Ugly Step Sister Quotes

I will tell you about the lady I loved."

The girls settled together on the entrance steps, not even breathing, for fear it would rustle the rosebushes about them and mask Mr. Keeper's words. Mr. Keeper stood unmoving on the dance floor.

"Once upon a time," he said. His voice dripped in silk strands. "There was a High King, who wanted more than anything to kill the Captain General who incited a rebellion against him. It consumed him. The desire to kill the Captain General filled him to his core, and he spent every breath, every step, thinking of ways to murder the Captain General.

"But he was old, and time passed, as it always does."

Mr. Keeper paused. Bramble cast a slightly bemused glance at Azalea, her eyebrow arched.

"So," Mr. Keeper continued, "he took an oath. He filled a wine flute to the brim with blood. And he swore, on that blood, to kill the Wentworth General, and that he would not die until he did.

"And then, he drank it.

"The end."

There was a very ugly, naked silence after that. The girls' mouths gaped in perfect Os.

"Sorry?" said Delphinium. "I missed the part about the lady?"

"Ah," said Mr. Keeper. "The blood. It was hers. ~ Heather Dixon Wallwork

Sister Aziza told us about the Jews. She described them in such a way that I imagined them as physically monstrous: they had horns on their heads, and noses so large they stuck right out of their faces like great beaks. Devils and djinns literally flew out of their heads to mislead Muslims and spread evil. Everything that went wrong was the fault of the Jews. The Iraqi tyrant Saddam Hussein, who had attacked the Islamic Revolution in Iran, was a Jew. The Americans, who were giving money to Saddam, were controlled by the Jews. The Jews controlled the world, and that was why we had to be pure: to resist this evil influence. Islam was under attack, and we should step forward and fight the Jews, for only if all Jews were destroyed would peace come for Muslims. I ~ Ayaan Hirsi Ali

You need some help, Rosie?"
His footsteps quicken behind me, and before I can respond, I feel his calloused hands on my waist. I accidently slide back against his chest and inhale the scent that has always clung to his whole family - something like forests, damp leaves, and sunshine. I suppose when your father is a woodsman you're bound to carry the scent of oak in your veins. One breath is all I get the chance for, though; he kicks the door open and sets me down on the front stoop, then takes a step back. I turn to face him, hoping to thank him for the help and in the same sentence admonish him for carrying me like a little girl.
Instead, I smile. He's still Silas - Silas who left a year ago, the boy just a little older than my sister. His eyes are still sparkling and expressive, hair still the brown-black color of pine bark, body broad-shouldered and a little too willowy for his features. He's still there, but it's as if someone new has been layered on top of him. Someone older and stronger who isn't looking a me as if I'm Scarlett's kid sister . . . someone who makes me feel dizzy and quivery. How did this happen?
Calm down. It's just Silas. Sort of.
"You're staring," he says cautiously, looking worried.
"Oh. Um, sorry," I say, shaking my head. Silas shoves his hands into his pockets with a familiar sway. "It's just been a while, that's all."
"Yeah, no kidding. You're heavier than I remember."
I frown, mortified.
"Oh, no, wait. I di ~ Jackson Pearce

I let them do some simple arithmetic. In a group of one hundred people, how many assholes are there? How many fathers who humiliate their children? How many morons whose breath stinks like rotten meat but who refuse to do anything about it? How many hopeless cases who go on complaining all their lives about the non-existent injustices they've had to suffer? Look around you, I said. How many of your classmates would you be pleased not to see return to their desks tomorrow morning? Think about that one family member of your own family, that irritating uncle with his pointless, horseshit stories at birthday parties, that ugly cousin who mistreats his cat. Think about how relieved you would be - and not only you, but virtually the entire family - if that uncle or cousin would step on a landmine or be hit by a five-hundred-pounder dropped from a high altitude. If that member of the family were to be wiped off the face of the earth. And now think about all those millions of victims of all the wars there have been in the past - I never specifically mentioned the Second World War, I used it as an example because it's the one that most appeals to their imaginations - and think about the thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of victims who we need to have around like we need a hole in the head. Even from a purely statistical standpoint, it's impossible that all those victims were good people, whatever kind of people that may be. The injustice is found more in the fact that the assholes ~ Herman Koch

After more hours in a carriage with Archer than he ever wanted to experience again, Grey returned to Ryeton House. All he wanted to do was find Rose, climb into bed with her, and sleep for the rest of the day. Honestly, sleep. Entwine his legs with hers, sink into her arms, bury his face in the sweet warm hollow of her neck…
"You coming?"
Grey blinked and turned his head. He was standing in the drive with Archer and the others watching him expectantly.
Archer shook his head, clearly exasperated. "Are we going inside, Your Grace, or shall we conduct our business on the street for all Mayfair to witness?"
"Inside," he mumbled. Could he be any more of an idiot? He walked toward the door, the others falling into step behind him. Archer took Bronte's arm and led their pale, scared-looking sister into the house. Grey hadn't had much of a chance to talk to her, to let her know that everything would be fine. She probably thought he was going to rant and rave and tell her she could never see Alexander again.
Truth be told, ranting and raving was tempting. And a little fear was a small price to pay for what she'd put him through-and for thinking so ill of him to begin with. When had he ever given her reason to think him a monster? ~ Kathryn Smith

You've got it wrong." His voice was harsh.

"Jackson - "

He cut her off. "No, it's my turn to talk. You've given your speech. And I get it, Mollie, I do. Madison is your sister, and she made you PB&J as a kid when your parents checked out, and that's fine. But open your eyes. You don't owe her anything anymore. You are your own woman, and you are a woman, Mollie. You're not a kid. You're not a girl. And if I've been a complete asshole lately, it's because I'm having a hell of a time coming to grips with the fact that I want you. And fuck, Mollie, I want you. I want you so bad, I'm dying."

Mollie had never made the first move on a man in her life. She was old-fashioned like that. But she made the first move now.

She took a step forward, placed a hand at the back of his head, and pulled his mouth to hers. ~ Lauren Layne

The dark-haired stranger's head snapped around. "Daphne? Did he say Daphne?"
She drew back, unnerved by his direct question and the rather intense look in his eyes. "Yes."
"Your name is Daphne?"
Now she was beginning to wonder if he was an idiot. "Yes."
He groaned. "Not Daphne Bridgerton."
Her face slid into a puzzled frown. "The very one."
Simon staggered back a step. He suddenly felt physically ill, as his brain finally processed the fact that she had thick, chestnut hair.
The famous Bridgerton hair. Not to mention the Bridgerton nose, and cheekbones, and - Bugger it all, this was Anthony's sister!
Bloody hell.
There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend's Sister.
While he stood there, probably staring at her like a complete idiot, she planted her hands on her hips, and demanded, "And who are you?"
"Simon Basset," he muttered.
"The duke?" she squeaked.
He nodded grimly.
"Oh, dear. ~ Julia Quinn

Shy South comes home to her farm to find a blackened shell, her brother and sister stolen, and knows she'll have to go back to bad old ways if she's ever to see them again. She sets off in pursuit with only her cowardly old step-father Lamb for company. But it turns out he's hiding a bloody past of his own. None bloodier. Their journey will take them across the lawless plains, to a frontier town gripped by gold fever, through feuds, duels, and massacres, high into unmapped mountains to a reckoning with ancient enemies, and force them into alliance with Nicomo Cosca, infamous soldier of fortune, a man no one should ever have to trust ... ~ Joe Abercrombie

3. Learn the Will Skill. Many people believe that fitness and exercise are all about willpower - whether you have it or not. Will is important, but people forget that willpower is a skill with its own rules and tricks to practice. For example, recent research shows that if people can distract their attention for just a few minutes, they can suppress negative urges and make better decisions.8 Sharman W. used this idea to help her avoid cheating on her diet. She listed the ten reasons she wanted to lose weight and created the following rule: She could cheat on her diet, but only after reading her list and calling her sister. This extra step introduced a delay and brought in social support from her sister. Other strategies our Changers use include taking short walks, repeating poems they have memorized, and drinking a glass of water. The key is to be aware of the impulse and to focus on something different until the impulse goes away. ~ Kerry Patterson

Dear sister. I may not understand every little step you take and move you make, but I accept you just the way you are. Is that good enough for you?"
Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. "Yes," she sniffed. ~ Jen Minkman

Don't be content with the Christian desk calendar approach to Christianity. Don't be satisfied with a daily practical saying or some three-step process for being a good wife or a better friend. God has both called you and equipped you to know him. We have no excuse to remain ignorant of his character. Seek God's face. Understand his character. Pursue knowledge of him, for apart from the "fear of the Lord" and "the knowledge of the Holy One" (Proverbs 9:10) we have no hope for being a wise mother, sister, wife, or friend. ~ Wendy Alsup

Every second a million petitions wing past the ear of God. Let it be door number two. Get Janet through this. Make Mom fall in love again, make the pain go away, make this key fit. If I fish this cove, plant this field, step into this darkness, give me the strength to see it through. Help my marriage, my sister, me. What will this fund be worth in thirteen days? In thirteen years? Will I be around in thirteen years? And the most unanswerable of unanswerables: Don't let me die. And: What will happen afterward? Chandeliers and choirs? Flocks of souls like starlings harrying across the sky? Eternity; life again as bacteria, or as sunflowers, or as a leatherback turtle; suffocating blackness; cessation of all cellular function. ~ Anthony Doerr

It is a beautiful thing to know that every tear, every obstacle is, in fact, a chance to step higher. To choose better. To have better. To paint over the hurts like never before. "He uses all things for good" is this very essence! It is not He who desires these fallen moment, these times of hurt and confusion, but it IS he who weaves our creations, the good and ugly, into a tapestry of glory for those who love him and live in His presence. ~ Bella Vespira

I'm still ashamed that I did not step out of that dense grass, that I did not climb those steps and grab his hand and lead him down them as an elder sister should, that I did not say: Here I am, brother. I'm here. ~ Jesmyn Ward

I have three step brothers and one step sister. It's like a staircase, and I am the slinky. ~ Jarod Kintz

This is nothing. And you are nothing.

She took another step, and stumbled. The ground was plummeting downward now.

You are nothing. There was a starving girl. You gave her things and then left her like a beggar on the street, and for what?

There was a couple in the cottage. You could have given them something, but you left. And for what?

There was a dancing girl in the marketplace. You could have helped her, but you left. And for what?

There was a boy and his bird sister. He helped you, and you gave him nothing.

There was a swanskin, and you thought it might make you beautiful.

There were red shoes, and you thought they might make you graceful.

There was a threshold and a magical woods, and you thought they might make you a hero.

There was a boy, and he was your best friend.

Your father left you. You left your mother.

Come, the wind said, and I will blow you away.

Come, the snow said, and I will bury you.

Come, the cold said, and I will embrace you.

Come. Come.

And so she did. ~ Anne Ursu

Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!" exclaimed she, rattling away at the instrument. "Poor, puny things, not fit to stir a step beyond papa's park gates: nor to go even so far without mama's permission and guardianship! Creatures so absorbed in care about their pretty faces, and their white hands, and their small feet; as if a man had anything to do with beauty! As if loveliness were not the special prerogative of woman - her legitimate appanage and heritage! I grant an ugly woman is a blot on the fair face of creation; but as to the gentlemen, let them be solicitous to possess only strength and valour: let their motto be: - Hunt, shoot, and fight: the rest is not worth a fillip. Such should be my device, were I a man. ~ Charlotte Bronte

Thank you," I managed to say.

Replying with a nod, he approached my horse. "Here, let me help you - "

I slipped down myself before he could lend a hand, keeping the fur hide in my possession. "I'm not suddenly incapable because I wear a dress, Thaddeus."

"I wasn't suggesting…." Wisely, he let the issue drop.

Lifting an arm, he offered it to me. That's when I noticed my sword in sheath belted to his waist.

"That's mine!" I declared, reaching for the hilt.

Thaddeus managed a quick side-step. He hardened his jaw at my look of incredulity. I would only wait momentarily for an explanation.

"I know the sword is yours, Catherine, everyone knows that. But you're too beautiful tonight to ruin that radiant look with an ugly, leather belt strapped about you."

I was starting to think the man was using compliments as a weapon to defend himself against me. It did work to temper my anger somewhat.

"I brought the sword as a cautionary act, just in case those nasty werewolves show up. Seeing how I'll be standing beside you all evening, the blade will be at your disposal if needed."

I accepted his reasoning and stood down.

"Besides," Thaddeus added, apparently feeling safe, "what's yours is mine now anyway."

I glared at the fool. "That works both ways, you know."

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. "If it must."

Again, he offered me his arm wh ~ Richelle E. Goodrich

Putting down the power right from the whistle would be ugly and brutal, but it would get the job done. He wanted to tell her that, but this was the thing with coaching: you had to step back at exactly the moment you ached to step forward. ~ Chris Cleave

The complete atheist stands on the next-to-last highest rung leading to the fullest and most complete faith (he may take that step, or he may not), but the indifferent man has no faith at all, except an ugly fear. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky

They're all gone, my tribe is gone. Those blankets they gave us, infected with smallpox, have killed us. I'm the last, the very last, and I'm sick, too. So very sick. Hot. My fever burning so hot.
I have to take off my clothes, feel the cold air, splash water across my bare skin. And dance. I'll dance a Ghost Dance. I'll bring them back. Can you hear the drums? I can hear them, and it's my grandfather and grandmother singing. Can you hear them?
I dance one step and my sister rises from the ash. I dance another and a buffalo crashes down from the sky onto a log cabin in Nebraska. With every step, an Indian rises. With every other step, a buffalo falls.
I'm growing, too. My blisters heal, my muscles stretch, expand. My tribe dances behind me. At first they are no bigger than children. Then they begin to grow, larger than me, larger than the trees around us. The buffalo come to join us and their hooves shake the earth, knock all the white people from their beds, send their plates crashing to the floor.
We dance in circles growing larger and larger until we are standing on the shore, watching all the ships returning to Europe. All the white hands are waving good-bye and we continue to dance, dance until the ships fall off the horizon, dance until we are so tall and strong that the sun is nearly jealous. We dance that way. ~ Sherman Alexie

I'd like to go to one," she said. "It might not be my thing even, but I'd like to go at least once to say I've done it. Sometimes I feel cheated. I know it's selfish, but sometimes I wonder what it would've been like if my grandfather didn't get himself exiled. Who knows, I might have been a lady."

He didn't have much use for ladies. A lady was someone else's wife or daughter or sister. They were not real, almost like trophies forever out of his reach. She was real. And strong.

She looked about to cry.

"Would you like to dance?"

Her eyes opened wide. "Are you serious?"

Once he learned something, he never forgot it. William took a step forward and executed a perfect deep bow, his left arm out. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Lady Cerise?"

She cleared her throat and curtsied, holding imaginary skirts. "Certainly, Lord Bill. But we have no music."

"That's fine." He stepped to her, sliding one arm around her waist. She put her hand on his shoulder. Her body touched his, and he spun with her around the attic, light on his feet, leading her. It took her a moment and then she caught his rhythm and followed him. She was flexible and quick, and he kept picturing her naked.

"You dance really well, Lord Bill."

"Especially if I have a knife."

She laughed. They circled the attic once, twice, and he brought them to the center of the room, shifting from a qu ~ Ilona Andrews

Since every I is, in itself, fundamentally criminal in its attitude toward the State and the people, we must
recognize that to live is to transgress. Unless we accept death, we must be willing to kill in order to be
unique. "You are not as noble as a criminal, you who do not desecrate anything." Moreover Stirner, still
without the courage of his convictions, specifies: "Kill them, do not martyr them."
But to decree that murder is legitimate is to decree mobilization and war for all the Unique. Thus murder
will coincide with a kind of collective suicide. Stirner, who either does not admit or does not see this,
nevertheless does not recoil at the idea of any form of destruction. The spirit of rebellion finally discovers
one of its bitterest satisfactions in chaos. "You [the German nation] will be struck down. Soon your sister
nations will follow you; when all of them have gone your way, humanity will be buried, and on its tomb I,
sole master of myself at last, I, heir to all the human race, will shout with laughter." And so, among the
ruins of the world, the desolate laughter of the individual-king illustrates the last victory of the spirit of
rebellion. But at this extremity nothing else is possible but death or resurrection. Stirner, and with him all
the nihilist rebels, rush to the utmost limits, drunk with destruction. After which, when the desert has been
disclosed, the next step is to learn how to live there ~ Albert Camus

This was the kind of woman she understood, a woman after her own cold heart. ~ Vivian French

History books say that kings and dukes and generals start wars. Don't believe it. We start them, you and I. Every time we turn away, keep quiet, stay out of it, behave ourselves. ~ Jennifer Donnelly

Her eyes are sad.
My thoughts are sadder.
And you can't fall in love with me.
She slowly walks inside, avoiding my gaze as she watches her feet with each step.
They're the saddest steps I've ever seen
taken.
I close the door.
It's the saddest door I've ever had to close. ~ Collleen Hoover

Did every step feel like the running leap a bird takes before flight? ~ Jesmyn Ward

Miles backs up a step and turns so that he can face Dillon and Corbin at the same time. His eyes remain locked hard with Dillon's. "He's trying to fuck your sister."
Jesus Christ, Miles. Ever hear of sugarcoating? ~ Colleen Hoover

Seeing is itself touched with elegy. Reality seems to press its light into us, it is happening, but that's not the way things are. The eye can process only so many images per second, taking in sights the way a camera takes a series of stills. The reality we see is the sketchpad comics we made as kids, me and my brothers and sister. Draw a stickman taking a step on one page, and on the next draw that same figure, only his foot is slightly further ahead, and again on the next page, draw this figure, but with his foot on the ground. Flip through them quickly, and he appears to walk. That's the mechanics of the eye, too. We think we are seeing life as it happens, but pictures are missing. Moments disappear between the stills and make up our unwitnessed lives. To see is to miss things. Loss is always with us. ~ Ryan Knighton

I seem to remember a certain someone swearing that she couldn't dance at all. Obviously I must have been with her twin sister, because i was expecting you to step on my toes all night. Been taking lessons, Princess?
-Puck ~ Julie Kagawa

Wren's voice dropped. "She feels terrible about it, Cath."
"Good!" Cath shouted. "So do I!" She took a step closer to her sister. "I'm
probably going to be crazy for the rest of my life, thanks to her. I'm going to
keep making fucked-up decisions and doing weird things that I don't even
realize are weird. People are going to feel sorry for me, and I won't ever have
any normal relationships - and it's always going to be because I didn't have a
mother. Always. That's the ultimate kind of broken. The kind of damage you never recover from. I hope she feels terrible. I hope she never forgives herself."
"Don't say that." Wren's face was red, and there were tears in her eyes.
"I'm not broken."
There weren't any tears in Cath's eyes. "Cracks in your foundation." She
shrugged.
"Fuck that."
"Do you think I absorbed all the impact? That when Mom left, it hit my
side of the car? Fuck that, Wren. She left you, too."
"But it didn't break me. Nothing can break me unless I let it."
"Do you think Dad let it? Do you think he chose to fall apart when she
left?"
"Yes!" Wren was shouting now. "And I think he keeps choosing. I think
you both do. You'd rather be broken than move on."
"Dad's sick, Wren," she said as calmly as she could manage.
"And your omelette's burnt. And I'd rather be broken than wasted." She set
the plate on the counter. "You can tell Laura to go fuck herself. Like, to infin ~ Rainbow Rowell

If I were you? I would go west instead of east. Land in Dorne and raise my banners. The Seven Kingdoms will never be more ripe for conquest than they are right now. A boy king sits the Iron Throne. The north is in chaos, the riverlands a devastation, a rebel holds Storm's End and Dragonstone. When winter comes, the realm will starve. And who remains to deal with all of this, who rules the little king who rules the Seven Kingdoms? Why, my own sweet sister. There is no one else. My brother, Jaime, thirsts for battle, not for power. He's run from every chance he's had to rule. My uncle Kevan would make a passably good regent if someone pressed the duty on him, but he will never reach for it. The gods shaped him to be a follower, not a leader." Well, the gods and my lord father. "Mace Tyrell would grasp the sceptre gladly, but mine own kin are not like to step aside and give it to him. And everyone hates Stannis. Who does that leave? Why, only Cersei. ~ George R R Martin

No," I said. "I choose the prophecy. It will be about me."
"Why are you saying that?" she cried. "You want to be responsible for the whole world?"
It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it.
"I can't let Nico be in any more danger," I said. "I owe that much to his sister. I ... let them
both down. I'm not going to let that poor kid suffer any more. ~ Rick Riordan

Life sometimes gets so bogged down in the details, you forget you are living it. There is always another appointment to be met, another bill to pay, another symptom presenting, another uneventful day to be notched onto the wooden wall. We have synchronized our watches, studied our calendars, existed in minutes, and completely forgotten to step back and see what we've accomplished. ~ Jodi Picoult

My mother did not want to go to America: this much I knew. I knew it by the way she became distracted and impatient with my sister, by the way she stopped tucking us into bed at night. I knew it from watching her feet, which began to shuffle after my father announced the move, as though they threw down invisible roots that needed to be pulled out with each step. ~ Catherine Chung

This is the same notion - Catholic exorcism, psychotherapy, shamanistic practices - getting to the moment when whatever it was gained access. And also to the name of the spirit. Just to know that it's the Ugly Spirit. That's a great step. Because the spirit doesn't want its name to be known. ~ Allen Ginsberg

He shrugged. 'I think grief is like a really ugly couch. It never goes away. You can decorate around it; you can slap a doily on top of it; you can push it to the corner of the room
but eventually, you learn to live with it.' Somehow, I thought, elephants had taken it a step further. They didn't grimace every time they entered the room and saw that couch. They said, 'remember how many good memories we had here?' And they sat, for just a little while, before moving elsewhere. ~ Jodi Picoult