Xiaoxin Pad Quotes

The notion of following your passion is worth indulging. Your passion is your source of power. To live really a full life, you need to follow where it leads ... in defiance of all things conventional perhaps. And of course it has its price. You have to know that going in. But the price you pay, in my opinion, is not worth the time of day to think about. It is so important not to knee pad around the world. You should never bow down to anything but those you love and respect. Ever for anything. ~ Doug Peacock

Having a few half fish in my family tree keeps my vision from blurring through the pudgy tears-I can perfectly see the solid yellow line on the road as I walk it. When I hear him following, I rip off my heels and start sprinting. Two months ago, this kind of abuse to my feet would leave them bleeding and with who-knows-what embedded in them. But with the convenience of my new thick skin, running barefoot is like running in Nike's latest kicks.
Galen is apparently a flying fish though-his hand wraps around my arm, braking my own sad attempt at flight. He whirls me around. Pulling me to him, he lifts my chin with the pad of his thumb. When I jerk away, he grasps it tight, forcing me to look at him. The old Emma would be bruised within the next ten minutes. The new one is just pissed off.
"Let go!" I screech, pushing against his chest. Somehow this just gets me closer to him.
"Emma," he growls as I stomp his foot. "What would you have done?"
Okay, that's unexpected. I stop flailing. "What? ~ Anna Banks

What came to mind was a dinosaur. A tiny velociraptor, no bigger than her thumb.
Relatively small, bur surprisingly ferocious.
When the hasty drawing was finished, he looked into Nova's face, but she was staring at the creature inked onto her palm. "He's adorable," she murmured.
He swallowed. "Here we go," he said swirling the pad of his finger over the drawing.
The creature roared to life... ~ Marissa Meyer

I live in New York, but I still get the village gossip. My apartment is a crash pad for so many Singaporean cousins and friends. ~ Kevin Kwan

For the last 15 years that I have been performing, all I ever wanted to do was transcend poetry to the world. See, it wasn't enough for me to write a book. It wasn't enough for me to join a slam competition, and while those things hold weight, it wasn't the driving force that pushes the pen to the pad. ~ Lemon Andersen

I'm always open to new, innovative stuff and people trying to do stuff in a different way. I knew that the theatrical release would be like getting on the launch pad for Amazon Prime but I was okay with that because I think what Jeff Bezos and Ted Hope are doing is innovative. ~ Spike Lee

I don't go along with going to Moon first to build a launch pad to go to Mars. We should go to Mars from Earth orbit. We have already been to the Moon; we've already practiced. ~ Wally Schirra

You know what love is?"
Creed asked that and my eyes shot from the hair on his forehead to his.
"I ... " I swallowed again then, holding his eyes, I whispered, "Yes. I do. I know what love is, Creed."
I felt his big hand curl warm on the side of my face before I felt the pad of his thumb sweep across my lips again. He watched it move as he replied, "I do too, baby." His eyes came to mine. "I absolutely do. ~ Kristen Ashley

At the teasing penetration, my hips jerk upward. Wes chuckles and eases his finger deeper, until the pad of it is stroking my prostate. My entire body trembles. Tingles. Burns. He spends a maddeningly long time torturing me with his mouth and finger - no, fingers. He's got two inside me now, rubbing that sensitive place and bringing white dots to my eyes. "Wes," I murmur. He raises his head. His gray eyes are smoky with desire. "Hmmm?" he says lazily. "Stop fucking teasing me and start fucking fucking me," I rasp. "Fucking fucking you? Did you really need two fuckings?" "One's an adverb and one's a verb." My voice is as tight as every muscle in my body. I'm about to go up in flames if he doesn't make me come. His laughter warms my thigh. "I love the English language, dude. It's so creative." "Are we really having this conversation right now?" I growl when his teeth sink into my inner thigh. His fingers are still lodged inside me, but no longer moving. ~ Sarina Bowen

By staying focused and flexible, you will meet and exceed your major life-forming goals. Success is not a resting-place - it is a launching pad ~ Denis Waitley

Ryder's in jeans and his shirt from last night, and he's staring at the fridge. When I pad closer, I see he's not just staring at the door. I've hung my various ultrasound pictures to the silvery surface, and he's studying them. His index finger is poised over my recent twenty-week one, and he's tracing the outline of the baby's legs.

"Hi," I say, clearing my throat.

He straightens and then smiles. It's a sheepish look, as if he's been caught. "Just checking out Papaya."

I love that the name Papaya has stuck. That must be a sign he feels the same. I gesture to the thirteen-week picture, when I first heard the heartbeat. "I think Papaya was a fig in that one. Funny thing - when I was so sick, Papaya was only a kidney bean."

"Kidney beans are known to be troublemakers." He steps closer, drops a strangely chaste kiss to my forehead, and sets his hands on my belly. "And I think Papaya is almost a mango now, right?"

I nod. "How did you know?"

"I might have googled pregnancy-to-fruit comparisons. Papaya will be an eggplant in a little while."

I blink. Holy shit. He really knows his pregnancy fruits. Better than I do. ~ Lauren Blakely

How did you tell a man that you'd grown up, that you'd learned true love wasn't a night of passionate sex under a sky lit up by fireworks, but an ordinary Sunday morning when your husband brought you a glass of water, two aspirins, and a heating pad for your cramps? ~ Kristin Hannah

Dad the launching pad. Dad the landing zone. Dad the tether that kept Sams - and me - from hurtling into the nullity of deep space, a nullity himself now. ~ Rick Yancey

Don't misunderstand, but how dare you risk your life? What the devil did you think, to leap over like that? You could have stayed safe on this side and just helped me over." Even to her ears, her tone bordered on the hysterical.
Beneath her fingers, the white lawn started to redden.
She sucked in a shaky breath. "How could you risk your life-your life, you idiot!" She leaned harder on the pad, dragged in another breath.
He coughed weakly, shifted his head.
"Don't you dare die on me!"
His lips twisted, but his eyes remained closed. "But if I die"-his words were a whisper-"you won't have to marry, me or anyone else. Even the most censorious in the ton will consider my death to be the end of the matter. You'll be free."
"Free?" Then his earlier words registered. "If you die? I told you-don't you dare! I won't let you-I forbid you to. How can I marry you if you die? And how the hell will I live if you aren't alive, too?" As the words left her mouth, half hysterical, all emotion, she realized they were the literal truth. Her life wouldn't be worth living if he wasn't there to share it. "What will I do with my life if you die?"
He softly snorted, apparently unimpressed by-or was it not registering?-her panic. "Marry some other poor sod, like you were planning to."
The words cut. "You are the only poor sod I'm planning to marry." Her waspish response came on a rush of rising fear. She glanced around, but there was no one in sight. Help had yet ~ Stephanie Laurens

Now on 'Bachelor Pad' it is true colors - no best foot forward anymore, everybody is really themselves. ~ Jake Pavelka

Most immigrants agree that at some point, we become permanent foreigners, belonging neither here nor there. Many tomes have been written trying to describe this feeling of floating between worlds but never fully landing. Artists, using every known medium from words to film to Popsicle sticks, have attempted to encapsulate the struggle of trying to hang on to the solid ground of our mother culture and realizing that we are merely in a pond balancing on a lily pad with a big kid about to belly-flop right in. If and when we fall into this pond, will we be singularly American or will we hyphenate? Can we hold on to anything or does our past just end up at the bottom of the pond, waiting to be discovered by future generations? ~ Firoozeh Dumas

You are."
"I'm what?" he asks, his voice quiet. Cupping my face, he traces my bottom lip with the rough pad of his thumb.
"Perfect for me."
My stomach clenches, my pride screaming in outrage that I've handed him the weapon of my destruction, that I may have authored my own demise with that admission. ~ P. Dangelico

Chiron, I don't think the attic is the proper place for our new Oracle, do you?"
"No, indeed." Chiron looked a lot better now that Apollo had worked some medical magic on him. "Rachel may use a guest room in the Big House for now, until we give the matter more thought."
"I'm thinking a cave in the hills," Apollo mused. "With torches and a big purple curtain over the entrance ... really mysterious. But inside, a totally decked-out pad with a game room and one of those home theater systems. ~ Rick Riordan

Twenty-seven bones make up the human hand. Lunate and capitate and navicular, scaphoid, and triquetrum, the tiny horn-shaped pisiforms of the outer wrist. Though different in shape and density each is smoothly aligned and flush-fitted, lashed by a meshwork of ligatures running under the skin. All vertebrates share a similar set of bones, and all bones grow out of the same tissue: a bird's wing, a whale's dorsal fine, a gecko's pad, your own hand. Bust an arm or leg and the knitting bone's sealed in a wrap of calcium so it's stronger than before. Bust a bone in your hand and it never heals right. ~ Craig Davidson

Wine, women and song have been replaced by prune juice, a heating pad and the Gong Show. ~ Bob Hope

We should do this on computer," she said, chalking it carefully for the eighty-ninth time. "With a drawing pad."
"Nonsense. You're lucky I don't make you inscribe it with a stylus on a wax tablet, like the old days," Myrnin snorted. "Children. Spoiled children, always playing with the shinest toy."
"Computers are more efficient!"
"I can perform calculations on that abacus faster than you can solve them on your computer," Myrnin sneered.
Okay, now he was pissing her off. "Prove it!"
"What?"
"Prove it." She backed off on her tone, but Myrnin wasn't looking angry; he was looking strangely interested. He stared at her for a second in silence, and then he got the biggest, oddest smile she'd ever seen on the face of a vampire.
"All right," he said. "A contest. Computer versus abacus."
She wasn't at all sure now that was a good idea, even if it had been her idea, essentially. "Um -- what do I win?" More importantly, what do I lose? Making bargains was a way of life in Morganville, and it was a lot like making deals with man-eating fairies. Better be careful what you ask for.
"Your freedom," he said solemnly. His eyes were wide and guileless, his too-young face shining with honesty. "I will tell Amelie you were not suited to the work. She'll let you go about your life, such as it is."
Good prize. Too good. Claire swallowed hard. "And if I lose?"
"Then I eat you," Myrnin said. ~ Rachel Caine

And it's bad enough to be caught in your underpants but even worse to be caught in your underpants scratching out a valium prescription on someone else's pad. ~ David Sedaris

The undeniable feeling that, as you castigate a troll, he's rubbing his Red Dwarf mouse pad against his crotch and sighing, Angry liberal women typing at me. Oh yah. That's how I like it. ~ Caitlin Moran

Was Zeb asking if Silver wanted to come home with him? He had to squeeze the pad hard against his scrape so the pain would shut away the idea of climbing into Zeb's bed. The most horrible part was realizing the longing wasn't centered in Silver's dick, but higher. Something hollow right below his ribs, like the constant gnaw of hunger he remembered from when he'd been living on the street. The thought of being pressed up close to Zeb's skin, the familiar arms around him, the brush of hair against his neck. The idea hurt worse than when Silver had smelled fried food back then. Because there was no way he was ever going to be able to feed this rumble of want. "Oh. Back to Quinn's. I'm still staying with them. ~ K.A. Mitchell

I flipped back through the pad of paper while I thought about what Stephen Hawking would do next. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer

Fuck you."

"Oh, now you want me too." Syn barked a laugh. "I thought you were straight."

"Syn," Furi snapped. "Knock it off."

Syn took Furi's backpack off his shoulder and slid it on to his own. He intertwined their fingers and Furi couldn't ignore how much he liked that gesture from his tough Sergeant. Doug still stood very close to Furi, watching them both through narrowed eyes.

"Stop looking like that," Furi whispered.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Doug whispered back.

Furi turned and looked behind him at Syn's ruggedly gorgeous face then down at their joined hands. He turned back to Doug's concerned eyes. "Yes, I do." Furi leaned in and chastely kissed Doug on the lips and watched him turn and leave.

When Furi turned back, Syn was wearing a large frown and his chest was frozen like he was holding his breath. Furi got as close to Syn as he could. "What's the matter?"

"Don't do that again." Syn's voice was rough and low.

"Do what?" Furi frowned in confusion.

Syn brought his free hand up and wiped the pad of his thumb across Furi's full lips. "Don't put your lips on him again." Syn shook his head when Furi opened his mouth to argue. "I know it was friendly, and it didn't mean anything, but humor me, okay? Don't put your mouth on his. Syn leaned in and pulled Furi's bottom lip into his mouth and gently sucked on it, right there in the IHOP parking lot. "O ~ A.E. Via

You're cute when you're mad."
He caressed my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. I huffed in exasperation.
"Is that why you make me mad all the time? ~ Adriane Leigh

Funnel

The family story tells, and it was told true,
of my great-grandfather who begat eight
genius children and bought twelve almost-new
grand pianos. He left a considerable estate
when he died. The children honored their
separate arts; two became moderately famous,
three married and fattened their delicate share
of wealth and brilliance. The sixth one was
a concert pianist. She had a notable career
and wore cropped hair and walked like a man,
or so I heard when prying a childhood car
into the hushed talk of the straight Maine clan.
One died a pinafore child, she stays her five
years forever. And here is one that wrote-
I sort his odd books and wonder his once alive
words and scratch out my short marginal notes
and finger my accounts.
back from that great-grandfather I have come
to tidy a country graveyard for his sake,
to chat with the custodian under a yearly sun
and touch a ghost sound where it lies awake.
I like best to think of that Bunyan man
slapping his thighs and trading the yankee sale
for one dozen grand pianos. it fit his plan
of culture to do it big. On this same scale
he built seven arking houses and they still stand.
One, five stories up, straight up like a square
box, still dominates its coastal edge of land.
It is rented cheap in the summer musted air
to sneaker-footed families who pad through
its ro ~ Anne Sexton

Get your little sticky note pad and get a new note, Kace. Write this on it. I'm coming, Kace. I'm coming for your heart, ~ Scott Hildreth

Now those are lethal weapons." He stroked her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. "My heart stops every time you kiss me. ~ Crystal Hubbard

Subsidies for the oil, gas and coal industries are projected to cost taxpayers more than $135 billion in the coming decade. At a time when scientists tell us we need to reduce carbon pollution to prevent catastrophic climate change, it is absurd to provide massive subsidies that pad fossil-fuel companies' already enormous profits. ~ Bernie Sanders

Uh ... what can I say? Made money. Given a launch pad for a working life. Set a precedent I had no interest in following. Created expectations that I was not cut-out to match. Disappointed virtually all of my readers subsequently. But I like what I've done, and I stand by it all. ~ Alex Garland

My hands are way too big to text. I'd need short hand for my hands. -Foot to Pad ~ Ray Palla

I knew that my crazy was no longer a quirk, a simple matter of a cracked finger pad. Now, it was an irritation. ~ John Green

once upon a time, i met a flower. she was so innocent, yet so wise. she was glitter and wildness. softness and sweet fragrance. she was a flock of fireflies that danced through the forest and swam naked in moonlight. she was the first soul i bared myself to, only one i was completely honest with about the things that shamed me...we wandered through the world in a bubble of our own making, floating free, full of pastels so colorful, full of fairy dust, sunbeams, and feathers. we drew people towards us like sirens in the water, wanting what we had. but we fluttered away like butterflies hopping from lily pad to lily pad, giggling all the while. we told each other the real hard truth, and listened, and laughed and cried out our hearts. when i was going through a tough time, she once told me to pick a place, anywhere in the world, and she'd be there with me, even if she couldn't be...she was my flower. she taught me about generosity, about giving with deep trust that it would return somehow somewhere. and it always does. she taught me to love people for who they are, and to just let them be, in their own flower field. i met a flower. she taught me to live in love. to bloom, and listen. now i am alive, in love ~ Bodhi Smith

You boys need anything else?"

Nick started. The older waitress was there beside the table.

He hadn't heard her approach. Worse - he hadn't felt her approach. Would she say something? He should probably start disentangling himself from Adam. His voice wouldn't work and his face felt like his cheeks were going to burn clean off.

"No, thanks," Adam said. He sounded amused.

She ripped a piece of paper from her pad and set it on the table. "You two are just the cutest ever."

Nick froze. She didn't care. They'd been head to head at this table, and she hadn't batted an eye.

Adam winked at her. "Sounds like someone's looking for a tip."

"Here's a tip," she said. "Don't flirt with old married ladies when you've got a sure thing in your arms."

"Am I the sure thing in this scenario?" said Nick.

"I don't know," Adam said. "Are you?"

The waitress laughed and left them with the check.

"She didn't care," said Nick softly. "I know it's stupid, but I thought - "

"What, that people would come out with pitchforks? Flaming torches?"

"Maybe."

Adam kissed him on the cheek. "You're adorable. People surprise you sometimes. Especially when you give them the chance."

The words hit Nick hard, the way words you need to hear usually do. He held them in his head for examination later.

When they walked back to Adam's apartment, he re ~ Brigid Kemmerer

Everything is 'smart' now. The library cataloging system is smart, classification and indexing information entered into a uniform online database. People wept and lamented the loss of the old cards, then forgot them. They pretty much forget everything they weep over and lament. Clop-clop of hooves on the street. The humble art of carrying a block of ice up the stairs, pincered by a pair of tongs. Rotary phones and 33 rpm records. Stamp-pad ink and poster paint. ~ Christopher Sorrentino

Keep a note pad and pencil on your bedside table. Million-dollar ideas sometimes strike at 3 A.M. ~ H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

He glanced at the screen. It was from Mark.
CAN'T FIND TY.
Julian frowned and thumbed a reply while jogging up the steps after Emma. DID YOU LOOK IN HIS BEDROOM?
There was an ornate knocker on the front door in the shape of a wild-haired, wild-eyed Green Man. Emma lifted it and let it fall as Julian's phone beeped again.
DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A BUFFOON? OF COURSE I DID.
"Jules?" Emma said. "Is everything all right?"
"Buffoon?" he muttered, his fingers flying over the touch pad.
WHAT DOES LIVVY SAY?
"Did you just mutter 'buffoon'? Emma demanded. Julian could hear footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. 'Julian, try to act not weird, okay? ~ Cassandra Clare

Will you call me before Christmas?' she asks.
Maybe.' I pull on my vest, wondering why I even came here in the first place.
You've still got my number, don't you?' She reaches for a pad and begins to write it down.
Yeah, Blair. I've got your number. I'll get in touch.'
I button up my jeans and turn to leave.
Clay?'
Yeah, Blair.'
If I don't see you before Christmas,' she stops. 'Have a good one.'
I look at her a moment. 'Hey, you too.'
She picks up the stuffed black cat and strokes its head.
I step out the door and start to close it.
Clay?' she whispers loudly.
I stop but don't turn around.'Yeah?'
Nothing. ~ Bret Easton Ellis