What Else Quotes

The truth is that men don't want to be friends with women. Men know they don't understand women, and they don't much care. They want women as lovers, as wives, as mothers, but they're not really interested in them as friends. They have friends. Men are their friends. And they talk to their male friends about sports, and I have no idea what else.
Women, on the other hand, are dying to be friends with men. Women know they don't understand men, and it bothers them: they think that if only they could be friends with them, they would understand them and, what's more (and this is their gravest mistake), it would help. ~ Nora Ephron

A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter. ~ J.K. Rowling

You have only to lift your hand,' Thorkel Fostri said. And after a moment, 'What else were you born for?'
'Why not happiness, like other men? Thorfinn said.
'You have that,' said his foster-father. 'But if you try to trap it, it will change. Why do you resist? It is your right.'
'I resist because it is no use resisting,' Thorfinn said. 'Do you not think that is unfair? I shall be King because I was King; and I shall die because I did die; and did I remember them, I could even tell what are the three ways it might befall me. ~ Dorothy Dunnett

His own personal siren nightmare. What else could it be when his body only sparked alive when it was her.

She made his lungs work, his heart beat.

It was a goddamn disease is what it was. ~ V. Theia

I play myself all the time, on camera and off. What else can I do? ~ Harry Dean Stanton

What else had I forgotten? What else would come back, knocking me off balance and reminding me how tenuous my grip on reality was? ~ Susannah Cahalan

Little Girl Blue"

Sit there, hmm, count your fingers.
What else, what else is there to do ?
Oh and I know how you feel,
I know you feel that you're through.
Oh wah wah ah sit there, hmm, count,
Ah, count your little fingers,
My unhappy oh little girl, little girl blue, yeah.

Oh sit there, oh count those raindrops
Oh, feel 'em falling down, oh honey all around you.
Honey don't you know it's time,
I feel it's time,
Somebody told you 'cause you got to know
That all you ever gonna have to count on
Or gonna wanna lean on
It's gonna feel just like those raindrops do
When they're falling down, honey, all around you.
Oh, I know you're unhappy.

Oh sit there, ah go on, go on
And count your fingers.
I don't know what else, what else
Honey have you got to do.
And I know how you feel,
And I know you ain't got no reason to go on
And I know you feel that you must be through.
Oh honey, go on and sit right back down,
I want you to count, oh count your fingers,
Ah my unhappy, my unlucky
And my little, oh, girl blue.
I know you're unhappy,
Ooh ah, honey I know,
Baby I know just how you feel. ~ Janis Joplin

Every age has its own way of mythmaking. Ancient Egypt had its myths, the Sumerians and the Assyrians, the Christians and the Muslims, the North and the South
the style of creating myths always varies. What myths are being created as a shelter even in the chaotic atmosphere of today! Until doomsday humanity will create these shelters. What else could people do when they come from one darkness and travel to another? And with so much deprivation? Man remains man so long as he dreams. ~ Yasar Kemal

A story: A man fires a rifle for many years, and he goes to war. And afterward he turns the rifle in at the armory, and he believes he's finished with the rifle. But no matter what else he might do with his hands, love a woman, build a house, change his son's diaper; his hands remember the rifle. ~ Anthony Swofford

I love inappropriate humour. What else are you going to do? You have to laugh. ~ Bojana Novakovic

He will break it to her gently, he thinks. A hint, at first; a few more suggestions in letters over the coming months; in September he'll raise the subject. By then...Perhaps he'll have more encouragement from Dr. Hooker by then, which he can offer to Clara as evidence that his work is worthwhile. Perhaps he'll understand by then how he might justify his plans to her. For now - what else can he say in this letter? He has kept too much from her, these last months. If his letters were meant to be a map of his mind, a way for her to follow his trail, then he has failed her. Somehow, as summer comes to these peaks and he does his job for the last time, he must find a way to let her share in his journey. But for now all he can do is triangulate the first few points. ~ Andrea Barrett

The rats had gnawed a hole through the bottom panel. At least he assumed it was rats. Of course it was. What else could it be? For a moment, he conjured up an assortment of Lovecraftian creatures crouching on their haunches, waiting patiently in the dark just beyond the door, waiting to devour him like a side of fresh beef. He quickly held his imagination in check. ~ Gary Val Tenuta

I should have known that at the root of any mystery that's all you find: people doing unspeakable harm to other people. What else on this earth is there to hide? ~ Nick Dybek

What else do I deserve?" One side of his lips tipped up. "Everything, baby, you deserve everything. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

I was fuzzy on the details, but I knew the basic outline. I knew how I wanted to be, it was simply a question of being who I wanted to be.
I thought I had had it all figured out before. I'd had the plan perfectly clear in my head. I wasn't going to cross into thirty without the triple crown in hand: serious boyfriend, career, and great friends..
It was time to accept that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to have it all figured out by the time I turned thirty. Maybe I could just work on me, and see what else fell into place.
I was pretty sure that was otherwise known as living. ~ Megan Crane

I was so furious, you see, that all around me were things that could move and bend and grow and reproduce and my son - my vital, charismatic, beautiful boy - was just this thing. Immobile, wilted, bloodied, suffering. Their beauty seemed like an obscenity. I screamed and I screamed and I swore - words I didn't know I knew - until Steven came out and stood, his hand resting on my shoulder, waiting until he could be sure that I would be silent again. He didn't understnad, you see. He hadn't worked it out yet. That Will would try again. That our lives would be spent in a state of constant vigilance, waiting for the next time, waiting to see what horror he could inflict upon himself. We would have to see the world through his eyes - the potential poisons, the sharp objects, the inventiveness with which he could finish the job that damned motorcyclist had started. Our lives had to shrink to fit around the potential for that one act. And he had the advantage - he had nothing else to think about, you see ? Two weeks later, I told Will, "Yes". Of course I did. What else could I have done ? ~ Jojo Moyes

He bristles with impatience. I feel the lust rolling off him, the violence beneath it.
"You said you wanted something. What is it, Ms. Lane?"
I smile coolly. "The deed to my bookstore, Barrons. What else? ~ Karen Marie Moning

What else is there for me to conquer? Hopefully my ego. How will I know when I've succeeded? When I stop caring what anyone thinks. ~ Madonna Ciccone

I have always felt that putting emotions into words was an exercise in futility, they're often more complex than words can manage and it seems often impossible. And like an injustice to the emotions, like I will never have explained them well enough and it will just feel incomplete and wrong. Also I'm pretty sure you made me do this before heh.

All of that said, I shall do my best to manage this. You are incredibly passionate. Straightforward. Funny. I feel like such a god damn idiot spouting random adjectives but I don't know what else to do. O.O You are those things though and I love them. You see the world in a way I feel I can understand at least somewhat, a way many don't. You embrace things others try to stifle. You aren't ashamed of being yourself and yourself is wonderful. Kind and compassionate. You sure helped me and I think I helped you too, we connected on some issues even if our issues weren't the same. We... ugh, I can't do it, I can't distill something as complex, intricate, beautiful, amazing as YOU into mere words. But you are who you are and you stole my heart and I don't mind. I like it. I love you. Can't go wrong with someone that loves music and wants to have lotr snuggle fests!

I'm here darlingness. I just kept trying and trying to find the right words. It's difficult. NOT because I have anything less than the utmost massive lovelberry tree gem pie for you. It's just... emotions, y'know? They're hard to explain. o.o ~ Devouree

Suddenly William loomed over him, scowling, snarling and bloody, his suit dirt-stained and ripped. "Do you know. How many strands. Of hair I lost. On my way down?"
Whatever. "Math was never my thing, but I'm gonna say you lost…a lot."
Electric-blues glittered with menace. "You are a cruel, sadistic bastard. My hair needs TLC and you…you… Damn you! I've gutted men for less."
"I know. I've watched you." Paris lumbered to his feet and scanned the rocky bank they stood upon, the crimson ocean lapping and bubbling in every direction. The drawbridge was only a fifty-yard dash away. "Don't kill the messenger, but I'm thinking you should change your dating profile to balding."
Masculine cheeks went scarlet as the big bad warrior struggled for a comeback.
…
"One of these days you're going to wake up," William finally said, "and I will have shaved you. Everywhere."
"Won't make a difference. Women will still want me. But you know what else? What I did to you wasn't cruel, Willy." He offered the warrior a white-flag grin. A trick. A lie. "This, however, is."
He grabbed William by the wrist, swung the man around and around before at last releasing him and hurling his body directly onto the bridge. ~ Gena Showalter

You're Shane, right?'
He inched away from her and managed a quick nod as he twisted the rag he held in his fingers.
'Heidi sad you were willing to teach me how to ride.' Her expression shifted from entertained to confused, as if she was wondering why no one had mentioned he was a can or two shy of a six-pack.
'A horse,' he clarified, then wanted to kick himself. What else but a horse? Did he think she was here to learn to ride his mother's elephant?
One corner of Annabelle's perfect, full mouth twitched. 'A horse would be good. You seem to have several.'
He wanted to remind himself that he was usually fine around women. Smooth even. He was intelligent, funny and could, on occasion, be charming. Just not now, with his blood pumping and his brain doing nothing more than shouting "it's her, it's her" over and over again.
Chemistry, he thought grimly. It could turn the smartest man into a drooling idiot. Here he was, proving the theory true. ~ Susan Mallery

I think reading is sexy." Daemon smiled at himself.
My brows inched up my forehead. "Do you now?"
"Oh, yes, and you know what else I think is sexy?" he leaned forward so his entire face filled the picture and nodded his head toward me. "Bloggers like this. Hot." Rolling my eyes, I smacked his arm. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Right now he needed to concentrate on keeping himself under control. Inside, his gut churned. There was a war going on. The joy of holding his son again clashed with the waves of anger that rose higher and higher with each passing moment. He thought he had known why Pete had arrived at the farm. He had pushed the fork into the soil and watched the earth turn over sure that the truth of their tragedy was about to be laid before them. He had watched the dry earth give up the rich brown soil and wanted to stay there forever in the cold garden just watching his fork move the earth. He had not wanted to hear what Pete had to say. And now this..this..What did you call this? A miracle? What else could it be? But this miracle was tainted. He was not holding the same boy he had taken to the Easter Show.
This thin child with shaved hair was not the Lockie he knew. Someone had taken that child. They had taken his child and he could feel by the weight of him they had starved him. Someone had done this to him. They had done this and god knew what else. Doug walked slowly into the house, trying to find the right way to break the news to Sarah.
She was lying down in the bedroom again. These days she spent more time there than anywhere else. Doug walked slowly through the house to the main bedroom at the back. It was the only room in the house whose curtains were permanently closed.
How damaged was his child? Would he ever be the same boy they had taken up to the Show ? Wha ~ Nicole Trope

You want to have your cake and eat it too.
That's what she'd said. And what the hell does that mean anyway? If I've got cake, what else would I do with it? That phrase never made any sense to me. ~ Beverley Kendall

Maisie was willing to bet there'd be a third living room within. Because what else would they do with all this space but buy sofas to fill it? ~ Erin Kellison

But you know what else never happened to me?"
"Tell me," he ordered, still ... freaking ... grinning.
"Seeing him just a day later in a clinch with a brunette."
"You knew me, you'd know she didn't have staying power and you'd know you do."
"And how's that?" I snapped.
"She's dark, you're red. I'll fuck dark, I'll fuck sun but only red has staying power. Considered sun once. Lost her. Now it's you. ~ Kristen Ashley

I had my first French meal and I never got over it. It was just marvelous. We had oysters and a lovely dry white wine. And then we had one of those lovely scalloped dishes and the lovely, creamery buttery sauce. Then we had a roast duck and I don't know what else. ~ Julia Child

She's adorable ." "How would you know?" "I'm gay, not blind. Her hair's all poofy and she's got a great nose. I mean, a great nose. And, what? What do you people like? Boobs? She seems to have boobs. They seem to be of approximately normal boob size. What else do you want? ~ John Green

I believe in good and evil," said Jem. "And I believe the soul is eternal. But I don't believe in the fiery pit, the pitchforks, or endless torment. I do not believe you can threaten people into goodness."
Tessa looked at will. "What about you? What do you believe?
"Pulvis et umbra sumus," said Will, not looking at her as he spoke. "I believe we are dust and shadows. What else is there? ~ Cassandra Clare

What else do you want to do to me?" Jace asked, and Clint smiled. "That's a wicked look you've got going on."
"Just remember, you're the one who asked for it."
"It was merely a conversation starter."
"Consider it started. Now I'm going to finish it. ~ S.E. Jakes

So now you know what else existed in the world outside of you, before you knew only about yourself! ~ Franz Kafka

What was that bit about fish sticks?" he asked, climbing back into the SUV.
"Oh, pretty clever of her actually, though I thought it ridiculous at the time. Sometimes Mom gets paranoid, thinks people might be out to get her, out to get me." I laughed nervously at how close that hit to home. "Anyway, one night she was really freaked out and came up with a code. If I was ever
kidnapped or something, she would say something about me liking fish sticks. If I said I wanted fish sticks, that meant I was in danger and needed help, no matter what else I'd said to her that I was fine." "So by you saying you hate fish sticks…""She knows I'm fine and she doesn't need to further involve the police. Who says bipolar disorder can't be useful? ~ Christina Garner

I'd read somewhere that nine out of ten adults in Alaska had a drinking problem. I could believe it. Snow, ice, sleet, wind, the dark night of the soul: what else were you supposed to do? ~ T.C. Boyle

Girls get the message from very early on that what's most important is how they look, that their value, their worth depends on that. And boys get the message that this is what's important about girls. We get it from advertising. We get it from films. We get it from television shows, video games, everywhere we look. So no matter what else a woman does, no matter what else her achievements, their value still depends on how they look. ~ Jean Kilbourne

No wonder we have a lot of violence in Rio: the corrupt and violent policemen meet the violent criminals in the streets. What else is going to happen? ~ Jose Padilha

What else could I give you
I already gave you my whole heart
It beat and beat inside me
but it is yours ~ John Thomas Idlet

The armored infantry was Santa Claus, the battle was out Christmas. What else for the elves to do on Christmas Eve but to let their hair down and drink a a little eggnog. ~ Hiroshi Sakurazaka

Your conflicts, all the difficult things, the problematic situations in your life are not chance or haphazard. They are actually yours. They are specifically yours, designed specifically for you by a part of you that loves you more than anything else. The part of you that loves you more than anything else has created roadblocks to lead you to yourself. You are not going in the right direction unless there is something pricking you in the side, telling you, "Look here! This way!" That part of you loves you so much that it doesn't want you to lose the chance. It will go to extreme measures to wake you up, it will make you suffer greatly if you don't listen. What else can it do? That is its purpose. ~ A.H. Almaas

What else? She is so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers. ~ John Green

Lately I've been runnin' on faith. What else can a poor boy do? ~ Jerry Lynn Williams

Are you Italian?" Nico asked, putting
down his drink.

I looked up at him. "A quarter, and how
did you know that? I don't look it."

"You kind of do, plus you use a spoon like
Gina, that's the waitress, and she's half Italian."

I shrugged, having picked up the habit
from my nonna.

"What else are you?" he asked.

"I'm also a quarter Māori, part
French, Welsh, Danish, and English."

His eyes twinkled at me. "Add a few more
countries in there and you'll be a one-woman United Nations."

I smiled at that and lifted the pasta to
my mouth. Gina returned with Nico's plate of food, causing me to lower the fork
momentarily, making me wonder whether I should wait for him, but Gina started
asking him questions about university, so I took a bite. I shivered at the
delicious taste of garlic, the chef having put the perfect amount in, just how
my nonna would've made it.

The waitress disappeared as Nico picked up
his fork, twirling the spaghetti onto it without the aid of a spoon. "Looks
like you got the best parts out of all of those nationalities," he said.

I blushed at the compliment, always
embarrassed when people said nice things about my looks. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied, popping the
spaghetti into his mouth, his unusual eyes once more twinkling at me, so bright
that I understood why his adop ~ Marita A. Hansen

It strikes her that, until these last weeks, she has lived in an impossibly small universe, willfully blinded to the vastness of existence outside of her chosen life. And perhaps, she thinks, that is how everyone lives. Perhaps it is exactly these blinders that the complacency and comfort of our days depends upon: we survive by shutting out the endless questions of what else might be. ~ Matthew Flaming

It's so easy to focus on what could go wrong, on what else you could do before you try the thing you really want to do. No. Just get out there and try. ~ Elizabeth Warren

Santa Claus is a god. He's no less a god than Ahura Mazda, or Odin, or Zeus. Think of the white beard, the chariot pulled through the air by a breed of animal which doesn't ordinarily fly, the prayers (requests for gifts) which are annually mailed to him and which so baffle the Post Office, the specially-garbed priests in all the department stories. And don't gods reflect their creators' society? The Greeks had a huntress goddess, and gods of agriculture and war and love. What else would we have but a god of giving, of merchandising, and of consumption? ~ Donald E. Westlake

His eyes ran over her hungrily. "I couldn't get it out of my mind," he said, almost to himself, "the way it felt, back at my mother's house. I was never so hungry for anyone, but it wasn't completely physical, even then." He frowned. "I want you, Cecily, and I hate myself for it."
"What else is new?" She gestured toward the door. "Go home. And I hope you don't sleep a wink."
"I probably won't," he said ruefully. He moved toward the door, hesitating.
"Good night," she said firmly, not moving.
He stood with his back to her, his spine very straight. "I can trace my ancestors back before the Mexican War in the early 1800s, pure Lakota blood, undiluted even by white settlement. There are so few of us left…"
She could have wept for what she knew, and he didn't know. "You don't have to explain it to me," she said solemnly. "I know how you feel."
"You don't," he bit off. He straightened again. "I'd die to have you, just once." He turned, and the fire was in his eyes as they met hers, glittering across the room. "It's like that for you, too."
"It's a corruption of the senses. You don't love me," she said quietly. "Without love, it's just sex."
He breathed deliberately, slowly. He didn't want to ask. He couldn't help it. "Something you know?"
"Yes. Something I know," she said, lying with a straight face and a smile that she hoped was worldly. She was not going to settle for crumbs from him, stolen hours in his bed. Men were devious when desi ~ Diana Palmer

They told me the drugs would take away the pain.
They told me the drugs would help me sleep.
They are wrong. The pain of losing Damien hasn't gone away. And I hardly ever sleep.
There's a part of me that wishes I could close my eyes and shut out the world, but I can't. I can't because I know behind my eyelids, I'll see him. He'll be there looking so fresh and alive. His skin will be vibrant with color, his blue blue eyes sparkling. He'll flash me his radiant smile and for a few minutes, I'll actually believe that he didn't die.
I'll believe it and then I wake up to discover that my mind is torturing me with what could have been and I lose control of my emotions.
I scream.
Sob.
Hug my knees to my chest.
Rock back and forth.
Tug at my hair.
I pace the length of my shoebox room and throw myself into the padded white walls. I pray for someone or something to come along and take the pain away. I pray for someone or something to erase my memory so that I'll never have to think of Damien again. And so that I'll never have to live with the painful reminder that I am the reason he died.
Damien died for me.
And for love.
And I'm not quite sure what else.
Maybe to prove a point. ~ Lauren Hammond

Indeed, mother, you are always our helper."
"For what else are we born? ~ Alan Paton

But I guess that's what a relationship seems like to me: that no matter what else is going on, you're happiest when you're together. ~ Cassandra Clare

A disciple said to him, "I am ready, in the quest for God , to give up anything: wealth, friends, family, country, life itself. What else can a person give up?" The Master calmly replied, "One's beliefs about God. ~ Anthony De Mello

Apart from the known and the unknown, what else is there? ~ Harold Pinter

You want me to have feelings?" he said. "I already told you that I love you. What else should I say? That I long to be near you every second of every day? I see colors, only around you ... I smell perfume, only around you. God, it's like ... like I'm alive again. Sometimes I go crazy just wondering if I imagined it all, and I wait to see when it ... you ... will be taken away from me."
"I feel all these things, Abbey," he continued on. "Rage that I can't run my fingers through your hair. Sorrow that I can't lay my face next to yours. Agony that I can't steal the breath from your lips. I can't eat or breathe or sleep for wanting to touch you, and yet I don't eat or breathe or sleep. I'm just here. Stuck in between. ~ Jessica Verday

If you can't, or won't, think of Seymour, then you go right ahead and call in some ignorant psychoanalyst. You just do that. You just call in some analyst who's experienced in adjusting people to the joys of television, and Life magazine every Wednesday, and European travel, and the H-bomb, and Presidential elections, and the front page of the Times, and God knows what else that's gloriously normal. ~ J.D. Salinger

Yesterday when we went over the plan again and again, I never thought about Grandad showing up. Because I'm an idiot, basically
an idiot with poor planning skills. Of course he's here. Where else would he be?
Seriously, what else could go wrong? ~ Holly Black

His eyes strayed past us to the television. On the program they were now selling a glove with small rubber bristles on the palm for grooming pets. "I know what else you could use that for," Adkins said. He made a masturbation motion with his hand and winked and smiled at Thompson. "That's what they're really selling that for, you know. ~ Michael Connelly

The Odyssey is the story of motion both purposeful and purposeless, successful and futile. What else is the history of law? ~ Bernhard Schlink

I feel very lucky. I don't know what else there has to be. I'm happy, as corny as it sounds, to be living in a place where it's easy to live, easy to drive to the airport, easy to go pick up something at the supermarket and to have a circle of friends. Those were my goals in 1998, not to be queen of photography but to make a cultural adjustment to the West. And those are still more important goals to me than professional ones right now. ~ Andrea Modica

Write it, damn you, write it! What else are you good for? ~ James Joyce

I had been moved by John Wesley's line "The world is my parish" and had decided I was the pastor of everyone in my neighborhood, whether they acknowledged me as such or not. I didn't need their permission to love them like mad, listen to their stories, or be their friend. And what else exactly is a pastor supposed to do? ~ Jonathan Martin

You know, I always knew I was a piece of shit
a real fucking asshole. But you know what else? You were always there to convince me I was right. ~ Elizabeth Finn

And he took the slap like a man. No whining. What else do you want from a fella? ~ Allan Dare Pearce

What are you looking at?" Jordan demanded finally, watching
her.
"A dragon." When he looked bewildered she lifted her arm and pointed to the sky in the southeast. "Right there - that cloud - what do you see when you look at it?"
"A fat cloud."
Alexandra rolled her eyes at him. "What else do you see?"
He was quiet for a moment studying the sky. "Five more fat clouds
and three thin ones. ~ Judith McNaught

My body felt like tangled rubber bands and dried-out pens and sticky paper clips, like the contents of a drawer where you put the things you don't have anywhere else to put, and I knew that the mind and body are connected, and that my bodily sensations were just messages from my mind, but I just wished there was a box or a drawer or a hole in the ground where I could put all this, all this mind and body stuff that I didn't know what else to do with. ~ Catherine Lacey

I love you, Eliza," I said.
She thought about it. "No," she said at last, "I don't like it."
"Why not?" I said.
"It's as though you were pointing a gun at my head," she said. "It's just a way of getting somebody to say something they probably don't mean. What else can I say, or anybody say, but, 'I love you, too'? ~ Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else?
And shall I couple Hell? ~ William Shakespeare

There were many things he had to tell her, but what he really needed to say was simple. "I've missed you so much and ache to see you again. Every moment of the day no matter what else I'm doing you're in my thoughts. I want to … need to see you again.
Please come to me."
Pressing pencil to paper, he wrote. "See me. 7. Jim." He thought a moment and added "Livery Stable" just as it was printed on the sign above the door of the building.
Folding the paper, he wrote "Miss Johnson" on the outside. ~ Bonnie Dee

Doesn't it tire you?" I asked. "To feel so much?"
"Doesn't it tire you to not feel at all?"
In that moment, I realized I'd come face to face with my polar opposite, and I didn't have a clue what else to say to a stranger as strange as her. ~ Brittainy C. Cherry

What else can matter to us, other than how our lives feel from the inside? ~ Robert Nozick

All I have to say is - run, dive, pitch a tent ... Spend hours on the phone with your best friend ... Wear bikinis. Drink tequila. Wake up in the morning happy for no good reason ... Lie in the grass, dream of your future, of your imperfect life & your imperfect marriage to your imperfect true love ... Because what else is there? Honestly, there's nothing else. Nothing else matters. ~ Melanie Gideon

Hey - Duggie! Duggie! Duggie!" He came running up to me, sparkler in hand. I felt like sticking one on him, the cheeky bastard. Nobody called me Duggie.
He held the sparkler up in front of my face and said, "Wait. Wait."
I was already waiting. What else was there to do?
"Here you are," he said. "Look! What's this?"
At that precise moment, his sparkler fizzled out. I didn't say anything, so he supplied the answer himself. "The death of the socialist dream," he said.
He giggled like a little maniac, and stared at me for a second or two before running off, and in that time I saw exactly the same thing I'd seen in Stubbs's eyes the day before. The same triumphalism, the same excitement, not because something new was being created, but because something was being destroyed. I thought about Phillip and his stupid rock symphony and I swear that my eyes pricked with tears. This ludicrous attempt to squeeze the history of the countless millennia into half an hour's worth of crappy riffs and chord changes suddenly seemed no more Quixotic than all the things my dad and his colleagues had been working towards for so long. A national health service, free to everyone who needed it. Redistribution of wealth through taxation. Equality of opportunity. Beautiful ideas, Dad, noble aspirations, just as there was the kernel of something beautiful in Philip's musical hodge-podge. But it was never going to happen. If there had ever been a time when it might have happened, t ~ Jonathan Coe

Knowing as we must, how the vivacity of what was is married to the vitality of what will be? I don't say it's easy, but what else will do ~ Mary Oliver

Sure, football is a silly game. But have you seen what else is on television? ~ Pliny The Elder

One must apply one's reason to everything here, learning to obey, to shut up, to help, to be good, to give in, and I don't know what else. I'm afraid I shall use up all my brains too quickly, and I haven't got so very many. Then I shall not have any left for when the war is over. ~ Anne Frank

Booze, broads and bullshit. If you got all that, what else do you need? ~ Harry Caray

Where in the bloody hell did that come from?" asks the other person behind the counter. Or more precisely, on top of the counter, where her ridiculously attractive, English-accented boyfriend is perched.
He's the other thing I like about Anna. Wherever she goes, he follows.
He nods toward the baby wipe. "What else are you carrying in your pockets? Dust rags? Furniture polish?"
"Watch it," she says. "Or I'll scrub your arms, Étienne."
He grins. "As long as you do it in private. ~ Stephanie Perkins

I can trust in my parents' love. And it strikes me that is a big thing to trust, a big thing to have had, no matter what else happens. ~ Ally Condie

What else is a Hand for, if not to hand you things? ~ George R R Martin

The people of New Jersey stepped up. They shared in the sacrifice. You know what else they did? They rewarded politicians who lead instead of politicians who pandered. ~ Chris Christie

What causes all this?"

"Pride. What else? ~ W.P. Kinsella

I never liked the term "experimental writing," but what else is a prose poem? Having written a number of them, I still don't know how they're written. ~ Russell Edson

I think people ought to do what they want to do, what else are they alive for? ~ James Baldwin

Eros mumbled something.
"I'm sorry?" said Aphrodite.
"Whatwouldjesusdo."
"What would Jesus do?" said Aphrodite. "Let me tell you something. Jesus was a very good boy. He would do exactly what his mother told him to."
"But-"
"Jesus was supposed to be a god, right?" said Aphrodite. "Ergo, he did revenge. All gods do revenge."
"Not exactly. He said you should turn the other-"
"What else does your Jesus say?" Aphrodite interrupted.
"I thought you didn't care."
"Let me see," said Aphrodite. "I remember. 'Honour thy father and mother'."
"One, that wasn't Jesus. And two, it's hard to honour your father when there are so many candidates for who he might be."
"That's not very nice," said Aphrodite. "You know who your father is. It's your cousin Ares."
[ ... ]
"I wish the Virgin Mary was my mother," grumbled Eros eventually. ~ Marie Phillips

The following story is true. There was a little boy, and his father said, "Do try to be like other people. Don't frown." And he tried and tried, but could not. So his father beat him with a strap; and then he was eaten up by lions.

Reader, if young, take warning by his sad life and death. For though it may be an honour to be different from other people, if Carlyle's dictum about the 30 million be still true, yet other people do not like it.

So, if you are different, you had better hide it, and pretend to be solemn and wooden-headed. Until you make your fortune. For most wooden-headed people worship money; and, really, I do not see what else they can do. In particular, if you are going to write a book, remember the wooden-headed. So be rigorous; that will cover a multitude of sins. And do not frown. ~ Oliver Heaviside

Among the responsibilities of any writer is that, no matter what else, they know what they mean. So, even if no one else knows what you're talking about, you do. The listener can sense that, even if they don't get the literal meaning. The faith that they place in the clues and the connections and the secrets of the lyrics is of the utmost importance. ~ Joanna Newsom

I let out another groan. "What if I lost her for good this time?"

Garrett and Tucker instantly shake their heads. "You didn't," Garrett assures me.

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because she told you she loves you."

"You stupid jackass," Tucker adds with a grin.

I love you, you stupid jackass. Not the words a man wants to hear. The first three, sure. The last three? Pass.

"How do I fix this?" I ask, sighing.

"Quick. Write her another poem," Garrett suggests.

I scowl at him.

"No, I think G's onto something," Tuck says. "I think the only way to save this is to bust out another grand gesture. What else was on her list?"

"Nothing," I moan. "I did everything on the list."

Tucker shrugs. "Then come up with something else."

A grand gesture? I'm a guy, damn it. I need direction. "Is Wellsy coming back here?" I ask Garrett.

He smirks at my pleading tone. "Even if she is, I'm not letting you pick her brain. You're gonna have to fix this one all on your own."

There's a pause, and then…

"You stupid jackass," my friends say in unison. ~ Elle Kennedy

Trustin' a woman is like walkin' in California," Coydog would say. "You know there's bound to be a quake sometimes but you just keep on walkin' anyways. What else could you do? ~ Walter Mosley

Give up all the wild ideas that buzz round you like wasps. Or like bluebottles. […] Find a nice, ordinary girl, not too attractive or you'll be jealous all the time, not too bright or you'll be anxious all the time, not too rich or you'll have nothing to strive for, not too original or she'll upset people. There are plenty of them, and all of them are available to a young postman like you. Those are the terms offered."

The terrier had come to a sudden standstill, as if he had been a white gun dog on one of the estates.

"You don't live like that," said Robin from the bed.

"I don't live at all," replied Rosetta. "Haven't you realized?"

"Perhaps I have." Now Robin was staring at her: momentarily still that muggy evening; for seconds rigid as the dog.

Rosetta smiled. "I am the person every postman meets in the end."

"I'm a provisional postman only. I told you that clearly," remarked Robin, starting once more to relax.

"Do what I tell you. What else is there for you? Only wasps and bluebottles. ~ Robert Aickman

It's true, isn't it? Then what else really matters? ~ Gordon B. Hinckley

Just look at the world around you, right here on the ocean floor. Such wonderful things surround you. What else are you looking for? Its all under the sea ~ SebastiAn

I'm interested in connecting with readers and strangers through poetry. I want to create real intimacy with my poems. Whether I do that through pulling from my personal life or using my fantasy life - or say history, whether that history is personal history or our collective histories - what's important is that an experience is created. An experience that will hopefully matter to people and feel real. I want my poems to move people and make them want to live their lives, however complicated and impossible those lives may be. I think a poem can speak to the life you currently live but also to the lives you've lived before, the ones to come and also those you've yet to imagine. What else can do that? Not sex or money or other people. ~ Alex Dimitrov

My beautiful sister. You are like sunshine: bright, incandescent, and oddly irritating at times. But what else are sisters for? ~ Darynda Jones

I grew silent and reserved as the nature of the world in which I lived became plain and undeniable; the bleakness of the future affected my will to study. Granny had already thrown out hints that it was time for me to be on my own. But what had I learned so far that would help me to make a living? Nothing. I could be a porter like my father before me, but what else? And the problem of living as a Negro was cold and hard. What was it that made the hate of whites for blacks so steady, seemingly so woven into the texture of things? What kind of life was possible under that hate? How had this ~ Richard Wright

When an alpha male calls his woman a slut or a whore, it's not because he thinks she's disgusting, or because he's degrading her. Quite the opposite. He's honoring her, by telling her, "You're everything I want, and you love me enough, you're willing to be my every fantasy and not hold back. You'll be vulnerable with me because I want all you have to give. You're willing to be seductive, alluring, and sleazy for me, because that's what I want from my sexy bitch." What else could a man want, except maybe for her to cook his next meal in nothing but her hooker heals. ~ Chanse Lowell

Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember? ~ Djuna Barnes

What else do men think about except sex and enemies? ~ Patrick Ness

Why are we doing this?" Caine asked him. "You know damned well why we're doing this. Because it's a fight. It may be THE fight. I may be the final fight. And what else are we good at, you and me? What are we going to do if we ever get out there anyway? ~ Michael Grant

Here's a little nugget I've learned in life about the secret to being a good friend: when words won't suffice, lend an ear. When you can't march into a courtroom or a conference room or a classroom and lay the smack down, lend your shoulder to cry on. When you don't have money for expensive presents, offer your simple presence. And when you don't know what else to do for someone, pray for him or her. It does matter. It is enough. It will be remembered for years to come. ~ Mandy Hale

A goalies job is to stop pucks, ... Well yeah, thats part of it, but you know what else is? ... Youre trying to deliver a message to your team that things are OK back here. This end of the ice is pretty well cared for. You take it now and go. Go! Feel the freedom in order to feel that dynamic, creative, offensive player and go out and score ... That was my job. And it was to try to deliver a feeling. ~ Ken Dryden

The only excuse I can think of is the truth – she's broken. Until someone can figure out how to fix her, what else can she do? ~ Sarah Ockler

Give me your hands," I said.
I studied his palms. "Yes, she'll forgive you. She'll realize you saved her."
"You're a palm reader now?"
"Yes."
"When did you learn how to do that?"
"While you were sleeping."
"I waste so much time sleeping. What else do you see?"
"I see food. Max is going to bring food."
"Do you see cake?"
"No, no cake."
"Let me see your hands," he said.
I raised an eyebrow.
"I learned while you were talking." He studied my palms. "Your scars cross over the lines in your hands, like you have two lives... One to mess up and one to get right."
"That's convenient. What else do you see?"
"I see you happy," he said.
"Yeah?" I asked.
He nodded. "And I see you."
My fingers itched to reach out and touch his face, to make sure I'd still know him in the dark.
"I see you, too," I said. ~ Shalanda Stanley

Truth is individual."
"What? No it's not. Truth is ... it's Truth. Reality."
"Your truth is what you see," Pattern said, sounding confused. "What else could it be? That is the truth that you spoke to me, the truth that brings power. ~ Brandon Sanderson