone else or ignore you you get hurt and then depressed and start ruining your life. but you need to know forever is a wrong concept , people change and you need to understand depression won't help you . You need to forget that person and move on , but you say its impossible but do you why you feel like this because you dont ant to forget that person you still hope that they will come back , you need to end that hope for your own good it was their fault not yours, you just think you will never fall in love again with someone else again but this is wrong you can fall in love as many time you want to . don't fall in infatuation fall in love this world is a selfish place no one is going to die for you so why should you ? ~ Rohit Kumar Singh
O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
This England never did, nor never shall,
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue
If England to itself do rest but true. ~ William Shakespeare
We walk for about an hour before Raffe whispers, "Does moping actually help humans feel better?"
"I'm not moping," I whisper back.
"Of course you're not. A girl like you, spending time with a warrior demigod like me. What's to mope about? Leaving a wheelchair behind couldn't possibly show up on the radar compared to that."
I nearly stumble over a fallen branch. "You have got to be kidding me."
"I never kid about my warrior demigod status."
"Oh. My. God." I lower my voice, having forgotten to whisper. "You are nothing but a bird with an attitude. Okay, so you have a few muscles, I'll grant you that. But you know, a bird is nothing but a barely evolved lizard. That's what you are."
He chuckles. "Evolution." He leans over as if telling me a secret. "I'll have you know that I've been this perfect since the beginning of time." He is so close that his breath caresses my ear.
"Oh, please. Your giant head is getting too big for this forest. Pretty soon, you're going to get stuck trying to walk between two trees. And then, I'll have to rescue you." I give him a weary look. "Again."
I pick up my pace, trying to discourage the smart comeback that I'm sure will come.
But it doesn't. Could he be letting me have the last say?
When I look back, Raffe has a smug grin on his face. That's when I realize I've been manipulated into feeling better. I stubbornly try to resist but it's already too late. ~ Susan Ee
I think there might even come a time when I would read Virgil again. Ovid's Metamorphoses, perhaps, not because the music goes round and round and never comes out, but because it's an extraordinary picture of ceaseless change that never comes to an end. ~ William Golding
What is a Gallagher Girl?" Liz asked.
She looked nervously down at the papers in her hand even though I knew for a fact she had memorized every word.
"When I was eleven I thought I knew the answer to that question. That was when the recruiters came to see me. They showed me brochures and told me they were impressed by my test scores and asked if I was ready to be challenged. And I said yes. Because that was what a Gallagher Girl was to me then, a student at the toughest school in the world."
She took a deep breath and talked on.
"What is a Gallagher Girl?" Liz asked again. "When I was thirteen I thought I knew the answer to that question. That was when Dr. Fibs allowed me to start doing my own experiments in the lab. I could go anywhere - make anything. Do anything my mind could dream up. Because I was a Gallagher Girl. And, to me, that meant I was the future."
Liz took another deep breath.
"What is a Gallagher Girl?" This time, when Liz asked it, her voice cracked. "When I was seventeen I stood on a dark street in Washington, D.C., and watched one Gallagher Girl literally jump in front of a bullet to save the life of another. I saw a group of women gather around a girl whom they had never met, telling the world that if any harm was to come to their sister, it had to go through them first."
Liz straightened. She no longer had to look down at her paper as she said, "What is a Gallagher Girl? I'm eight ~ Ally Carter
He was at that time a very young man, just engaged in the study of the law; and Elizabeth found him extremely agreeable, and every plan in his favour was confirmed. He was invited to Kellynch Hall; he was talked of and expected all the rest of the year; but he never came. The following spring he was seen again in town, found equally agreeable, again encouraged, invited, and expected, and again he did not come; and the next tidings were that he was married. Instead of pushing his fortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot, he had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman of inferior birth. ~ Jane Austen
I have always been fascinated by youth.
This fire that makes us feel glorious, insolent, immortal.
I will have to come to terms with it - everything has been reduced to ashes.
(I tried in vain not to burn myself in the way.)
I believe that the deep tenderness I feel for man comes from the fact that he is so full of certainty – yet, he doubts all the time. It is a funny paradox. He is constantly misled.
He gives great importance to things that do not have any, and misses those which have.
I would like to be like a flower. Going through life, just like this, regardless of whether I will be born again or if anyone will remember my beauty.
Just passing by like this, to make the world a little more beautiful, or a little more breathable, for a little while.
I would like to be a flower of those in the bouquets for the hospitals. Of those who are plucked to die near those who are going to die.
Or those who are just born.
So that we can watch life together for a moment, as long as it is there.
To die because I am beautiful and I represent life.
To die because the love of the flower never offers itself as a trophy, for the love of the flower is always humble.
And I love to love with humility.
We should always love with humility. ~ Emmanuelle Soni-Dessaigne
Fathers are unwitting objects of fascination for their daughters, and the interlude of their childhood leaves a bittersweet taste: never again, for anyone else, will we be domestic demi-gods, greeted like long-awaited saviours when we come home for dinner at the end of the working day. The years go by and their joy becomes less and less palpable, until one day they fail to greet us at all. This time is past and the countdown reaches zero. We had known it would happen, we just hadn't expected it to happen so quickly ~ Antoine Laurain
When we have tragedy in life, we get stuck, like getting stuck in the mud. When we are in the mud it feels as if we can never out. But these come to us as great life lessons: it is up to us to pull ourselves out of the mud. Not just once, but time and time again. This is your moment to pull yourself out. To show life that you are bigger than your fears. ~ Morgan Rice
Depression lies," said Jenny Lawson . "Because every single time, it says, 'You'll never come out of this again. You are absolutely worthless, your family is better off without you.' And then I remind myself depression lies. Those things are lies. ~ John Moe
And when the hour of his departure drew near--
"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:
"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
....
And he went back to meet the fox.
"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become r ~ Antoine De Saint Exupery
I bid you to aid one another. Let the wealthy have charity for the poor. Let the strong have mercy on the weak. And I promise, if we are victorious, such a time shall never come again. ~ Jacqueline Carey
When writers who are just starting out ask me when it gets easier, my answer is never. It never gets easier. I don't want to scare them, so I rarely say more than that, but the truth is that, if anything, it gets harder. The writing life isn't just filled with predictable uncertainties but with the awareness that we are always starting over again. That everything we ever write will be flawed. We may have written one book, or many, but all we know - if we know anything at all - is how to write the book we're writing. All novels are failures. Perfection itself would be a failure. All we can hope is that we will fail better. That we won't succumb to fear of the unknown. That we will not fall prey to the easy enchantments of repeating what may have worked in the past. I try to remember that the job - as well as the plight, and the unexpected joy - of the artist is to embrace uncertainty, to be sharpened and honed by it. To be birthed by it. Each time we come to the end of a piece of work, we have failed as we have leapt - spectacularly, brazenly - into the unknown. ~ Dani Shapiro
Listen. I don't know how to do this right, but I really, really love you," he said, and cleared his throat. He licked his lips and started talking fast. "I think you're the sweetest, most beautiful girl in the world, and I've been living for our telephone conversations. It's the only thing that gets me through these days, knowing that I get to talk to you every night. Keeping the secret about this job was the hardest thing for me to do, but I wanted to tell you in person. And ever since I knew I was going to come here and ask you this, I couldn't eat or drink anything. And I know I'm different from you, and I'm probably never going to be cool, but I love yourpaintings, I love that you do art, I get it, and I won't ever tell you that you should do paintings that match somebody's couch. I will keep you in paint and canvases for the rest of your life, and if you really want to teach elementary school, then I think you'll be the best teacher there ever was. And I love that you dress so cute, and I love the way you smell and the way you sing in the shower. I used to camp out on the floor outside the door when you were showering just so I could hear you, and the first time we made love was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was so afraid you were going to say it couldn't happen again. I just want to spend all my time looking at you and telling you things, and even though I'm just some nerd who thinks about strikes and contracts all the time, I want you to know that I'm ~ Maddie Dawson
Oh, yes. I suppose not many remember now, but Maximus was so shattered by the deaths of his parents that he went mute for a full fortnight. Why, some of the quacks that came to look at him said his brain was addled by the tragedy. That he'd never speak again. Rubbish, of course. It simply took him time to come to rights again. He was quite sane. Just a sensitive boy. A boy who, when he came to himself again, was no longer a boy but the Duke of Wakefield, Artemis thought. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt
Are you all right?"
"Never again," he muttered, almost to himself. His eyes were still closed, and I wasn't sure he knew I was there. "I will not watch that happen again. I won't ... lose another ...
like that. I can't ... "
"Ash?" I whispered, touching his arm.
His eyes opened and his gaze dropped to mine. "Meghan," he murmured, seeming a bit confused that I was still there. He blinked and shook his head. "Why didn't you run? I tried to buy you some time. You should've gone ahead."
"Are you crazy? I couldn't leave you to that thing. Now, come on." I took his hand, tugging him off the post while glancing nervously at the frozen dragon. "Let's get out of here. I think that thing just blinked at us."
His fingers tightened on mine and pulled me forward. Startled and overbalanced, I looked up at him, and then he was kissing me. ~ Julie Kagawa
This is our time: our time to dream, our time to love, our time to live. Look around and see the beauty of today. This time will never come again, let's enjoy it. ~ Avina Celeste
Everybody says: the Kremlin, the Kremlin. They all go on about it, but I've never seen it. The number of times (thousands) I've been drunk or hung over, traipsing round Moscow, north-south, east-west, end to end, straight through or any old way - and I've never once seen the Kremlin.
For instance, yesterday - yesterday I didn't see it again, though I was buzzing round that area the whole evening and it's not as if I was particularly drunk. I mean, as soon as I came out onto Savyelov Station, I had a glass of Zubrovka for starters, since I know from experience that as an early-morning tipple, nobody's so far dreamed up anything better.
Anyway, a glass of Zubrovka. Then after that - on Kalyaev Street - another glass, only not Zubrovka this time, but coriander vodka. A friend of mine used to say coriander had a dehumanizing effect on a person, i.e, it refreshes your parts but it weakens your spirit. For some reason or other it had the opposite effect on me, i.e., my spirit was refreshed, while my parts all went to hell. But I do agree it's dehumanizing, so that's why I topped it up with two glasses of Zhiguli beer, plus some egg-nog straight from the bottle, in the middle of Kalyaev Street.
Of course, you're saying: come on, Venya, get on with it - what did you have next? And I couldn't say for sure. I remember - I remember quite distinctly in fact - I had two glasses of Hunter's vodka, on Chekhov Street. But I couldn't have made it across th ~ Venedikt Erofeev
Back in my room, I woke to a strange scratching coming from the air-conditioning vent. It began with hesitance, a creature feeling its way around a new environment. After a few minutes, the scratching gained a rhythm - shka shka shkashka shka shka - the rhythm of work that some small rodent figured would bring it to freedom. Consistency. Work without interruption, work with intensity. Surely, working at a steady pace, without breaks, the creature could reach its goal. I listened to my companion, refusing to take away its dignity by opening the vent. It took twenty minutes for the rhythm to reach its climax - shkakakakashkakakakashkakakaka, now with true desperation, as the rodent beat at the world to convince it of its worth, not a plea but a demand: Hear me! Let me out! I am here! I decided it was time for relief for the both of us, and when I stood up I saw a small brown nose peeking through the bars, two black eyes fixed on mine. I unscrewed the cover with a coin. When I opened it, a small tail was peeking from a dark corner deep in the shaft. It was hiding from me. It would not be rescued. I tried to reach the tail without any luck. I sat on my bed with the vent uncovered for an hour, waiting for my new fried to come out. It didn't. I put the cover back on, and while I was fastening the last screw, the nose appeared again, followed by the laborious scratching. Work will save me. Diligent, patient, never-ending. It must.
I put a coat on and walked outside. ~ Jaroslav Kalfar
I never expected to record again. I knew I had done everything I ever wanted to do. I was satisfied. But ... all the time I'm watching the country music horizon. And I'm sayin' 'Lord, is there anybody gonna come?' ~ Buck Owens
Everything that astonished me when I was young astonishes me even more today. The time will never come for me when there are no more discoveries to make. Every morning the world is as new again and I will not cease to flower except through death. ~ Colette
It's like chopping down a huge tree of immense girth. You won't accomplish it with one swing of your axe. If you keep chopping away at it, though, and do not let up, eventually, whether it wants to or not, it will suddenly topple down. When that time comes, you could round up everyone you could find and pay them to hold the tree up, but they wouldn't be able to do it. It would still come crashing to the ground ... . But if the woodcutter stopped after one or two strokes of his axe to ask the third son of Mr. Chang, "Why doesn't this tree fall?" And after three or four more strokes stopped again to ask the fourth son of Mr. Li, "Why doesn't this tree fall?" he would never succeed in felling the tree. It is no different for someone who is practicing the Way. - ZEN MASTER HAKUIN ~ Robert Greene
I'm surprised to see you here."
"You shouldn't be," Neal said. He lifted his chin and looked directly in her eyes. For the second time in five minutes. For the second time ever. "I'm here because I knew you'd be here. Because I hoped you would be."
Georgie felt like a snake was unwinding itself in the back of her neck and along her shoulders. She swayed a little, and her mouth clicked open. "Oh."
Neal looked away, and Georgie took in three gallons of air.
He was shaking his head. "I'm... sorry," he said. "I wanted to see you. But then I got angry. I didn't know what to – you've been ignoring me."
"I haven't been ignoring you," she said.
"You stopped coming back to talk to me."
"I thought I was bothering you."
"You weren't bothering me," he said, facing her again. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you never come talk to me."
"I never had to come talk to you." Neal looked bewildered. "You always came to me."
"I..." Georgie finished her drink so she could put down the cup.
Neal took it from her. He set the cup and his bottle on a desk behind him.
"I thought I was bothering you," she said. "I thought you were just humoring me."
"I thought you got tired of me," he said.
She brought her hands up to her forehead. "Maybe we should stop thinking. ~ Rainbow Rowell
At high school I was never comfortable for a minute. I did not know about Lonnie. Before an exam, she got icy hands and palpitations, but I was close to despair at all times. When I was asked a question in class, any simple little question at all, my voice was apt to come out squeaky, or else hoarse and trembling. When I had to go to the blackboard I was sure - even at a time of the month when this could not be true - that I had blood on my skirt. My hands became slippery with sweat when they were required to work the blackboard compass. I could not hit the ball in volleyball; being called upon to perform an action in front of others made all my reflexes come undone. I hated Business Practice because you had to rule pages for an account book, using a straight pen, and when the teacher looked over my shoulder all the delicate lines wobbled and ran together. I hated Science; we perched on stools under harsh lights behind tables of unfamiliar, fragile equipment, and were taught by the principal of the school, a man with a cold, self-relishing voice - he read the Scriptures every morning - and a great talent for inflicting humiliation. I hated English because the boys played bingo at the back of the room while the teacher, a stout, gentle girl, slightly cross-eyed, read Wordsworth at the front. She threatened them, she begged them, her face red and her voice as unreliable as mine. They offered burlesqued apologies and when she started to read again they took up rapt postures, mad ~ Alice Munro
The problem isn't that you broke my heart
my problem is that you didn't break my heart at a single instant so that I could heal from that moment on.
You broke my heart at several instances
every time I think of you
every time I hear our song on the radio
every time I hear your name randomly called by a stranger
every time I see a stranger carrying your shoulders
or flipping your hair
every time I see a memory of you through the corners of my eyes
you break me at several points in time
setting me back every time I thought I've healed from you
your memories break me everyday
can you please come back?
break me all at once
and never leave again? ~ Pyrokardia
Never boyfriends? You've NEVER been in LOVE?"
As I shake my head no, I look out the window, yearning to see Cole's sun-filled eyes again looking into mine.
"Don't worry," Tiger said. "Love isn't easy- and it happens on its own time. Just hang in there. He'll come around. ~ Giorge Leedy
It is memory that is the somnambulist. It will come back in its wounds from across the world, like Phil, calling us by our names and demanding its rightful tears. It will never be impervious. The memory can be hurt, time and again -- but in that may lie its final mercy. As long as it's vulnerable to the living moment, it lives for us, and while it lives, and while we are able, we can give it up its due. ~ Eudora Welty
Once this had been the life I'd wanted. Even chosen. Now, though, I couldn't believe that there had been a time when this kind of monotony and silence, this most narrow of existences, had been preferable. Then again, once, I'd never known anything else...
My mother had to know I was unhappy. But it didn't matter: all she cared about was that I was her Macy again, the one she'd come to depend on, always within earshot or reach. I came to work early, sat up straight at my desk and endured the monotony of answering phones and greeting potential homebuyers with a smile on my face. After dinner, I spent my hour and a half of free time alone, doing accepted activities. When I came home afterwards, my mother w ould be waiting for me, stickingher head out of her office to verify that, yes. I was just where I was supposed to be. And I was. I was also miserable.
~Macy, pg 306 ~ Sarah Dessen
Those who sought her never found her, yet she was known to come to the aid of those in greatest need. And, then again, sometimes she didn't. She was like that. She didn't like the clicking of rosaries, but was attracted to the sound of dice. No man knew what She looked like, although there were many times when a man who was gambling his life on the turn of the cards would pick up the hand he had been dealt and stare Her full in the face. Of course, sometimes he didn't. Among all the gods she was at one and the same time the most courted and the most cursed. ~ Terry Pratchett
Daniel." Luce gripped his shoulder. "What about the library you took me to? Remember?" She closed her eyes. She wasn't thinking so much as feeling her way through a memory buried shallowly in her brain. "We came to Vienna for the weekend…I don't remember when, but we went to see Mozart conduct The Magic Flute…at the Theater an der Wien? You wanted to see this friend of yours who worked at some old library, his name was-"
She broke off, because when she opened her eyes, the others were staring at her, incredulous. No one, least of all Luce, had expected her to be the one to know where they would find the desideratum.
Daniel recovered first. He flashed her a funny smile Luce knew was full of pride. But Arriane, Roland, and Annabelle continued to gape at her as if they'd suddenly learned she spoke Chinese. Which, come to think of it, she did.
Arriane wiggled a finger around inside her ear. "Do I need to ease up on the psychedelics, did LP just recall one of her past lives unprompted at the most crucial juncture ever?"
"You're a genius," Daniel said, leaning forward and kissing her deeply.
Luce blushed and leaned in to extend the kiss a little longer, but then heard a cough.
"Seriously, you two," Annabelle said. "There will be time enough for snogs if we pull this off."
"I'd say 'get a room' but I'm afraid we'd never see you again," Arriane added, which caused them all to laugh.
When Luce opened her eyes, Daniel had spread his wings wide. T ~ Lauren Kate
You cannot achieve success without the risk of failure. And I learned a long time ago, you cannot achieve success, if you fear failure. If you're not afraid to fail, man, you have a chance to succeed. But you're never gonna get there unless you risk it, all the way. I'll risk failure. Sometimes, half the fun is failing. Learning from your mistakes, waking up the next morning, and saying 'Okay. Watch out. Here I come again. A little bit smarter, licking my wounds, and really not looking forward to getting my ass kicked the way I just did yesterday.' So now, I'm just a little more dangerous. ~ Paul Heyman
My Darling,
It is late at night and though the words are coming hard to me, I can't escape the feeling that it's time that I finally answer your question.
Of course I forgive you. I forgive you now, and I forgave you the moment I read your letter. In my heart, I had no other choice. Leaving you once was hard enough; to have done it a second time would have been impossible. I loved you too much to have let you go again. Though I'm still grieving over what might have been, I find myself thankful that you came into my life for even a short period of time. In the beginning, I'd assumed that we were somehow brought together to help you through your time of grief. Yet now, one year later, I've come to believe that it was the other way around.
Ironically, I am in the same position you were, the first time we met. As I write, I am struggling with the ghost of someone I loved and lost. I now understand more fully the difficulties you were going through, and I realize how painful it must have been for you to move on. Sometimes my grief is overwhelming, and even though I understand that we will never see each other again, there is a part of me that wants to hold on to you forever. It would be easy for me to do that because loving someone else might diminish my memories of you. Yet, this is the paradox: Even though I miss you greatly, it's because of you that I don't dread the future. Because you were able to fall in love with me, you have given me hop ~ Nicholas Sparks
An attachment grew up. What is an attachment? It is the most difficult of all the human interrelationships to explain, because it is the vaguest, the most impalpable. It has all the good points of love, and none of its drawbacks. No jealousy, no quarrels, no greed to possess, no fear of losing possession, no hatred (which is very much a part of love), no surge of passion and no hangover afterward. It never reaches the heights, and it never reaches the depths.
As a rule it comes on subtly. As theirs did. As a rule the two involved are not even aware of it at first. As they were not. As a rule it only becomes noticeable when it is interrupted in some way, or broken off by circumstances. As theirs was. In other words, its presence only becomes known in its absence. It is only missed after it stops. While it is still going on, little thought is given to it, because little thought needs to be.
It is pleasant to meet, it is pleasant to be together. To put your shopping packages down on a little wire-backed chair at a little table at a sidewalk cafe, and sit down and have a vermouth with someone who has been waiting there for you. And will be waiting there again tomorrow afternoon. Same time, same table, same sidewalk cafe. Or to watch Italian youth going through the gyrations of the latest dance craze in some inexpensive indigenous night-place-while you, who come from the country where the dance originated, only get up to do a sedate fox trot. It is even pleas ~ Cornell Woolrich
Several years later, I received a letter from a young Englishman. He said that his father had died in the race, he knew not how or why. He had come across "Fastnet, Force 10" in a library and now he understood. Now, he wrote, it was time for him to sail his own Fastnet and finish the race that his father had completed. I sympathized; I was on a journey of my own as a student in divinity school. Yet I worried that he might be a little reckless out there, and suggested that there are other ways to honor the dead. I never again heard from him, but I do believe that - as in the Cornish tale about the water calling, "The hour is come, but not the man" - he joined the line of landsmen inevitably rushing down the hills to the sea. ~ John Rousmaniere
I wish I knew your body was this warm before. I would have cuddled up with you every night." She stiffened suddenly, as if realizing what she'd just said. "Um, that didn't quite come out the way I intended it. I just meant..."
"Forget about it," he said softly. "I know what you meant. It's completely understandable that you'd want to cuddle up with me. I'm pretty irresistible."
Danica laughed, relaxing against him again. "Yeah, right. You're just a big, strong guy with a soft, gooey center."
His mouth twitched. "Exactly."
"Then tell me something. If you're so soft and gooey, why is there something hard poking me in the butt?"
It would have been Clayne's turn to stiffen, but he wasn't sure he could get any harder without exploding. But hell, it'd been a long time since he'd been this close to a woman this beautiful and sexy. Check that. He'd never been this close to a woman this beautiful and sexy--ever.
"Um...sorry."
He was so embarrassed he could barely get the word out. He would have backed away some, but Danica still had a firm grip on his arm and didn't seem inclined to let him go.
"Forget about it." She tilted her head to look at him, her dark eyes hidden beneath her lashes. "It's completely understandable that cuddling up with me would do that to you. I'm pretty irresistible. ~ Paige Tyler
Until I realized: this long expanse of free time to rekindle friendships is not real. We will never come home to each other again and we will never again have each other's undivided attention. That version of our friendship is over forever. And when I remember this, and it usually happens in those awful, quiet evening hours on Sunday nights, after dinner but before bed, I just lie on my sofa and cry for half an hour. ~ Mindy Kaling
After Father had served the chicken and mashed potatoes and peas and Mother had passed the hot rolls, Beezus decidedthe time had come to tell Aunt Beatrice about being Sacajawea. "Do you know what I did last week?" she began. "I want some jelly," said Ramona "You mean, 'Please pass the jelly,' "corrected Mother while Beezus waited patiently. 'No, what did you do last week?" asked Aunt Beatrice. "Well, last week I-" Beezus began again. " like purple jelly better then red jelly," said Ramona. ' Ramona , stop interrupting your sister," said Father. "Well, Ido like purple jelly better then red jelly," insisted Ramona."Never mind," said Mother. "Go no, Beezus." Last week-" said Beezus, looking at her aunt, who smiled as if she understood."Excuse me, Beezus," Mother cut in. "Ramona, we do not put jelly on our mashed potatoes." "I like jelly on my mashed potatoes."Ramona stirred potato and jelly aroud with her fork. "Ramona you heard what your mother said." Father looked stern. "If I can ut butter on my mashed potateos, why can't I put jelly? I put butter and jelly on toast," said Ramona. Father couldn't help laughing. "That's a hard question to answer." "But Mother-" Beezus began."I like jelly on my mashed potateos," interrupted Ramona, looking sulky. ~ Beverly Cleary
In every artist's life, there comes a person who lifts the
curtain on creativity. It is the closest you come to seeing
me again.
The first time, when you emerge from the womb, I am a
brilliant color in the rainbow of human talents from which
you choose. Later, when a special someone lifts the curtain,
you feel that chosen talent stirring inside you, a bursting
passion to sing, paint, dance, bang on drums. And you are never the same. ~ Mitch Albom
It is done, lifemate.Come home to me. Savannah's voice was low and compelling, soft, seductive, not in the least concerned with his insistence that she see that he was a killer. That he would always be a killer. This is where you belong.Not alone, never alone. Can't you feel me reaching for you? Feel me,Gregori. Feel me reaching for you.Needing you.
He could feel it, in his mind, in his heart.Her voice touched him in some secret, deep place he kept locked away even from himself. She was everything beautiful in the world,and,God help him them both,he could not bring himself to give her up.
I need you,Gregori. The whisper came again. This time there was a new urgency in it.She swamped him with her desire,with rising heat and sudden fear that he would leave her alone. Gregori? Answer me. Don't leave me. I couldn't bear it if you did.
There is no chance of such a thing, ma petite. I am coming home. It was the only home he had ever known, the only sanctuary he had ever had: Savannah. She whispered to him, soft and sensuous, a dream of his for so long that she was a part of his soul. She whispered to him of unconditional, total acceptance. He launched himself skyward, his body dissolving into the mist, to become part of the moving fog he had manufactured. ~ Christine Feehan
Saudade": a yearning for one's childhood, when the days would merge into one another and the passing of time was of no consequence. It is the sense of being loved in a way that will never come again. It is a unique experience of abandon. It is everything that words cannot capture. ~ Nina George
This is your time, right now, to get up and start moving. With motivation floating in the air around you, take a chance at your dreams. This moment may never come again. This motivation may be lost. This might be the last chance you have to change your life. Are you going to waste this chance? Are you willing to give up your dreams out of fear? Time is not going to stop. Time will keep leaving until, before you know it, your life is gone. This life is the only chance you get, this life will never restart. This is it. Is the way you are living right now worth your life? ~ Avina Celeste
Mikhail would be going into a dangerous situation, and a part of her knew he needed most of the night to complete his tasks, but there was no sign of impatience in him. He appeared relaxed and enjoying his time with her, wholly focused on her alone. She appreciated that in him so much--that ability to give her what she needed.
He lifted his head and looked at her. "You always come first with me, Raven."
"I don't know how I managed to get so lucky." She trailed her fingers through his hair. All that dark silk intrigued her. She had never really seen men who wore their hair long and yet still looked so masculine.
"That you can say that after all that has happened amazes me," Mikhail said. He dipped his head to taste the small indent of her belly button. His chin nuzzled her. "Someday my child will grow right here."
"You'd like that, would you? I might get as big as a house."
Mikhail kissed her tummy again and then kissed the path to her breasts. "You will have milk for our babies. That is such a miracle, Raven."
She heard the ache in his voice. The need. He didn't quite believe they would manage to have children, not when his people had been unable to do so for centuries, but he was willing to dream of it--with her.
"We'll find a way to have children, Mikhail. You managed to convert me without becoming deranged." There was gentle humor in her voice.
Mikhail's head went up, his dark eyes meeting hers.
Raven laughed softly. "Did you th ~ Christine Feehan
The Doctor: Amy, what are you doing?
Amy: That gravestone, Rory's, there's room for one more name isn't there?
The Doctor: What are you talking about? Back away from the Angel. Come back to the TARDIS, we'll figure something out.
Amy: The Angel, would it send me back to the same time, to him?
The Doctor: I don't know. Nobody knows.
Amy: But it's my best shot, yeah?
The Doctor: No!
River: Doctor, shut up! Yes, yes, it is!
The Doctor: Amy -
Amy: Well then. I just have to blink, right?
The Doctor: No!
Amy: It'll be fine. I know it will. I'll be with him like I should be. Me and Rory together. {calling River over} Melody.
The Doctor: Stop it! Just, just, stop it!
Amy: You look after him. And you be a good girl and you look after him.
The Doctor: You are creating fixed time. I will never be able to see you again.
Amy: I'll be fine. I'll be with him.
The Doctor: Amy. Please. Just come back into the TARDIS, Come along, Pond. Please.
Amy: Raggedy Man, goodbye.
-Doctor Who ~ Steven Moffat
NAMING THE EARTH
(a poem of light for national poetry day)
And the world will be born again
in circles of steaming breath
and beams of light
as each one of us directs
our inner eye
upon its name.
Hear the cry of wings,
the sigh of leaves and grass,
smell the new sweet mist rising
as the pathway is cleared at last.
Stones stand ready -
they have known
since ages and ages ago
that they were not alone.
Water carries the planet's energy
into skies and down
to earth and bones.
The cold parts steadily
as we come together,
bodies and hearts warm,
hands tingling.
We are silent
but our eyes are singing.
We look, we feel, we know,
we trust each other's souls,
we have no need to speak.
Not now, but later,
when the time is right,
the name will ring
within the iron core
of each other's listening -
and the very earth's being.
Every creature, every plant,
will hear it calling,
tolling like a bell -
a sound we've always felt
but never dared to hope
to hear reverberating -
true at last, at every level
of existence.
The poets come together
to open the intimate centre.
Believe
in life and air -
breathe the light itself,
for these are the energies
and rhythms that we need
to see, to touch, to reach,
t ~ Jay Woodman
You're an idiot," Preston says.
"Excuse me?"
"You're an idiot, sir?" he tries again.
"Just tell me how much she likes Dave, Preston. I don't have time for this girly bullshit." Jesus fuck, am I going to have to resort to getting girl advice from my gay assistant? What the hell has my life come to? Sandra has turned everything upside down.
"She doesn't like Dave. She likes you. She's had a crush on you forever and I'm totally breaking girl code telling you any of this."
"Then why the hell is she spending the weekend with Dave?" I ask, ignoring his girl code.
"But you know Sandy's a nice girl. She doesn't know what to make of a guy who fucks her in his office but never asks her to dinner," Preston continues. Apparently girl code is over. "Women are complex creatures, Gabe. They think it means something when a man takes his sweet-ass time asking her on a date. They think it means you're just interested in the sex." He narrows his eyes at me. "Obviously that's not the case here, as based on the way you look at that girl it's clear you're already half in love with her."
I really am getting girl advice from my gay assistant
"Since you know everything, care to tell me where she went with Dave?"
"Marissa's wedding."
"Who the hell is Marissa?"
"Hello? She works here? In sales?"
I shrug. Still no idea who he's talking about.
"You kno ~ Jana Aston
10 facts about abusive relationships (what i wish i'd known)
1. it's not always loud. it's not always obvious. the poison doesn't always hit you like a gunshot. sometimes, it seeps in quietly, slowly. sometimes, you don't even know it was ever there until months after.
2. love is not draining. love is not tiring. this is not how it is supposed to be.
3. apologies are like band-aids, when what you really need is stitches– they don't actually fix anything long-term. soon enough, you'll be bleeding again, but they will never give you what you really need.
4. this is not your fault. you did not turn them into this. this is how they are, how they've always been. you can't blame yourself.
5. there will be less good days than bad days but the good days will be so amazing that it will feel like everything is better than it actually is. your mind is playing tricks on itself and your heart is trying to convince itself that it made the right choice.
6. they do not love you. they can not love you. this is not love.
7. you're not wrong for wanting to run, so do it. listen to what your gut is telling you.
8. you will let them come back again and again before you realize that they only change long enough for you to let them in one more time.
9. it's okay to be selfish and leave. there is never any crime in putting yourself first. when they tell you otherwise, don't believe them. don't let them tear you down. they want to knock you off your ~ Catarine Hancock
Raquel? You coming?"
"I honestly never thought I would see the light of day again."
"Aww, come on. With me on your side? Of course things worked out."
She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears. Thank you, Evie."
I threw my arms around her in a hug. "You don't have to thank me."
"I really do. You wonderful girl. I've missed you so much."
"Well, now that we're both unemployed fugitives, think of how much time we'll have to hang out!"
She laughed drily, and we walked with our arms around each other to the house. I opened the door and yelled, "Evie alert! Coming into the family room!"
"You made it!" Lend shouted back. "Just a sex, I'll go to the kitchen. Raquel's with you?"
"Yup!"
"Good job! Jack and Arianna got back a couple of minutes ago."
I walked into the family room to find Arianna and Jack sitting on the couch, arguing. "But here would have been no point to you being there if it hadn't been for my computer prowess."
"But your computer prowess wouldn't have mattered if you couldn't have gotten into the Center in the first place."
"Being a glorified taxi does not make you the bigger hero."
"Being a nerd who can tap on a keyboard or being able to navigate the dark eternities of the Faerie Paths . . . hmmm . . . which is a rarer and more valuable skill . . ."
I put my hands on my hips. "Okay, kids, take it elsewhere. Raquel and I have work to do."
"Evie," Raquel said. She was staring at Ja ~ Kiersten White
Before 9/11, I thought that tragedy had the potential to connect us with humanity in ways that prosperity does not. I thought that if prosperity tends to isolate, tragedy must connect. Now I realize that this is not always the case. One unfortunate response to tragedy is a self-righteousness about one's own condition, a seeking proof of one's special place in the world, even in victimhood. One afternoon, I shared these thoughts with a new colleague, the Israeli vice chancellor of the Budapest-based Central European University. When he told me that he was a survivor of Auschwitz, I asked him what lesson he had drawn from this great crime. He explained that, like all victims of Auschwitz, he, too, had said, "Never again." In time, though, he had come to realize that this phrase lent itself to two markedly different conclusions: one was that never again should this happen to my people; the other that it should never again happen to any people. Between these two interpretations, I suggest nothing less than our common survival is at stake. ~ Mahmood Mamdani
Just as in the parable of the prodigal son, Jesus expresses here the great desire of his Father to offer his children a banquet and his eagerness to get it going even when those who are invited refuse to come. This invitation to a meal is an invitation to intimacy with God. This is especially clear at the Last Supper, shortly before Jesus' death. There he says to his disciples: "From now on, I tell you, I shall never again drink wine until the day I drink the new wine with you in the kingdom of my Father." And at the close of the New Testament, God's ultimate victory is described as a splendid wedding feast: "The reign of the Lord our God Almighty has begun; let us be glad and joyful and give glory to God, because this is the time for the marriage of the Lamb. ... blessed are those who are invited to the wedding feast of the Lamb ~ Henri J.M. Nouwen
I've always thought what was I before I was this and then what will I be when I leave here. I really had a hard time always accepting that at some point I'm just going to turn to dust and ashes and never be again and that the journey would stop. I believe that we are souls, kind of like a version of what our movie presents, and we come here again and again until we arrive at our highest evolution, and what happens after that I don't know. ~ Halle Berry
Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again. ~ George R R Martin
He leaned closer and she swallowed the rest of her words as he pressed a kiss to her lips. He lifted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. She stared back at him, stunned, her heart thudding against her breastbone. He palmed the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth this time, turning her legs to jelly.
She pressed her body against his, her skin on fire, desire beating a tattoo through her veins. His tongue stroked hers gently, provocatively, and she reached out and gripped his shoulders with both hands.
After a long, long moment he drew back. "Come home with me?" he asked very quietly, his voice a low husk.
Dear God, I thought you'd never ask. ~ Sarah Mayberry
Can I come look?"
He sat back on his heels and gestured to his artwork. "By all means. I'm done."
I got up, happily noting that my ankle was now pain free. I carefully tiptoed around the two square feet of floor over which his drawing sprawled, and settled in next to him. "It's beautiful," I told him. "I'm flattered. I've never had anyone draw a picture of me before."
Sage cocked his head and studied what he'd etched. "You think it looks like you?"
Again a hot crawl of embarrassment raced up my neck and flooded my face. I looked more closely at the etching. The image did look like me, but only if you really wanted to see the resemblance. The woman in it had the same hair, and slept in the same position I had, but on closer inspection her features were quite different. Her eyes were farther apart, her nose more pointed, her cheekbones less defined…differences that seemed insignificant when I'd assumed the picture was of me, but knowing it wasn't…
I was an egocentric idiot. My dreams about this man may have been vivid, but they were dreams. They had nothing to do with reality; not mine, and clearly not his. I stammered, groping for some kind of explanation. I had nothing.
"She does look like you, a little," Sage admitted. His eyes lingered on the contours of the drawing's face. I was eager to change the subject, but I felt like I had to ask.
"Who is she?"
"Someone I loved a long time ago," he murmured. ~ Hilary Duff
All that was left was the recollection of having had a good idea, a recurrent experience of having had a good, an excellent, a most important idea, a truly fundamental idea, but one never remembered itself the idea from one moment to the next, memory was something you simply couldn't depend on, a man's memory set him traps he'd walk into and find himself hopelessly lost in, Konrad said, a man's memory lured him into a trap and then deserted him; it happened over and over again that a man's memory lured him into a trap, or several traps, thousands of traps, and then deserted him, left him all alone, alone in limitless despair because he felt drain of all thought; Konrad had come to observe this geriatric phenomenon and had begun to be more and more terrified of it, he was in fact prepared to state that a man's youthful memory was capable of turning into an old man's memory from one moment to the next, with no warning whatsoever, suddenly you found yourself with an old man's memory, unprepared by such warning signals as a failure , from time to time, in trifling matters, brief lapses of omissions, the way a mental footbridge or gangplank might give a bit as one passed over it; no, old age set in from one moment to the next, many a man made this abrupt passage from youth to age quite early in life, a sudden shift from being the youngest to the oldest of men, a characteristic of so-called brain workers, who tended, basically, not to have a so-called extended youth, no gradual tra ~ Thomas Bernhard
And that was the way it was in the old days before the country grew up and men put their guns away. Someday, and I hope it never comes, there may be a time when the Western hills are empty again and the land will go back to wilderness and the old, hard ways. Enemies may come into our country and times will have changed, but then the boys will come down from the old high hills and belt on their guns again. They can do it if they have to. The guns are hung up, the cows roam fat and lazy, but the old spirit is still there, just as it was when the longhorns came up the trail from Texas, and the boys washed the creeks for gold. ~ Louis L'Amour
This time will never come again in your life. Enjoy every moment, right now, before the time is gone. ~ Avina Celeste
It is quite possible that, even if you set the most relevant, realistic goals, you may not achieve them in the way or the time you wanted to. Life may throw something unexpected in your path, which stops you from achieving what you want, when you want. This is not failure. Feeling like you have failed is bound to lead to low mood, and can often come about if things haven't quite gone according to plan. However, the best thing to do is to draw a mental line under the experience, learn from what has happened and try again. As long as you are still trying, you are working towards your long-term aims; and as long as you are doing that, you are never truly failing. ~ Anna Barnes
Time is one thing that can never be retrieved. One may lose and regain friends. One may lose and regain money. Opportunity, once spurned, may come again. But the hours that are lost in idleness can never be brought back to be used in gainful pursuits ~ Winston Churchill
Miss someone until they come back, or until you come back, until their absence in your life becomes something to be avoided at all costs. Miss them until you don't have to anymore, until you're reunited in your favorite booth in your favorite restaurant ordering your favorite meal, miss them until it feels like you never left. Or miss them until you can't anymore, until the things you miss are identified and cataloged as things and not a person, until you figure out that easy company and long talks and unblinking, all-knowing eye contact will find you again the way they found you the first time. Miss someone until you don't. ~ Stephanie Georgopulus
A sigh escaped her as her brother's truthful words battled her stubborn nature.
Much as she hated giving in to their no driving order - well-intentioned or not - she wouldn't operate a motor vehicle if she could prove a danger to others.
"Fine, so if I can't drive myself, then who is taking me home?"
Six pairs of eyes found the ceiling suddenly intensely interesting.
Irritation made her lips draw tight. "Oh, come on. Surely one of you idiots can handle my car?"
Kendrick cleared his throat before speaking. "Um, the last time Mitchell drove your car, you almost castrated him because he didn't shift it to your satisfaction. You told us never to touch your car again, or else."
Naomi blew out a breath. Pussies.
How could they blame her for taking offence at the brutish manner with which they drove her baby?
They'd deserved each, and every, smack. And then, they had the nerve to wonder why she wanted to get away from the shifters and their violence. They bloody well drove her to it.
"I am not staying here."
Not with her mother due home within the hour from work. Once her mom walked through that door, Naomi would be lucky if she got to leave a bed within the next three days.
The men in her family might fear their baby sister even as they coddled her, but everyone obeyed their mother.
Nobody owned the balls not to. ~ Eve Langlais
It occurred to me, as it sometimes does, that this day is over and will never be lived again, that we are only the sum of days, and when those are spent, we will not come back to this place, to this time, to these people and these colors, and I wonder whether to be sad about this or to be happy, to trust that these moments were meant for some kind of enjoyment, as a kind of blessing. And if feels, tonight, as if there is much to think about, there is much we have been given and much we have left behind. The smell of freedom is as brisk as the air through the windows. And there is a feeling that time itself has been curtained by darkness. ~ Donald Miller
I lost the ability to fear and panic. Instead I felt practical and causal. I had never known time to pass so acutely before. I sat out through the night with the patrol, watching the bitter glow of stars overhead, listening as the season exhaled and the layers of vegetation shrugged and compressed, like the ashes of burnt wood. On the hills I was aware of every corporeal moment, every cycle of light. I felt every fibre of myself conveying energy, and I understood that it was finite, that the chances I had in life would not come again. ~ Sarah Hall
I am wild, if you like; but I stayed in my burrow a long, long time, - nibbling your straws and snapping at your fingers, but always just a little out of reach. Until at last I got to trust you so much that one day I ventured out for a minute, - and you threw rocks at me. And I will never come out again. ~ Nancy Milford
My neighbour turned to me again, and asked me what work it was that was taking me to Athens. For the second time I felt the conscious effort of his enquiry, as though he had trained himself in the recovery of objects that were falling from his grasp. I remembered the way, when each of my sons was a baby, they would deliberately drop things from their high chair in order to watch them fall to the floor, an activity as delightful to them as its consequences were appalling. They would stare down at the fallen thing – a half-eaten rusk, or a plastic ball – and become increasingly agitated by its failure to return. Eventually they would begin to cry, and usually found that the fallen object came back to them by that route. It always surprised me that their response to this chain of events was to repeat it: as soon as the object was in their hands they would drop it again, leaning over to watch it fall. Their delight never lessened, and nor did their distress. I always expected that at some point they would realise the distress was unnecessary and would choose to avoid it, but they never did. The memory of suffering had no effect whatever on what they elected to do: on the contrary, it compelled them to repeat it, for the suffering was the magic that caused the object to come back and allowed the delight in dropping it to become possible again. Had I refused to return it the very first time they dropped it, I suppose they would have learned something very different, though what tha ~ Rachel Cusk
Exactly, I repeated myself. I believe we do it all the time. We always take up certain elements again. How can it be avoided? An actor's voice always has the same timbre and, consequently, he repeats himself. It is the same for a singer, a painter ... There are always certain things that come back, for they are part of one's personality, of one's style. If these things didn't come into play, a personality would be so complex that it would become impossible to identify it.
It is not my intention to repeat myself, but in my work there should certainly be references to what I have done in the past. Say what you will, but The Trial is the best film I ever made ... I have never been so happy as when I made this film.
(talking about directing, The Trial (1962) - from Orson Welles: Interviews (book)) ~ Orson Welles
I will never, ever regret stopping you from walking out of my life a second time, Kyle," she said in an emotional voice. "And I can prove it."
She reached for the buttons on her trench coat and undid them, one at a time. Then she opened the coat and let it drop to the floor.
And even if she didn't say a single word more, Kyle knew he would never again doubt the way Rylann felt about him.
She was wearing his flannel shirt.
"You kept it," he said softly. "All this time."
She nodded. "For nine years, I've held on to this darn shirt, literally dragging it across the country and back."
Kyle touched her cheek, gently brushing away a tear with his thumb. "Why?"
She paused hesitantly, and then with a tender smile, finally put it all on the line, too. "I guess I always hoped you'd come back for it someday. ~ Julie James
We can't..." he told me.
"I know," I agreed.
Then his mouth was on mine again, and this time, I knew there would be no turning back. There were no walls this time. Our bodies wrapped together as he tried to get my coat off, then his shirt, then my shirt. ... It really was a lot like when we'd fought out on the quad earlier-that same passion and heat. I think at the end of the day, the instincts that power fighting and sex aren't so different. They all come from an animal side of us.
Yet, as more and more clothes came off, it went beyond just animal passion. It was sweet and wonderful at the same time. When I looked into his eyes, I could see without a doubt that he loved me more than anyone else in the world, that I was his salvation, the same way that he was mine. I'd never expected my first time to be in a cabin in the woods, but I realized the place didn't matter. The person did. With someone you loved, you could be anywhere, and it would be incredible. Being in the most luxurious bed in the world wouldn't matter if you were with someone you didn't love. ~ Richelle Mead
I had achieved so much success in my career and then had this spectacular fall from grace that left me unemployed and living in a town, Los Angeles, that is built on envy. Once you fall, people don't really root for you to come back again. I'd go to restaurants where I always had the best table and half the time they wouldn't even let me pay. And then when I stopped making movies, the same places wouldn't even give me a lousy table, never mind the best one! ~ Mickey Rourke
I know you all, and will awhile uphold
The unyoked humour of your idleness.
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wondered at
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wished-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off
And pay the debt I never promisèd,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;
And like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend to make offence a skill,
Redeeming time when men think least I will. ~ William Shakespeare
I love you." My heart almost stopped beating in my chest.
She hadn't spoken those words since the last time I held her in my arms.
"And you did leave me. But ... but you came back. No one's ever come back. They leave me and that's it. They want to leave me. You didn't. And you came back." I wanted to stand up and reach across the table and jerk her into my arms but I wasn't sure I could stand up just yet. I needed to hear everything she had to say.
"Yes, I came back. My heart never left you."
"I miss you."
This time I stood up and walked around the table.
"I miss you. Every second of every day," I whispered. Her eyes followed me until I was inches from her.
"I trust you."
I needed more than that.
"You trust me," I repeated.
She nodded and her hand came up and caressed the side of my arm.
"I want to try again."
Those were the words I needed to hear. ~ Abbi Glines
Mowbray! Been a while since you bothered with the season. What brings you to town?"
Lord Adrian Montfort, Earl of Mowbray, shifted his gaze from the couples whirling past on the dance floor and to the man who approached: the tall, fair, eminently good-looking Reginald Greville. He and Greville, his cousin, had once been the best of friends. However, time and distance had weakened the bond - with a little help from the war with France, Adrian thought bitterly. Ignoring Reginald's question, he offered a somewhat rusty smile in greeting, then turned his gaze back to the men and women swinging elegantly about the dance floor. He replied instead, "Enjoying the season, Greville?"
"Certainly, certainly. Fresh blood. Fresh faces."
"Fresh victims," Mowbray said dryly, and Reginald laughed. "That too." Reginald was well-known for his success in seducing young innocents. Only his title and money kept him from being forced out of town.
Shaking his head, Adrian gave that rusty smile again. "I wonder you never tire of the chase, Reg. They all look sadly similar to me. I would swear these were the very same young women who were entering their first season the last time I attended…and the time before that, and the time before that." His cousin smiled easily, but shook his head. "It has been ten years since you bothered to come to town, Adrian. Those women are all married and bearing fruit, or well on their way to spinsterhood."
"Different faces, same ladies," Ad ~ Lynsay Sands
The same thing happened to me that, according to legend, happened to Parmeniscus, who in the Trophonean cave lost the ability to laugh but acquired it again on the island of Delos upon seeing a shapeless block that was said to be the image of the goddess Leto. When I was very young, I forgot in the Trophonean cave how to laugh; when I became an adult, when I opened my eyes and saw actuality, then I started to laugh and have never stopped laughing since that time. I saw that the meaning of life was to make a living, its goal to be- come a councilor, that the rich delight oflove was to acquire a well-to-do girl, that the blessedness of friendship was to help each other in financial difficulties, that wisdom was whatever the majority assumed it to be, that enthusiasm was to give a speech, that courage was to risk being fined ten dollars, that cordiality was to say "May it do you good" after a meal, that piety was to go to communion once a year. This I saw, and I laughed. ~ Soren Kierkegaard
Bringing a novel to light - revealing the form and cadence, shadows and demeanor of a protagonist constructed from thin air - linking scenes and synchronicity across translucent time - holding up a glass brimming with chilled, never-tasted liquid, then sipping from it with intoxicated focus - allowing lovers to make a perilous mess of things, fall apart and nakedly come back together again - looking through conjured windows deep into someone else's snow-bound solitude, feeling utterly alone yet being all-connected: this is not writing. It's world-creating.
It's raw, exposed dreaming. It's humbling. At first too personal and intimate to share, it evolves like a child into a life of its own until I have no say in what comes next.
It's what I wake at 4am to say Yes to, the spinning possibility of a new story relentlessly commanding me to write it down so it can whirl in your experience. ~ Laurie Perez
It seems to rise again when the crisis times come, and this is a time of most severe crisis, as we all know, not just for the history of the United States and the survival indeed of our democracy, but for the future peace of the world. And never before probably has the need for interfaith commitment been nearly as great as it is at this very moment. ~ Walter Cronkite
Whatever I endure in recovery, I need never again suffer the indignity of active addiction. The despair and hopelessness. The inexhaustible cycle of incremental self-immolation. I am reminded of how far I've come, of the miracle that, with help and humility, I can, one day at a time, live free from drugs and alcohol. ~ Russell Brand
I have always loved the quote from John F. Kennedy: "When written in Chinese, the word crisis is composed of two characters. One represents danger and the other represents opportunity."
Looking back on my life, I can see that I have never had a crisis that didn't make me stronger. And here was all that I loved before me: great risk, but also great opportunity.
I had never felt so excited.
Neil was already preparing to come back up. Mick, so fortunate to be alive, was staying firmly, and wisely, at base camp.
But for me, my time had come.
That evening, camp two was again full of friends. Neil and Geoffrey were there along with Michael and Graham, Karla and Alan. But the weariness of coming back up to camp two again oozed painfully from Karla's gaunt face.
She was utterly exhausted, and you could see it.
Who wouldn't be after three months on Everest, and having got within four hundred feet of the summit only days earlier?
Tomorrow the biggest battle of our lives would begin. ~ Bear Grylls
The time has come to realize that the interracial drama acted out on the American continent has not only created a new black man, it has created a new white man, too. No road whatever will lead Americans back to the simplicity of this European village where white men still have the luxury of looking on me as a stranger. I am not, really, a stranger any longer for any American alive. One of the things that distinguishes Americans from other people is that no other people has ever been so deeply involved in the lives of black men, and vice versa. This fact faced, with all its implications, it can be seen that the history of the American Negro problem is not merely shameful, it is also something of an achievement. For even when the worst has been said, it must also be added that the perpetual challenge posed by this problem was always, somehow, perpetually met. It is precisely this black-white experience which may prove of indispensable value to us in the world we face today. This world is white no longer, and it will never be white again. ~ James Baldwin
How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. So far, so much between, you can never go home again. You can go home, it's good to go home, but you never really get all the way home again in your life.
...
whatever it was and however good it was, it wasn't what you once had been, and had lost, and could never have again, and once in a while, once in a long time, you remembered, and knew how far you were away, and it hit you hard enough, that little while it lasted, to break your heart. ~ James Agee
Why do you want to know?"
The shrug again. "Just wondering."
"Really. You've skipped your lawn tennis or duck hunting or whiskey drinking or whatever else people of your sort do all day, only to come all the way out to the island to ask me about the piano piece. Because you were just wondering." I pushed away from the door. "Coming here to kiss me would have been more believable."
"Well, it was second on my list."
"I'm not intimidated by you," I said, blunt. "If you're hoping I'll turn out to be some pathetic, blubbering little rag-girl who begs you not to ruin her, you're in for a surprise."
"That's good." Lord Armand met my eyes. "I like surprises."
We gazed at each other, he on the bed and me by the door, neither of us giving quarter. It seemed to me that the room was growing even more dim, that time was repeating the same ploy it had pulled in Jesse's cottage, drawing out long and slow. The storm outside railed against the castle walls, drowning the air within. It layered darkness through Armand's eyes, the once-vivid blue now deep as the ocean at night.
Beyond my window the rain fell and fell, fat clouds weeping as if they'd never stop.
"Nice bracelet," Armand said softly. "Did you steal it?"
I shook my head. "You gave it to me."
"Did I?"
"As far as everyone else if concerned, yes. You did."
"Hmm. And what do I get in return for agreeing to be your…benefactor?"
"The answer to your question."
"No kiss?" ~ Shana Abe
If people took some simple pleasure in reality (which is entirely independent of time), they would never have needed to come up with the idea that they could ever again lose anything with which they had truly bonded. No constellation is as steadfast, no accomplishment as irrevocable as a connection between human beings which, at the very moment it becomes visible, works more forcefully in those invisible depths where our existence is as lasting as gold lodged in stone, more constant than a star. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke
So as not to see anything any more, I turned towards the wall, but alas, what was now facing me was that partition which used to serve us as a morning messenger, that partition which, as responsive as a violin in rendering every nuance of a feeling, reported so exactly to my grandmother my fear at once of waking her and, if she were already awake, of not being heard by her and so of her not coming, then immediately, like a second instrument taking up the melody, informing me of her coming and bidding me be calm. I dared not put out my hand to that wall, any more than to a piano on which my grandmother had been playing and which still vibrated from her touch. I knew that I might knock now, even louder, that nothing would wake her any more, that I should hear no response, that my grandmother would never come again. And I asked nothing more of God, if a paradise exists, than to be able, there, to knock on that wall with the three little raps which my grandmother would recognize among a thousand, and to which she would give those answering knocks which meant: "Don't fuss, little mouse, I know you're impatient, but I'm coming," and that he would let me stay with her throughout eternity, which would not be too long for the two of us. ~ Marcel Proust
Why did we come back this way instead of popping up somewhere less…cramped?" I asked, substituting the word cramped for creepy. I was trying not to feel weirded out that I was in my boyfriend's crypt. It was only a building, after all.
A very unpleasant one.
"This is a portal," he said, as if that explained everything.
"A what?"
"A portal," John whispered. "A direct link from here to the Underworld. That's why you don't feel dizzy this time."
I hadn't even noticed, but he was right. I didn't feel sick, for once, though we'd just jumped between astral planes.
"This is a doorway through which the souls of the departed enter the world of the dead after they pass," John explained softly. "The doorway closes behind the dead once they enter. They can never leave again-"
"Unless they escape," I interrupted. Because this was what had happened to me.
He glanced down at me with a teasing smile. "Unless I choose to let them escape," he said, "because they seem to want their mothers so badly."
"That was two years ago," I reminded him. I shouldn't have mentioned the thing that morning about being inexperienced with men, even if it was technically true. He was never going to let me help him if he always thought of me as someone he had to protect. "And do I have to remind you that you didn't let me escape, I-"
"Shhh." He held up a hand. "Someone's coming. ~ Meg Cabot
though I lament that narrowing of world that comes with age, I know that, like all children, I overlooked much and took everything for granted, and that even into the early years of adulthood, when I thought about the world at all in that way, I mistakenly assumed that of its good, beautiful things would come around again, and then again, and again, until the time was right for me to pluck them. Now I am old enough to know that there are people i would like to see again whom I have already seen for the last time, there are places I dream of returning to that I will never revisit, and that though a few things do come around again and offer themselves, many more do not. ~ Molly McCloskey
What does it mean? Where does something like this come from? How can you find it again,just what you wanted at just the right time? Never,probably. It's empty and nothing now, I don't even know why I kept it, and I'll keep it no more. ~ Daniel Handler