Why Im Single Im Over Qualified Quotes

Clue in, Ally," he immediately volleyed, "Watchin' the Rock Chicks, I know exactly what does and does not fly with you, and just like every one of those men when their women serves up attitude, I don't give a shit. And, just sayin', that attitude, just like with them, is why I'm with you."
"What?" I bit out.
"Babe, every one of those guys had pussy lined up at the door. Bitches were gagging for it. They'd do anything to get their hooks into those men and those men knew it. They didn't want a woman who'd do anything. They wanted a woman who knew her own mind and wouldn't do anything. Not a single one of your posse lets their man walk all over them. And not a single one lets them get away with shit. At least not without dishin' up a fair amount of attitude before they let them get away with it which is the definition of not letting them get away with it. ~ Kristen Ashley

I have only one memory of getting here, and even that is just a single image: black ink curling around the side of a neck, the corner of a tattoo, and the gentle sway that could only mean he was carrying me.
He turns off the bathroom light and gets an ice pack from the refrigerator in the corner of the room. As he walks toward me, I consider closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep,but then our eyes meet and it's too late.
"Your hands," I croak.
"My hands are none of your concern," he replies. He rests his knee on the mattress and leans over me,slipping the ice pack under my head. Before he pulls away,I reach out to touch the cut on the side of his lip but stop when I realize what I am about to do, my hand hovering.
What do you have to lose? I ask myself. I touch my fingertips lightly to his mouth.
"Tris," he says, speaking against my fingers. "I'm all right."
"Why were you there?" I ask, letting my hand drop.
"I was coming back from the control room. I heard a scream."
"What did you do to them?" I say.
"I deposited Drew at the infirmary a half hour ago," he says. "Peter and Al ran. Drew claimed they were just trying to scare you.At least,I think that's what he was trying to say."
"He's in bad shape?"
"He'll live," he replies. He adds bitterly, "In what condition, I can't say."
It isn't right to wish pain on other people just because they hurt me first. But white-hot triumph races through me at the thought of Drew ~ Veronica Roth

You're like nearly all American women--married or single, young or old--you're all of you scared to death about sex--just as your Puritan mothers were! And you leave it alone--you keep it down--you never give it a chance--you're afraid! But I'm not afraid--and I'm living my life! And let me tell you I'm not alone! There are hundreds and thousands doing the same--right here in New York City to-night! It's been abroad for years and years--in Rome and Berlin, in Paris and London--and now, thank God, it has come over here! If our husbands can do it, why can't we? ~ Ernest Poole

You're a Dark One," said Anton. "All you see in everything is evil, treachery, trickery."

"All I do is not close my eyes to them," Edgar retorted. "And that's why I don't trust Zabulon. I distrust him almost as much as I do Gesar. I can even trust you more - you're just another unfortunate chess piece who happens by chance to be painted a different color from me. Does a white pawn hate a black one? No. Especially if the two pawns have their heads down together over a quiet beer or two."

"You know," Anton said in a slightly surprised voice, "I just don't understand how you can carry on living if you see the world like that. I'd just go and hang myself."

"So you don't have any counterarguments to offer?"

Anton took a gulp of beer too. The wonderful thing about this natural Czech beer was that even if you drank lots of it, it still didn't make your head or your body feel heavy... Or was that an illusion?

"Not a single one," Anton admitted. "Right now, this very moment, not a single one. But I'm sure you're wrong. It's just difficult to argue about the colors of the rainbow with a blind man. There's something missing in you... I don't know what exactly. But it's something very important, and without it you're more helpless than a blind man. ~ Sergei Lukyanenko

Layer upon layer it comes, dense and rich within the texts, echo upon echo, allusion and resonance tumbling over one another, so that for those with ears to hear it becomes un-missable, a crescendo of questions to which in the end there can be only one answer. Why are you speaking like this? Are you the one who is to come? Can anything good come out of Nazareth? What sign can you show us? Why does he eat with tax-collectors and sinners? Where did this man get all this wisdom? How can this man give us his flesh to eat? Who are you? Why do you not follow the traditions? Do the authorities think he's the Messiah? Can the Messiah come from Galilee? Why are you behaving unlawfully? Who then is this? Aren't we right to say that you're a Samaritan and have a demon? What do you say about him? By what right are you doing these things? Who is this Son of Man? Should we pay tribute to Caesar? And climactically: Are you the king of the Jews? What is truth? Where are you from? Are you the Messiah, the son of the Blessed One? Then finally, too late for answers, but not too late for irony: Aren't you the Messiah? Save yourself and us! If you're the Messiah, why don't you come down from that cross?
…
And Jesus had his own questions. Who do you say I am? Do you believe in the Son of Man? Can you drink the cup I'm going to drink? How do the scribes say that the Messiah is David's son? Couldn't you keep watch with me for a single hour? And finally and horribly: My God, my God, why did ~ N.T. Wright

Did you know this is how other families are?...What a peaceful existence. What a joy their lives must be. They open a door and all they've got behind it is a bathroom or living room. Just neutral spaces. And not this endless maze of present rooms and past rooms and the things said in them years ago and everybody's old historical shit all over the place. They're not constantly making the same old mistakes. They're not always hearing the same old shit. They don't do public performances of angst on public transport. Really, these people exist. I'm telling you. The biggest traumas of their lives are things like recarpeting. Bill-paying. Gate-fixing. They don't mind what their kids do in life as long as they're reasonably, you know, healthy. Happy. And every single fucking day is not this huge battle between who they are and who they should be, what they were and what they will be. Go on, ask them. And they'll tell you. No mosque. Maybe a little church. Hardly any sin. Plenty of forgiveness. No attics. No shit in attics. No skeletons in cupboards. No great-grandfathers. I will put twenty quid down now that Samad is the only person in here who knows the inside bloody leg measurement of his great-grandfather. And you know why they don't know? Because it doesn't fucking matter. As far as they're concerned, it's the past. This is what it's like in other families. They're not self-indulgent. They don't run around relishing, relishing the fact that they are utterly dysfunctional. They d ~ Zadie Smith

Roan studied the photo in his hand. Shiloh Gallagher
had to be twenty-nine years old according to what Maud
had told him. Damned if she didn't look twenty-five or so,
her features unlined. She wasn't model pretty, but she had
an arresting face, with huge intelligent-looking green eyes.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and he felt himself stir. Her
mouth would make any man go crazy. Her upper lip was
full, but thinner than her lower one. The shape of her mouth
made him feel heat in his lower body. "Is she married?"

"No," Maud said. She's single. Never did marry. I don't know why. Shiloh's
a beautiful girl."

She was hardly a girl, but Roan said nothing because he
was fully reacting to her as a woman. He wondered if she
was curvy or rail thin. He was disgruntled over his avid
curiosity. "I have no problem with it. You know I get up
early and come in late. She's going to have to fend for herself.
I'm not cooking for her."

"Right," Maud agreed. "She's pretty shaken up, Roan.
You might find that stressful until, hopefully, Shiloh will
start to relax."

Shrugging, he slid the photo onto the desk. "Maud, I just
hope I don't stress her out with my award-winning personality,"
he said, and he cracked a small, sour grin.

Maud cackled. "I think you'll like her, Roan. She's a
very kind person. An introvert like you. Just remembe ~ Lindsay McKenna

Violet is missing, and it seems Vance is as well," Damien says on a huff as he exits.

"Why the bloody hell would he leave with her directly after a wolf attack?" I ask as I start toward the door, finishing off my drink. "Without a word?"

"I'm not sure he left with her, so much as chased after her, since it looks like he found her note first," Damien says as he jogs down the stairs.

I have the paper snatched out of his hand before he realizes it's missing, and I flip it over, reading it.

DO NOT FOLLOW ME. THIS VACATION SUCKS TOO HARD TO STAY. I'M GOING HOME TO RELAX.

Sincerely,

the SINGLE gypsy girl who can think for herself

P.S. I'LL KEY YOUR FUCKING CARS if you come looking for me before I'm ready to deal with you again.

"Little rude to leave so soon, considering how hard I worked to find out where the hell you'd all gone," I point out before walking out the door.

I'm gone before they can further delay me.

"She put it in shouty caps!" Damien calls to my back, though I have no idea what the hell that's supposed to mean. ~ Kristy Cunning

On the Hunger Games Fan Race fail and the portrayal of POC in fantasy literature:
It is as if the POC in the text are walking around with a great big red sign over them for some editors and it reads I AM NOT A REAL CHARACTER. I AM A PROBLEM YOU MUST DEAL WITH. The white characters are permitted to saunter about with their physical descriptions hanging out all over the place, but best not make mention of dark skin or woolly/curly hair or dark eyes (Unless, of course, that character is white. None of my white-skinned dark-eyed characters had any problem being described as such. And I'm pretty sure that Sól's curly hair never gave anyone a single pause for thought.) As I said, I understand the desire not to define a POC simply by their physical attributes, and I understand cutting physical descriptions if no other character is described physically – but pussyfooting about in this manner with POC is doing nothing but white wash the characters themselves. It's already much too hard to get readers to latch onto the fact that some characters may not be caucasian, why must we dance about their physical description as if it were some kind of shameful dirty little secret. You know what it reminds me of? It reminds me of the way homosexuality used to only ever be hinted at in texts. It was up to the reader to 'read between the lines' or 'its there if you look for it' and all that total bullshit which used to be the norm. ~ Celine Kiernan

Only people who've been discriminated against can really know how much it hurts. Each person feels the pain in his own way, each has his own scars. So I think I'm as concerned about fairness and justice as anybody. But what disgusts me even more are people who have no imagination. The kind T. S. Eliot calls hollow men. People who fill up that lack of imagination with heartless bits of straw, not even aware of what they're doing. Callous people who throw a lot of empty words at you, trying to force you to do what you don't want to. Like that lovely pair we just met." He sighs and twirls the long slender pencil in his hand. "Gays, lesbians, straights, feminists, fascist pigs, communists, Hare Krishnas-- none of them bother me. I don't care what banner they raise. But what I can't stand are hollow people. When I'm with them I just can't bear it, and wind up saying things I shouldn't. With those women--I should've just let it slide, or else called Miss Saeki and let her handle it. She would have given them a smile and smoothed things over. But I just can't do "do that. I say things I shouldn't, do things I shouldn't do. I can't control myself. That's one of my weak points. Do you know why that's a weak point of mine?"
"'Cause if you take every single person who lacks much imagination seriously, there's no end to it," I say. ~ Haruki Murakami

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

Stick around, though. I'm going to need all the help I can get to figure all this out."
"That's me! Mister Helpful. Captain Dependable."
"That sounds like a brand of adult diapers."
"This nickname needs some work. Lord Wonderful? The Incredible Hunk?"
"Please, for the love, go inside."
He laughed, then clomped up the steps and into the house.
"Reth," I shouted. "Reeeeeeeeth! Reth! Reth, Reth, Reth! If you don't come in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to do find David's golf clubs!"
"That tone and level of voice does nothing attractive you for, my love."
I jumped, startled, but of course Reth would be behind me, leaning heavily on the porch railing.
"You," I said, glaring. "Fix it. Now."
A look of disdain on his face, he leaned over and trailed his fingers across Lend's forehead. A single whispered word, and then . . .
Nothing.
"You liar!" I shouted, standing so abruptly that Lend rolled off my lap and down a step. As he hit the first one, color bloomed through him into his usual glamour and his eyes flew open in panic.
"He was asleep, Evelyn." Reth's lips were pursed, but I knew he was smiling gleefully on the inside.
"Lend!" I lunged forward, knocking into him, and we both rolled down the next two steps, landing in a heap on the gravel at the bottom. "You're awake!"
"Evie! I'm . . . wow, why am I so bruised?"
"Shut up," I said, grabbing his head and pulling him in for a kiss. It was freezing a ~ Kiersten White

I'm not sure what they mean by "revenge is a dish best served cold." But I do know this - nobody's ever satisfied with a single helping.

- Heman Lindon, McPherson, Kansas ( a character in Heels Over Head ) ~ Clay G. Small

Here's the truth: the Soviet Union had thousands of nuclear weapons, and Iran doesn't have a single one. But when the world was on the brink of nuclear holocaust, Kennedy talked to Khrushchev and he got those missiles out of Cuba. Why shouldn't we have the same courage and the confidence to talk to our enemies? That's what strong countries do, that's what strong presidents do, that's what I'll do when I'm president of the United States of America. ~ Barack Obama

As the year went on, I felt I was handling my grief and depression better, but the pressures kept piling up. You don't really ever feel "comfortable" being a widow. You endure, maybe get through it, but you don't ever truly own it.
And still, a part of me didn't want to get beyond it. My pain was proof of my love.
One night I went over to a friend's house and just started bawling. I had been going through photos of Chris when he was in his twenties and thirties.
I'm going to be an old woman somewhere, and he's going to be young.
So many other emotions ran through me every day. People suggested that I might find someone else.
"No," I'd tell them. "No one will ever take his place."
School forms would ask about the kids' family situation. Were their parents married, divorced?
I'm not a single mother. I'm raising the kids with my husband! Even if he's not here. I always think about what he would want to do.
One night, alone in my bedroom, I picked up the laundry basket off the treadmill. I suddenly felt as if Chris was there with me, somehow hovering two feet off the ground.
He grinned.
"I'm working on something for you," he said. And I knew he meant he was trying to hook me up with a man.
I jerked back. Had I really heard that? Was he really there?
The room was empty, but I had the strongest feeling that he was there. I could feel his grin.
I became furious.
"How dare you!" I screamed in my head. "I don't want ~ Taya Kyle

I came from nothing. My mother was a single mother in the streets. She did everything she could do. Me and my brother experienced a lot on our own and with me knowing that feeling, I didn't want others to have that feeling, so that's why I fight for the streets. I'm making my own lane and staying true to myself, 'cause at the end of the day, you can't ban the truth. ~ Trae Tha Truth

I can make you feel touched." He paused. "It would be easier if I showed you. Do I have permission?"
Yes. "No." Being touched by Mad Rogan wasn't a good idea.
We kept walking. What would it be like?"
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
How would it feel?
Would it feel . . . oh hell.
"Okay." I stopped. We were in front of a small alcove. Nobody was around. If I made an idiot out of myself, nobody would notice. "Just once."
A soft burst of heat touched the back of my neck. I'd never felt anything like it before. It was as if someone had touched me with a heated mink glove, but the touch wasn't soft, it was firm. It felt . . . it felt . . .
The heat slid down my neck, fast, over my spine, setting every single nerve on fire before melting in the small of my back, its echoes pulsing through me. My body sang. He'd strummed me like I was a guitar. I wanted him and I wanted him now.
"That was . . ." I saw his eyes. Words died.
All the hardness had vanished from his eyes. They were alive and heated from within. "You want me."
"What?"
The magic warmth slid over my shoulders, melting into pure pleasure.
"I feel the feedback." He took a step toward me, grinning. "Nevada, you're a liar."
Uh-oh. I backed up. "What feedback?"
"When I do this . . ." The heated pressure zinged from my back up my ribs. I gasped. Oh dear God. ". . . what you feel loops back to me. I'm partially emphatic."
"You didn't mention that." My heart ~ Ilona Andrews

But I don't like it, okay? I don't like how everything is changing. It's like when you're a kid, you think that things like the holidays are meant to show you how things always stay the same, how you have the same celebration year after year, and that's why it's so special. But the older you get, the more you realize that, yes, there are all these things that link you to the past, and you're using the same words and singing the same songs that have always been there for you, but each time, things have shifted, and you have to deal with that shift. Because maybe you don't notice it every single day. Maybe it's only on days like today that you notice it a lot. And I know I'm supposed to be able to deal with that, but I'm not sure I can deal with that.--David Levithan (p. 201 in galley) ~ David Levithan

He stepped around the island and toward the cabinet, which would have been way too high over her head for her to reach anything anyway. It was a dumb place to put everyday glassware in his opinion. She moved in the same direction he did, and they crashed against each other hard enough to knock his breath out of him with an oomph.
He reached out to steady her.
"I'm sorr---" Becca never quite finished the word. Her eyes went soft as they gazed into his, and Tuck found his hands were no longer safely on her arms but now down holding on to her hips. Those round, beautiful hips he'd held on to for dear life while plunging into her in the hotel.
Tuck swallowed hard and found it hard to breathe. The situation only got worse when she took a single step closer, putting her dangerously near the rising erection in his jeans. He drew in a deep breath, which filled him against with her scent. It was all too much.
There was no fighting this attraction. Tuck dipped his head low and claimed Becca's mouth with his own. ~ Cat Johnson

So how about you?" she asked. "Why did you and your" - she broke out the air quotes again - "'life partner' decide to move to Clam Bay?"

"Not really a good reason for it, I guess. Just bad judgment on... Wait. What did you call us?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." She blushed. "Was that the wrong term? I didn't mean to offend."

"You think... Uh, we're not gay."

She laughed. "Oh, it's all right. Nobody here cared about something like that. We're pretty tolerant of alternative lifestyles."

"We're not gay," he said with a little more force than intended. "We're just friends."

"Are you married?"

"No."

"Girlfriends?"

"Not at the moment."

"Confirmed bachelors?" She raised an eyebrow/

"Not confirmed," he replied.

"So two single guys from the big city move to our little town and open a bed-and-breakfast. But you're not gay."

"We're just friends," he said.

"Right. Because straight men open bed-and-breakfasts all the time."

"These straight men did."

"Straight men names Philip and Vance."

He wanted to argue, but he was suddenly beginning to question it himself. ~ A. Lee Martinez

Pizza Palace?" David asks. It's just a few doors down. I picture my friends all huddled in a booth in the back. No need to combine David with my real life.

"Nah."

"I figured you wouldn't want to go there. Pizza Pizza Pizza is so much better and has that great two-for-one deal. I just didn't want to suggest it," David says.

"Why?"

"The name. It's not like they have three times more pizza than other places. Ridiculous."

"How about we not get pizza at all?"

"I thought you might say that too, since you had such a hearty, well-balanced lunch." He pauses. Clears his throat. Stares at the single car making its way down Main Street. "That's going to be one of those things I said out loud and then will regret later, isn't it?"

I laugh and it feels good. He looks sweet when he realizes he's said the wrong thing. His eyes go big and wide. To rescue him, I link my arm with his and start us walking down the street.

"Just so you know, if asked, I would have no idea how to describe your frequency," I say.

"Honestly, sometimes I think only dogs can hear me," he says.

"For what it's worth, I can hear you just fine."

"It's worth a lot," David says, and I blush, and I'm pretty sure he does too ~ Julie Buxbaum

Then call me Pierce because we're friends." He bent in close in the turn, eyes gleaming as they dropped to her lips. "Intimate friends, if I get my wish."
This time there was no mistaking his meaning. But he was so practiced and smooth that she couldn't help herself-she laughed. When that made him frown, she tried to suppress her amusement, but that only made her laugh harder.
"What's so funny?" he muttered.
"I'm sorry," she said, swallowing her amusement. "It's just that I've heard my brothers make such insinuations to women in that tone of voice for years, but I've never been on the receiving end."
Pierce's smile would rival that of Casanova. "I don't know why not," he said in a lazy drawl. His gaze raked her appreciatively as they swirled about the room. "Tonight, in that purple gown, you look particularly fetching. The color suits you."
"Thank you." Minerva had been trying to get her to stop wearing browns and oranges for years, but Celia had always pooh-poohed her sister's opinions. It was only after Virginia had said exactly the same thing last month that she'd begun to think she should listen. And to order new gowns accordingly.
"You're a lovely woman with the figure of a Venus and a mouth that could make a man-"
"You can stop now." Her amusement vanished. She'd be flattered if he meant a single word, but clearly this was just a game to him. "I don't need the full rogue treatment, I assure you."
Interest sparked in his eyes. "Has ~ Sabrina Jeffries

When you have a very hot single there is no reason why it can't drive album sales. People fall off and come back on. I'm looking forward to coming back on with a vengeance. ~ Justin Guarini

I just don't know the art of making friends with girls. And that's the reason why I've never had a single girl as a friend. Also, I'm so engrossed in cricket that I've never found an opportunity to interact with girls very closely. In a way, it's better, as my mind doesn't get diverted! ~ Harbhajan Singh

Dammit, Rachel … This isn't over. You know it isn't. You can't just come here and tell me that I'm not worth another chance. You can't pretend that you don't want me, need me. Fucking hell, I've been needing and wanting you every single day since you left and I refuse to believe that you haven't felt the same way. ~ Karina Halle

The next time you check the box "S" for single, remember this: singleness is no longer a lack of options but a choice - a choice to refuse to let your life be defined by your relationship status and to live every day Happily and let your Ever After work itself out. Whether or not you have someone in the passenger seat, you are still the driver of your own life and can take whatever road you choose. So the next time you hit a speed bump, otherwise known as the age-old question, "Why are you still single?" look 'em in the eye and say, "Because I'm too strong, too smart, and too fabulous to settle. ~ Mandy Hale

No, the Boss corrected, I'm not a lawyer. I know some law ... but I'm not a lawyer. That's why I can see what the law is like. It's like a single-bed blanket on a double bed and three folks in the bed and a cold night. There ain't ever enough blanket to cover the case, no matter how much pulling and hauling, and somebody is always going to nigh catch pneumonia. Hell, the law is like the pants you bought last year for a growing boy, but it is always this year and the seams are popped and the shankbone's to the breeze. The law is always too short and too tight for growing humankind. The best you can do is do something and then make up some law to fit and by the time that law gets on the books you would have done something different. ~ Robert Penn Warren

I can see that this is important to you, and I really want to give you a good reason. But the truth is, I don't care why. Maybe I'm naive, but I do not give a single shit about anyone's opinion of us. I do not care if we're a novelty to them. I do not care about the politics of it. I don't care if your parents approve, and I really, truly, don't care if mine do. What I care about is you, and I'm sure that love is enough to overcome all the bullshit. And it IS bullshit. All the hand-wringing. All the talk about cultures clashing or preserving cultures and what will happen to the kids. All of it is one hundred percent pure, unadulterated bullshit, and I just refuse to care. ~ Nicola Yoon

Ouch." The yelp came out by accident as Trent went back over the bumps of her spine. Harper winced. Trent was doing his best to move the needle location around, she could feel that, but it was really starting to hurt.
She heard Trent put down his equipment and slide the stool around in front of her.
"This is the worst it's going to be, Harp. You're being so incredibly brave. I've had grown men cry at this point."
He paused for a moment before kissing her gently on the temple. "We have two options. I can stop in a minute and we can pick it up next time, or I can keep going for another twenty minutes and it will be done. The final appointments, then, will be short and sweet. Not to mention a whole lot less painful."
Harper took in a deep breath and blew it out harshly. Determined not to cry, she bit down on her lip hard. It stopped the pending deluge, but the tears still threatened.
"Oh darlin'." Trent kissed her softly. "I'd switch places with you in a heartbeat if I could. I know it hurts where I'm working."
Harper nodded. He understood. "Can you make it fifteen?"
Trent kissed the side of her eye, where a single tear was making a break for freedom.
"I'll do it in ten. ~ Scarlett Cole

The Queen smiled with the tiniest twitch of a single corner of her mouth. "Why should I do that?"
"Because I'm coming," Octavian's image said, very quietly, "for you."
The Queen stood as unmoving as stone.
"When I'm finished," Octavian promised, "nothing will be left of your kind but stories. I will burn your homes. I will bury your warriors." His voice grew even softer. "I will blacken your sky with crows. ~ Jim Butcher

Sam started to move away, and she pulled him closer.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Shhh," he said. "I'm just going to grab the blanket and turn out the light. I'll be right back."
Bella chuckled sleepily and waved her right hand. The blanket lifted off the back of the chair where she'd left it and came slowly sailing across the room to drape itself over their entwined bodies. A snap of her fingers and the single lamp in the kitchen went out.
Sam blinked in the sudden darkness. "You're a very handy woman to have around," he said.
"You have no idea," she replied, and proceeded to demonstrate that she wasn't quite as tired as he'd thought. ~ Deborah Blake

Lovers do things together! They rent videos, they ride Ferris wheels, they go out for pizza, they play Scrabble. They ... they talk!'
'Talk?' He lifted his head and frowned, his eyes puzzled. 'We talk all the time, Raine. I've never had such talkative sex.'
'That's just it!' She wiggled, flailed, but couldn't budge him. 'Two minutes alone with you, and I'm flat on my back. Every single time!'
A slow, knowing grin spread over his face. 'Is this your way of telling me you want to be on top? ~ Shannon McKenna

Some writers are the kind of solo violinists who need complete silence to tune their instruments. Others want to hear every member of the orchestra - they'll take a cue from a clarinet, from an oboe, even. I am one of those. My writing desk is covered in open novels. I read lines to swim in a certain sensibility, to strike a particular note, to encourage rigour when I'm too sentimental, to bring verbal ease when I'm syntactically uptight. I think of reading like a balanced diet; if your sentences are baggy, too baroque, cut back on fatty Foster Wallace, say, and pick up Kafka, as roughage. If your aesthetic has become so refined it is stopping you from placing a single black mark on white paper, stop worrying so much about what Nabokov would say; pick up Dostoyevsky, patron saint of substance over style. ~ Zadie Smith

Writing should be a little bit grainy, it should be a little bit raw. It should be every single thing flowing inside of us, and most of it isn't pretty. If there is nothing at stake in what I'm reading, if there is nothing at stake for the writer, I am just not interested. You gotta be there. You have to basically bleed for it. If not, why are you trying to put this in the world. ~ Gregory Sherl

And I'm not ready to tell you I'm in love with you, because I'm not. Not yet. But whatever this I'm feeling - it's so much more than like ... And for the past few weeks I've been trying to figure it out. I've been trying to figure out why there isn't some word to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe this point between liking you and loving you, but I need that word ... "
"Living,"she finally whispers.
"I live you, Sky ... I live you so much. ~ Colleen Hoover

I get to tell my truth. I get to seek meaning and realization. I get to live fully, wildly, imperfectly. That's why I'm alive. And all I actually have to offer as a writer is my version of life. Every single thing that has happened to me is mine. ~ Anne Lamott

Why are you making that face?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked up at him, caught off guard. I raised my eyebrows, trying to play dumb. "What face?"

It didn't work.

With a fork hanging out of his mouth, he narrowed his dark eyes just the slightest bit. "That one." He gestured toward me with his chin.

I shrugged in an 'I don't know what you're talking about' expression.

"Is there something you want to say?"

There were a hundred things I wanted to tell him on a regular basis, but I knew him too well. He didn't really care if there was something I wanted to say or not. He didn't care if my opinion was different from his or if I thought he should do something differently. He was just reminding me who the boss was.

AKA not me.

Asswipe.

"Me?" I blinked. "Nope."

He gave me a lazy glare before his eyes lowered to focus on the hand I had hidden on the other side of the kitchen island. "Then quit flipping me off. I'm not changing my mind about the signing," he said in a deceptively casual voice.

I pressed my lips together as I dropped my hand. He was a goddamn witch. I swear on my life, he was a freaking witch. A wizard. An oracle. A person with a third eye. Every single time I had ever flipped him off, he'd been aware of it. I didn't think I was that obvious about it either. ~ Mariana Zapata

Can I tell you a boring science fact?" she whispered. "I bet you didn't learn it in Shadowhunter history class."
"If you're trying to distract me from talking about my feelings, you're not being very subtle about it." He touched her face. "You know I make speeches. It's okay. You don't have to make them back. Just tell me you love me,"
"I'm not trying to distract you." She held up her hand and wiggles the fingers. "There are a hundred trillion cells in the human body," she said. "And every single one of the cells of my body loves you. We shed cells, and grow new ones, and my new cells love you more than the old ones, which is why I love you more every day than I did before. It's science. And when I die and they burn my body and I become ashes that mix with the air, and part of the ground and the trees and the stars, everyone who breathes air of sees the flowers that grow out of the ground or looks up at the stars will remember you and love you, because I love you that much," She smiled. "How was that for a speech? ~ Cassandra Clare