Turning Back The Pages Quotes

Delving into the past had unveiled a cruel lesson - that in the book of life it is perhaps best not to turn back pages; it was a path on which, whatever direction we took, we'd never be able to choose our own destiny. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Eena focused on the younger version of herself. Her hair was tied back with a pink ribbon. The ruffled dress she wore was soiled up to the waist in wet grains of sand. A short, square shovel was gripped tightly as the child concentrated on her digging efforts.

Curious, Eena stepped closer to the girls. Ian followed along silently. Eena could feel his eyes on her, searching her profile before turning to the sand scene. She approached her younger self and stopped to watch. At first, she smiled at the darling ponytailed child. Then the spoiled girl's mouth opened.

"Angee," the five-year-old called the younger version of Angelle. "Go get water."

The older child jumped up at the command. "Yes, Eena."

"A whole bucket full."

"Yes, Eena."

"Angee, don't step on my holes!"

The older girl quickly picked up her foot, checking to be sure there were no child-made burrows nearby. She nodded at the little five-year-old. "Okay, Eena, I'll be careful."

Instead of being grateful, the ponytailed child tilted her head and bugged out her eyes. "Hurry up, Angee!"

"Okay, okay." The young Angelle lifted her skirt to watch for surrounding holes while carting a bucket in her other hand towards the lake.

Eena frowned at the sight. She heard Ian snicker beside her.

"I was a brat," she admitted ruefully.

"You still are. ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

A city finds its life through the humans who inhabit it. When they go, what is truly left? Just silent stones, witnesses to the history but mute in its telling, remaining thus while slowly turning to rubble. It saddens me that life's moments are thus lost, that one cannot experience the past in the same rich vibrancy as the present. You live the moments and then relegate them to memory, now just two-dimensional shadows, pictures without depth, stripped of their purest emotion, their tactile connections no longer accessible. You try to recall, but can bring back only a fraction of the event lived. The rest is gone, never to be as full and complete as it was in that one place at that one time. That was what I thought as I studied these stone remains; that all the tangible things experienced here abide somewhere in time, but can never again be wholly re-animated, now just ghosts imbedded in the crumbling walls and in the fading memories of those who once lived here. ~ Michael Puttonen

She nods, turning the silver bangle around on her wrist.
"She came from some village north of here, a few hours away. She traveled all the way to the city just to…"
She trails off, feeling a lump grow in her throat.
"…to take you to that orphanage?" Sanjay finishes for her.
Asha nods.
"And she gave me this."
She slides the bangle back on her wrist.
"They gave you everything they had to give," Sanjay says. He reaches across the table for her hand. "So how do you feel, now that you know?"
Asha gazes out the window.
"I used to write these letters, when I was a little girl," she says. "Letters to my mother, telling her what I was learning in school, who my friends were, the books I liked. I must have been about seven when I wrote the first one. I asked my dad to mail it, and I remember he got a really sad look in his eyes and he said,
'I'm sorry, Asha, I don't know where she is.'"
She turns back to face Sanjay.
"Then, as I got older, the letters changed. Instead of telling her about my life, I started asking all these questions. Was her hair curly? Did she like crossword puzzles? Why didn't she keep me?"
Asha shakes her head.
"So many questions."
"And now, I know," she continues. "I know where I came from, and I know I was loved. I know I'm a hell of a lot better off now than I would have been otherwise."
She shrugs.
"And that's enough for me. Some answers, I'll just have to figure ou ~ Shilpi Somaya Gowda

So, my dear…"
She faced him with thudding heart, the crystal piece clutched desperately in her hand, but she was hardly aware that she even held it.
"… You say I have let another man into my bed."
Erienne opened her mouth to speak. Her first impulse was to chatter some inanity that could magically take the edge from his callous half statement, half question. No great enlightenment dawned, however, and her dry, parched throat issued no sound of its own. She inspected the stopper closely, turning it slowly in her hand rather than meet the accusing stare.
From behind the mask, Lord Saxton observed his wife closely, well aware that the next moments would form the basis for the rest of his life or leave it an empty husk. After this, there could be no turning back.
"I think, my dear," his words made her start, "that whatever the cost, 'tis time you met the beast of Saxton Hall."
Erienne swallowed hard and clasped the stopper with whitened knuckles, as if to draw some bit of courage from the crystal piece.
As she watched, Lord Saxton doffed his coat, waistcoat, and stock, and she wondered if it was a trick of her imagination that he seemed somewhat lighter of frame. After their removal, he caught the heel of his right boot over the toe of the left and slowly drew the heavy, misshapen encumbrance from his foot. She frowned in open bemusement, unable to detect a flaw. He flexed the leg a moment before slipping off the other boot. His movements ~ Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

Before I can over-think it, I lean in and kiss her. She's stunned at first, and then her lips come to life under mine. She's so soft and warm. Her arms wrap around my neck, bringing her closer.
I pull away slowly, holding her bright blue gaze. I feel as if I can't breathe, my hands are shaking. I don't know what I was expecting, but that definitely wasn't it. The kiss was short and quick, but it was different. I swallow and take a step back, turning my face away from her.
"I..."
She presses her finger to my lips, silencing me.
"Don't Kristian. You'll ruin it." She watches me for a moment longer and then takes a slow step back, before spinning around and dashing away into the dark rain. ~ Dannielle Wicks

You see, when you were little they kept sending me snap–shots of you, first as a baby and then as a child in socks playing on the beach with a pail and shovel, and then suddenly as a wistful little girl with wondering, pure eyes - and I used to build dreams about you. A man has to have something living to cling to. I think, Lois, it was your little white soul I tried to keep near me - even when life was at its loudest and every intellectual idea of God seemed the sheerest mockery, and desire and love and a million things came up to me and said: 'Look here at me! See, I'm Life. You're turning your back on it!' All the way through that shadow, Lois, I could always see your baby soul flitting on ahead of me, very frail and clear and wonderful. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Monarchy is like a splendid ship, with all sails set it moves majestically on, but then it hits a rock and sinks for ever. Democracy is like a raft. It never sinks but, damn it, your feet are always in the water. That is a good metaphor, for raft, he implies, is simply swept along by the tide or the current; one can with a paddle or a plank steer a little to stay afloat, trim forward direction slightly to left or right, perhaps even slow down or speed up a little, but there is no turning back against the current of democracy. ~ Bernard Crick

He surveyed me, his eyes half closed, as if wondering if I were a delicious snack. I had an image of a massive dragon circling me slowly, eyes full of magic fixed on me as he moved, considering if he should bite me in half.
"Dragons." Rogan snapped his fingers.
Oh crap.
"I wondered why I kept getting dragons around you." He leaned forward. His eyes lit up, turning back to their clear sky blue. "You think I'm a dragon."
"Don't be ridiculous." My face felt hot. I was probably blushing. Damn it.
His smile went from amused to sexual, so charged with promise that carnal was the only way to describe it. I almost bolted out of my chair.
"Big powerful scary dragon."
"You have delusions of grandeur."
"Do I have a lair? Did I kidnap you to it from your castle?"
I stared straight at him, trying to frost my voice. "You have some strange fantasies, Rogan. You may need professional help."
"Would you like to volunteer?"
"No. Besides, dragons kidnap virgins, so I'm out." And why had I just told him I was not a virgin? Why did I even go there?
"It doesn't matter if I'm the first. It only matters that I'll be the last."
"You won't be the first, the last, or anything in between. Not in a million years."
He laughed.
"Rogan," I ground out through my teeth. "I'm on the clock. My client is in the next room mourning his wife. Stop flirting with me."
"Stop? I haven't even started. ~ Ilona Andrews

But either way, the fruit of turning to God - before we sin, after we've sinned, even right there in the middle of our sin - is where Christians go to experience the flavors of God-fearing honor, gratitude, dependence, worship, confidence, trust, freedom, revival. Even those sins from our past that have been the most regrettable, the most difficult to move beyond - the ones we'd give anything if we could go back and do over again - Christ is able to redeem and rewrite even those into masterful sequels and come-from-behind victories. He takes what's given us fits for so long and gives us instead a reason to celebrate what He's done. To celebrate our redemption. To celebrate our Redeemer. ~ Matt Chandler

So are there lots of cows?" she asked before she could stop herself. "On the ranch, I mean."
Zane didn't spare her a glance. "Some."
"Like twenty?"
He glanced at her then, before turning his attention back to the road. "We run several thousand head of steers. Those are the ones that end up on your barbecue. I have another few hundred head of cows for breeding purposes."
"No bulls?" she asked, unable to keep from grinning.
He sighed the sigh of the long suffering. "A dozen or so."
"A dozen bulls for a few hundred cows?"
Mr. Hunk-in-a-hat, who had put his hat on the seat between them when he'd climbed into the cab, chuckled. "Yup."
"Yet another example of our patriarchal society ignoring the rights of cows."
"You worried about cows' rights?" He sounded both incredulous and amused. "You a lawyer?"
"No. And I'm not concerned about cows' rights. Of course I want them treated humanely, as any civilized person would, but I'm not crazy."
"What are you, then?"
"What?"
He glanced at her. "If you're not a lawyer, what are you?"
"Oh." For a second she thought he'd been referring to her mental state. "I work in real estate."
Fortunately Zane didn't ask any questions about her career. She didn't think that telling him she'd been suspended for litigation would improve his opinion of her. ~ Susan Mallery

What's wrong with turning back the clock if the clock is wrong? We need not be slaves to our technologies ~ Neil Postman

The War Has Been Declared.
Your Ally Been Ensnared.
It Is Now Or It Is Never.
Break The Code Or Die Forever.


Time Is Running Out
Running Out
Running Out


To the Warrior Give My Blade
By His Hand Your Fate Is Made
But Do Not Forget the Ticking
Or the Clicking, Clicking, Clicking
While a Rat's Tongue May Be Flicking
With Its Feet It Does the Tricking
For the Paw and Not the Jaw
Makes the Code of Claw


Time Is Standing Still
Standing Still
Standing Still


Since the Princess Is the Key
To Unlock the Treachery
She Cannot Avoid the Matching or the Scratching, Scratching, Scratching
When a Secret Plot is Hatching
In the Naming Is the Catching
What She Saw, It Is the Flaw
Of the Code of Claw


Time is Turning Back
Turning Back
Turning Back


When the Monster's Blood Is Spilled
When the Warrior Has Been Killed
You Must Not Ingore the Rapping
Or the Tapping, Tapping, Tapping
If the Gnawers Find you Napping
You Will Rot While They Are Mapping
Out the Law of Those Who Gnaw
In the Code of Claw ~ Suzanne Collins

Memories are the enemies that never die," he says, turning away and shoving open his door, leaving me with the pain carved in those words that I am fairly certain he didn't want me to hear. But I did, and they speak to me, diving deep in my soul with the blood of my own loss, and taking root. I say I want my memories back, but I'm not so sure I really do. It's an idea I reject as I shove open my door and stand. ~ Lisa Renee Jones

I put on some make-up, turn on the 8-track, and I'm pulling the wig down from the shelf - suddenly I'm Miss Punk Rock Star of Stage and Screen and I ain't ever turning back! ~ John Cameron Mitchell

It's very important that people take back their minds and that people analyse our dilemma in the context of the entire human story from the descent onto the grassland to our potential destiny as citizens of the galaxy and the universe. We are at a critical turning point and, as I say; the tools, the data that holds the potential for our salvation is now known, it is available: it is among us, but it is misrepresented, it is slandered, it is litigated against, and it's up to each one of us to relate to this situation in a fashion that will allow us to answer the question that will surely be put to us at some point in the future, which is: What did you do to help save the world? ~ Terence McKenna

He stops to wait for her, but she has a sudden burst of energy, passing him. On and on she sprints, unobstructed, kicking up her heels at the water's edge. Dark hair to her chin, rearranged by the wind, obscuring her face. Just when he thinks she will have the energy to run forever, to escape his sight, she pauses. Turning back, breathing hard, her hand on her hip, making sure he is there. ~ Jhumpa Lahiri

By the time we grow up we become masters at dissimulation, at cultivating a self that the world cannot probe. But we pay a price. After years of turning people away, of protecting our inner self, of cultivating it by living in a different world, of furnishing this world with our fantasies and dreams - lo and behold we find that we are hopelessly separated from everyone else. We have become victims of our own art. We touch people on the outsides of their bodies, and they us, but we cannot get at their insides and cannot reveal our insides to them. This is one of the great tragedies of our interiority - it is utterly personal and unrevealable. Often we want to say something unusually intimate to a spouse, a parent, a friend, communicate something of how we are really feeling about a sunset, who we really feel we are - only to fall strangely and miserably flat. Once in a great while we succeed, sometimes more with one person, less or never with others. But the occasional break-through only proves the rule. You reach out with a disclosure, fail, and fall back bitterly into yourself. We emit huge globs of love to our parents and spouses, and the glob slithers away in exchange of words that are somehow beside the point of what we are trying to say. People seem to keep bumping up against each other with their exteriors and falling away from each other. The cartoonist Jules Feiffer is the modern master of this aspect of the human tragedy. Take even the sexual act - the most intimate ~ Ernest Becker

But this did not seem likely to happen. She went on and on, a long way, but wherever the road divided there were sure to be two finger-posts pointing the same way, one marked 'TO TWEEDLEDUM'S HOUSE' and the other 'TO THE HOUSE OF TWEEDLEDEE.' 'I do believe,' said Alice at last, 'that they live in the same house! I wonder I never thought of that before - But I can't stay there long. I'll just call and say "how d'you do?" and ask them the way out of the wood. If I could only get to the Eighth Square before it gets dark!' So she wandered on, talking to herself as she went, till, on turning a sharp corner, she came upon two fat little men, so suddenly that she could not help starting back, but in another moment she recovered herself, feeling sure that they must be. ~ Lewis Carroll

I felt the way you do the instant before you leap into the deep end of a pool. You're on your way to somewhere else. You're not there yet. But you know there's no turning back. ~ Katherine Applegate

As I went out one evening to take the evening air
I was blessed by a blood-red moon
In Lincoln Park the dark was turning
I spied a fair young maiden and a flame was in her eye
And on her face lay the steel blue skies
Of Lincoln Park, the dark was turning
Turning

They spread their sheets upon the ground just like a wandering tribe
And the wise men walked in their Robespierre robes
Through Lincoln Park the dark was turning
The towers trapped and trembling, and the boats were tossed about
When the fog rolled in and the gas rolled out
From Lincoln Park the dark was turning
Turning

Like wild horses freed at last we took the streets of wine
But I searched in vain for she stayed behind
In Lincoln Park the dark was turning
I'll go back to the city where I can be alone
And tell my friend she lies in stone
In Lincoln Park the dark was turning ~ Phil Ochs

Heard you missed me", he said, half turning and looking down at me. The smile on his lips broadened. "And that you're beating up the boys at school in protest to get me to come back. Couldn't let that happen. ~ C.L.Stone

The thing to keep in mind is that we're still in the very early days when it comes to the search for extraterrestrial intelligence. Saying there's a silence is a bit like if Columbus, looking to discover a new continent, only sailed 10 miles off the coast of Spain before turning back to say, 'Nothing out there!' ~ Seth Shostak

As you begin to simplify your life, you're going to be making a lot of changes in the way you spend your time. If saying no is a problem for you, go back to your short list (#21) and keep it firmly in mind. Your objective will be to get to the point where you see that by turning down an invitation you're not saying no to someone else; rather you're saying yes! to what you really want to do. ~ Elaine St. James

In the mid-1980s, on a spring Sunday morning, a Volvo stationwagon parked in Brunswick Street. A young couple got out. She was trim, blonded, tanned. He was already broadening in the midsection, sockless, short and hairy legs ending in boatshoes. From a restraining chair in the back seat, he unloaded a child, complaining, flailing. They took it into a cafe.

They were going to have brunch.

The old Brunswick Street was dead, Brunchwick Street born. There was no turning back. ~ Peter Temple

The argument for getting our own house in order is not an argument for turning our back on the world. We cannot and should not do that. ~ Chris Christie

He closed the pages and stuffed them back into his jacket. Keeping his eyes cast downwards as he sipped his wine, he pulled out and lit a cigarette – almost a post-coital gesture.

from The Willow Lake Group by Kelly Proudfoot ~ Kelly Proudfoot

It is a good thing she is on our side, is it not?"
Noah started, turning to confront the Demon who had appeared at his back with flawless silence and concealment.
"Jacob! You just took ten years off my life," Noah hissed.
"Only ten? I must be losing my touch." Jacob looked from Noah to the last place Legna had been standing. He nodded his head in her former direction. "What was that all about?"
"I have no idea, but I am beginning to feel like I am the only one who does not know what the hell is happening in his own damn house."
"Sorry state of affairs, seeing as how you are King and all," Jacob said, his lips twitching with amusement as Noah glared at him. "That is only my opinion, though. Perhaps I will ask my troublemaking wife for hers."
Noah had the grace to openly wince.
"You heard that, hmm?"
"And therefore . . ." Jacob prompted.
"She heard it, too," Noah concluded with comical pain. "Forgive me, Bella. I think I am just in a foul mood."
"She says she will forgive you as soon as she needs a babysitter."
"You know, I think you better go out there and enforce some of my laws before I begin to think of how many ways I can set your ass on fire," the King said meanly, the glare of his gaze all business.
"I would, but I am in need of Gideon. Where is he?"
"How should I know?" Noah asked grumpily, moving to the fire and sinking down into the only thing in the room that wasn't giving him grief: his favorite chair. ~ Jacquelyn Frank

My business in the beginning was very lawless and the more trouble I go into, the more the promoters liked me back then. I was on the front page for doing something wrong, the arena was full. Then, all of a sudden, everything changed somehow and they put rules in. You put rules in a gunfight? I'm not so good at following those rules. I don't' know what will happen at WrestleMania. ~ Roddy Piper

The photographer was installed in the back of an inconspicurous dry-goods store in the poorer neighbourhood of Warsaw. He seemed to know all about me. His job was to prepare a picture of me which resembled me sufficiently to be claimed as mine, but in which the features were so vague that I could disown it if the need should arise.
He was a bold, spry little man who hardly replied to my few remarks. His deliberate taciturnity was not lost on me and I remained quiet while he concentrated on the task of turning out what proved to be a miniature masterpiece of photographic ambiguity. When it was finished he handed it to me with a pleased smile. I glanced at it and marveled aloud at his skill.
'It's incredible,' I said. 'It makes me feel as though I had met myself before but can't quite remember where. ~ Jan Karski

I could make better pie-type love with a new stove!
I heard his disembodied voice shout back, "Dick territory, babe. Don't even think about it unless I'm there."
"Chick territory," I kept shouting. "A stove's in the kitchen!"
"It's got a plug and weighs over fifty pounds. Totally dick," he shot back on his own shout.
I gave in, turning to the plans while giggling.
Totally dick.
My old may was funny. ~ Kristen Ashley

You can't take this speck of dust in this midst of all this incredible panorama of birth and complexifying and say ... this is the only place that [life] happens. It's like turning your back on the whole idea of growth and evolution. ~ Gene Roddenberry

He observed how his feet chose each wrong turning, working against his navigational instincts, circling and repeating, and bringing on a feverish detachment. Someone older than himself paced inside his body, someone stronger too, cut loose from the common bonds of sex, of responsibility. Looking back he would remember a brief moment when time felt mute and motionless. This hour of solitary wandering seemed a gift, and part of the gift was an old greedy grammar flapping in his ears: lost, more lost, utterly lost. He felt the fourteen days of his marriage collapsing backward and becoming an invented artifact, a curved space he must learn to fit into. Love was not protected. No, it wasn't. It sat out in the open like anything else. ~ Carol Shields

Angela had never really got on with modern poetry. Even stuff like Seamus Heaney, Death of a Naturalist and the other book. He seemed such a lovely man and she really did try, but it sounded like prose you had to read very slowly. Old stuff she understood. Rum-ti-tum. Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white ... Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack ... Something going all the way back. Memorable words, so you could hand it down the generations. But free verse made her think of free knitting or free juggling. This, for example. She extracted a book at random. Spiders by Stanimir Stoilov, translated by Luke Kennard. She flipped through the pages ... the hatcheries of the moon ... the earth in my father's mouth. ~ Mark Haddon

When I take my old copies of the phenomenologies of religion down from the shelf and thumb through their pages, I feel as if I were walking through the halls of abandoned buildings. My graduate school notes lie heavy in the margins, like scrawls of graffiti on the walls, attesting to the fact that human once contested these spaces. I wonder, each time I close one of these volumes and put it back on the shelf, whether the puff of dust that arises from its binding is not a reminder that systems are built to crumble, and the grander the system, the more spectacular the fall. ~ Malcom David Eckel

I carry around a notebook that is equal parts day planner and journal. Every morning, I check to see what the agenda for the day is, and if there isn't a plan, I make one. I strive to fill the rest of the page with miscellaneous thoughts and ideas and go back through and fill sparse pages as well. If I start skipping days, I know I'm off course and need to take a step back and ground my life. ~ Kit Williamson

When we get closer, he pushes out both of the chairs across from him. He nods at them and says, "Take a seat."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Am I going to have to woo you before I get my slice?"

He smiles over the pizza that he's about to bite into. "Yeah, I do believe you're going to have to."

With zero self-respect, Amanda takes a seat and says, "That's no problem with me."

Honestly. Does she not know how to avoid showing all her cards at once?

When I take a seat, he holds out his hand. "I'm Aaron."

I take his hand and notice how rough it is. It's a working hand, one that experiences strenuous hours on the jobsite, day in, day out. "Amelia, and this is my friend, Amanda."

Aaron nods at Amanda. "Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure is mine and just so you know, Amelia is single and definitely on the market. Want me to give you her number?"

"Amanda, what the hell are you - ?"

"I would love it," Aaron says, leaning back in his chair while sipping his drink.

Slowly turning toward him, a little stunned, I ask, "You would?"

He nods with all the confidence in the world. "I would."

"But you don't know me. I could be a shovel-wielding rabbit killer."

He leans forward, his chest flexing under his shirt with the movement. "I'll take my chances."

Now feeling a little skeptical, I fold my arms over my chest and ask, "Why do you want i ~ Meghan Quinn

Evening," Zane said.
It was a pretty wordy opening for him.
Phoebe debated inviting him in, then decided it would be too much like an offer to sleep with him. Instead of stepping back and pointing to the bed, which was really what she wanted to do, she moved down the hallway, shutting the door behind her, and did her best to look unimpressed.
"Hi, Zane. How are the preparations coming?"
He gave her one of his grunts, then shrugged. She took that to mean, "Great. And thanks so much for asking."
They weren't standing all that close, but she was intensely aware of him. Despite the fact that he'd probably been up at dawn and that it was now close to ten, he still smelled good. He wasn't wearing his cowboy hat, so she could see his dark hair. Stubble defined his jaw. She wanted to rub her hands over the roughness, then maybe hook her leg around his hip and slide against him like the sex-starved fool she was turning out to be. ~ Susan Mallery

Are we labouring at some Work too vast for us to perceive? Are our passions and desires mere whips and traces by the help of which we are driven? Any theory seems more hopeful than the thought that all our eager, fretful lives are but the turning of a useless prison crank. Looking back the little distance that our dim eyes can penetrate the past, what do we find? Civilizations, built up with infinite care, swept aside and lost. Beliefs for which men lived and died, proved to be mockeries. Greek Art crushed to the dust by Gothic bludgeons. Dreams of fraternity, drowned in blood by a Napoleon. What is left to us, but the hope that the work itself, not the result, is the real monument? Maybe, we are as children, asking, "Of what use are these lessons? What good will they ever be to us?" But there comes a day when the lad understands why he learnt grammar and geography, when even dates have a meaning for him. But this is not until he has left school, and gone out into the wider world. So, perhaps, when we are a little more grown up, we too may begin to understand the reason for our living ~ Jerome K. Jerome

There is a purpose to our lives, even if it is sometimes hidden from us, and even if the biggest turning points and heartbreaks only make sense as we look back, rather than as we are experiencing them. So we might as well live life as if - as the poet Rumi put it - everything is rigged in our favor. ~ Arianna Huffington

This digital revolutionary still believes in most of the lovely deep ideals that energized our work so many years ago. At the core was a sweet faith in human nature. If we empowered individuals, we believed, more good than harm would result.
The way the internet has gone sour since then is truly perverse. The central faith of the web's early design has been superseded by a different faith in the centrality of imaginary entities epitomized by the idea that the internet as a whole is coming alive and turning into a superhuman creature.
The designs guided by this new, perverse kind of faith put people back in the shadows. The fad for anonymity has undone the great opening-of-everyone's-windows of the 1990s. While that reversal has empowered sadists to a degree, the worst effect is a degradation of ordinary people. ~ Jaron Lanier

Sorry," I said to the Duke.
"Eh, it's not your fault. It's Carla's fault. You were turning the wheel. Carla just wasn't listening. I knew I shouldn't have loved her. She's like all the others, Tobin; as soon as I confess my love, she abandons me."
I laughed. "I never abandoned you," I said patting on her back.
"Yeah, well, (a.) I never confessed my love to you, and (b.) I'm not even female to you. ~ John Green

Amar reached out to cup the back of my neck. I shuddered. I had forgotten how cold his hands were, like the soul of winter had tangled itself in his fingers. He stared at me and his gaze had all the finality of death--it was ferocious and terrible, a ravel of locked horns. He was searching me. I knew exactly what he was looking for--
Himself.
I twined the bracelet together, letting it hover mere inches from his skin. I had no expectation, no method, no strategy. I was blind and clinging to a bruised piece of hope. But it was all I had.
"You once said your soul could never forget mine," I said, sliding the mended bracelet around his wrist. "Do you remember now?"
He inhaled sharply, like something had rent through him. Around his wrist, the bracelet glowed like a caught star.
"Jaani," he breathed, staring at me.
He clutched his chest, an amazed smile turning his face incandescent. I grinned so widely that I thought the air would bend around us, pushing us together. His fingers entwined in my hair and he tilted my face up. ~ Roshani Chokshi

There,he reminds me of you." Shelby indicated a black panther stretched in a path of sunlight, calmly watching the river of people who passed by.
"Is that so?" Alan studied the cat. "Indolent? Subdued?"
Shelby let out her smoke-edged laugh. "Oh,no, Senator.Patient, brooding. And arrogant enough to believe this confinement is nothing he can't work with." Turning, she leaned back against the barrier to consider Alan as she had considered the panther. "He's taken stock of the situation,and decided he can pretty much have his own way as things are.I wonder..." Her brows drew together inn concentration. "I wonder just what he'd do if he were really crossed.He doesn't appear to have a temper. Cats usually don't until they're pushed too far just that one time, and then-they're deadly."
Alan gave her an odd smile before he took her hand to draw her toward the path again. "He normally sees that he's not often crossed."
Shelby tossed her head and met the smile with a bland look. "Let's go look at the monkeys.It always makes me think I'm sitting in the Senate Gallery."
"Nasty," he commented and tugged on her hair.
"I know.I couldn't help it." Briefly she rested her head on his shoulder as they walked. "I'm often not a nice person. Grant and I both seem to have inherited a streak of sarcasm-or maybe it's cynicism. ~ Nora Roberts

As she walked to the stairway, he pulled her back with a light tug on her shoulder. "They're responding to you now."
Turning to face him, she said, "Responding to me? What did I say?"
"The hallway was full of them. When you said we were going downstairs to eat, they started filing down the stairs."
"They all took the stairs?"
Eddie nodded, his shining, gifted eyes watching the ghostly procession.
He said, "They don't want to be far from you, Jess. And I'm not entire sure it's well intentioned."
"Come to use," the voices whispered. ~ Hunter Shea

He does not always remain bent over the
pages; he often leans back and closes
his eyes over a line he has been reading
again, and its meaning spreads through
his blood. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Once you commit and decide that there is no turning back, you'll find the strength. ~ Marta Mrotek

There's no turning back now. The only choice is to move on. ~ Julie Kagawa

You have no idea how hard this is for me, but ... maybe, this isn't the right time. Not now, in a vampire tower ... with them all around." He opened his eyes, giving me a pleading look. "Do you understand ... what I'm trying to say?"
I smiled. "You're turning red, did you know that?"
"Allie!" Zeke blew out his breath in a huff. I laughed, released him and stepped back. ~ Julie Kagawa