You Were Meant For Me Quotes

You were meant for me, Poppy. I can feel it in my fingertips when I touch you. ~ Tess Oliver

Jack explained. "Daisy, you were meant for me. Dane destroyed that. You're lucky I don't set you on fire right this minute. It's either you or him. Pick." Jack chewed on a tooth pick, took it out of his mouth and pointed it at her and then Dane. "Pick, pick, pick," he said, pointing back and forth. ~ Nancy Glynn

I think it's fate," he says softly.
"You do? You believe in fate?"
Scooting closer to me, he rests his hand on my hipbone, his thumb stroking a lazy rhythm there. "I do, in the sense that I believe some things are inevitable. The sun rises, the moon travels round the earth, you were meant for me, and I was meant for you," he says. ~ Lauren Blakely

Oh boy, when you're with me. Oh boy, I want the world to see that you were meant for me. ~ Buddy Holly

Dreams last so long
Even after you're gone
I know you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you
Go about my business, I'm doing fine
Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line
Same old story, not much to say
Hearts are broken every day
I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead
I try to tell myself it'll be all right
I just shouldn't think anymore tonight ~ Jewel

Do you ever sit back and wonder what it all means? Whether this is it or if there's something greater out there? Or if you were meant for something better? ~ Nicholas Sparks

WELL, THAT went well. Not.
Remi all but ran out of here. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed, but damn it to the pit and back, the scent of his desire was driving me mad. He wanted me. I wanted him. Neither of us wanted to bottom, so how the hell was that going to work?
Okay, to be fair, I'd never tried it. It's just… the whole dynamics of bottoming made me uncomfortable. Allowing a man to top me meant I'd have to give up control, and that was hard for me. Especially for me.
I knew being a bottom didn't necessarily mean a man was submissive, either in the bedroom or in everyday life. It didn't make him less of a man. Likewise, being a top didn't mean a man was inclined to be dominant in his interactions with others.
It didn't make him more of a man. I got that. I really did… but. But I knew myself well enough to know I couldn't just let anyone into my
body. It wasn't all about the fear of being penetrated, but that was some of it. It's why I took time to open my partner up. To get him riled up and desperate.
What was the point of sex if it didn't feel good? Then, of course, there were the usual perceptions: big, muscular black man… of course he'd only top. Of course he had to be hung like a horse too. I hated it when guys talked about me as if I were nothing more than a big black cock. ~ M.A. Church

Well, look at it this way," Robin reasoned as I sat with him and Geoff at their kitchen table that night, half-plastered from the pitcher of margarita they'd blended up. Was I going to have a tequila hangover in the morning? Oh, honey, you bet your sweet ass I was. And how many fucks did I give?
Not a one.
"Even if you were overreacting to read what you read into this guy's offer - which I don't think you were, though I doubt he actually thought it through enough to intend it to be read that way - you still have to ask yourself: What's in it for you, hanging around some motel room waiting for a married man to make a booty call? What benefit would you get out of that situation, or out of prolonging your relationship with him? He might not have meant it to be an insulting offer, but it was absolutely a one hundred percent selfish offer. There was no upside for you whatsoever, unless the sex really was just that amazing. ~ Amelia C. Gormley

There'll be a war," my mother said, her lit cigarette as though forgotten in front of her face… She couldn't have meant war… Soon enough even my father would realize that we were stupid enough to fling a hefty piece of wet Balkan shit right into the blades of a turning fan and expect not to get soiled. The war would come just as prophesied, and for years a part of me would believe that…I had somehow caused it all, and I would feel guilty for all of the dead and the dead-to-be, and sitting in the basement with my town groaning from destruction above my head, I would wish for a time machine and another go at that day. (p.58) ~ Ismet Prcic

The seventh and eighth grade were for me, and for every single good and interesting person I have ever known, what the writers of the bible meant when they used the words hell and pit...It was all over for any small feeling that one was essentially all right. One wasn't...It was springtime, for Hitler, in Germany.

Anne Lamott ~ David Sheff

I just ... ," Cath started again: "I realized that I'm not cut out for fiction-writing."
Professor Piper blinked and pulled her head back. "What are you talking about? You're exactly cut out for it. You're a Butterick pattern, Cath
this is what you were meant to do. ~ Rainbow Rowell

Clive convinced himself that it wouldn't be long before we'd be able to predict all their [the moths] equations of cause and effect, then perhaps even map out each and every cell, and configure them in their entirety as robots, in terms of molecules, chemicals and electrical signals. And what fed this particular obsession was Pupal Soup.

If you cut through a cocoon in mid-winter, a thick creamy liquid will spill out and nothing more. What goes into that cocoon in autumn is a caterpillar and what comes out in spring is entirely different - a moth, complete with papery wings, hair like legs and antennae. Yet this same creature spends winter as a gray-green liquid, a primordial soup. The miraculous meltdown of an animal into a case of fluid chemicals and its exquisite re-generation into a different animal, like a stupendous jigsaw, was a feat that, far from putting off, fed Clive's obsession. He believed it made his lifetime ambition easier because, however complex it might be, it was, after all, only a jigsaw, and to Clive, that meant it was possible. For all the chemicals required to make a moth were right there in front of his eyes, in the pupal soup. ~ Poppy Adams

I knew in that moment, we were never meant to surrender our childlike innocence, to trade a world in which we fit like a glove for one that hung on us like ill-fitting hand-me-downs. However, all about us insisted on our membership. And instead of a handshake or a mystical password as entrance into this spurious society, we agreed instead to share a lie, the one that says we're safe, secure, and fulfilled living this way. ~ Christina Carson

He was taking his time on his way to the arena, which meant there was likely something he was waiting for. He didn't intend to actually fight me, obviously, just as I didn't intend to fight him.
If all was going according to plan, and Yma had slipped the contents of the vial into the calming tonic he drank with his breakfast, the iceflowers were already swimming through his body. The timing would not be exact; that depended on the person. I would have to be ready for the potion to surprise me, or fail entirely.
"You're dawdling," I said, hoping that calling him out would speed him up. "What is it you're waiting for?"
"I am waiting for the right blade," Ryzek said, and he dropped down to the arena floor. Dust rose up in a cloud against his feet. He rolled up his left sleeve, baring his kill marks. He had run out of space on his arm, and started a second row next to the first, near his elbow. He claimed every kill that he ordered as his own, even if he himself had not brought about the death.
Ryzek drew his currentblade slowly, and as he raised his arm, the crowd around us exploded into cheers. Their roar clouded my thoughts. I couldn't breathe.
He didn't look pale and unfocused, like he had actually consumed the poison. He looked, if anything, more focused than ever.
I wanted to run at him with blade extended, like an arrow released from a bow, a transport vessel breaking through the atmosphere. But I didn't. And neither did he. We both stood in t ~ Veronica Roth

So as not to see anything any more, I turned towards the wall, but alas, what was now facing me was that partition which used to serve us as a morning messenger, that partition which, as responsive as a violin in rendering every nuance of a feeling, reported so exactly to my grandmother my fear at once of waking her and, if she were already awake, of not being heard by her and so of her not coming, then immediately, like a second instrument taking up the melody, informing me of her coming and bidding me be calm. I dared not put out my hand to that wall, any more than to a piano on which my grandmother had been playing and which still vibrated from her touch. I knew that I might knock now, even louder, that nothing would wake her any more, that I should hear no response, that my grandmother would never come again. And I asked nothing more of God, if a paradise exists, than to be able, there, to knock on that wall with the three little raps which my grandmother would recognize among a thousand, and to which she would give those answering knocks which meant: "Don't fuss, little mouse, I know you're impatient, but I'm coming," and that he would let me stay with her throughout eternity, which would not be too long for the two of us. ~ Marcel Proust

There is a purpose for your presence here on Earth. There is a reason for you to be here. You are here to add something to the world that has never been here before. Your existence has never blessed this world before and it will never bless this world again. Find your reason to be here and live that reason. Create what you were meant to create. Dream what you were meant to dream. Live as you were meant to live. Your existence has a reason and your sole purpose in life is to find that reason. ~ Avina Celeste

There is also the ceaseless outpouring of books on toilet training, separating one sibling's fist from another sibling's eye socket, expressing breast milk while reading a legal brief, helping preschoolers to "own" their feelings, getting Joshua to do his homework, and raising teenage boys so they become Sensitive New Age Guys instead of rooftop snipers or Chippendale dancers. Over eight hundred books on motherhood were published between 1970 and 2000; only twenty-seven of these came out between 1970 and 1980, so the real avalanch happened in the past twenty years. We've learned about the perils of "the hurried child" and "hyperparenting," in which we schedule our kids with so many enriching activities that they make the secretary of state look like a couch spud. But the unhurried child probably plays too much Nintendo and is out in the garage building pipe bombs, so you can't underschedule them either. Then there's the Martha Stewartization of America, in which we are meant to sculpt the carrots we put in our kids' lunches into the shape of peonies and build funhouses for them in the backyard; this has raised the bar to even more ridiculous levels than during the June Cleaver era. ~ Susan J. Douglas

...Learn to concentrate, to give all your attention to the thing at hand, and then to be able to put it aside and go on to the next thing without confusion.
My husband said that being President of the United States meant that you saw more kinds of people, took up more subjects, and learn more about a variety of things than anyone else. But it required complete concentration on the person you were with and on what he was saying. When that person left the room, you pulled down a shade in your mind, and you were ready, with your attention free, for what the next person had to say. You might have to shift from banking to forestry, but each subject had the attention and concentration it required and each, in turn, was put in the back of the mind, ready to be called upon when needed. ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

you cannot be friends either with boy or man unless you give yourself away in the process, and Mr. Pembroke did not commend this. He, for "personal intercourse," substituted the safer "personal influence," and gave his junior hints on the setting of kindly traps, in which the boy does give himself away and reveals his shy delicate thoughts, while the master, intact, commends or corrects them.
Originally Rickie had meant to help boys in the anxieties that they undergo when changing into men: at Cambridge he had numbered this among life's duties. But here is a subject in which we must
inevitably speak as one human being to another, not as one who has authority or the shadow of authority, and for this reason the elder school-master could suggest nothing but a few formulae. Formulae, like kindly traps, were not in Rickie's line, so he abandoned these
subjects altogether and confined himself to working hard at what was easy. ~ E. M. Forster

But Jace", Clary said. "Valentine taught him more than just fighting. He taught him languages, and how to play the piano"
"That was Jocelyn's influence." Sebastian said her name unwillingly, as if he hated the sound of it. "She thought Valentine ought to be able to talk about books, art, music ... not just killing things. He passed that on to Jace."
A wrought iron blue gate rose to their left. Sebastian ducked under it and beckoned Clary to follow him. She didn't have to duck but went after him, her hands stuffed into her pockets. "What about you?" she asked.
He held up his hands. They were unmistakably her mother's hands - dexterous, long-fingered, meant for holding a brush or a pen. "I learned to play the instruments of war, " he said, "and paint in blood. I am not like Jace. ~ Cassandra Clare

I think the word despair is much too small to encompass the magnitude of all it defines. For me, right then, despair meant that everything within me-my organs, my spirit, my hope-plunged down into a place of utter density, of blackness so heavy and bleak I had no idea how to lift any of it up again.
I can't do this. I'm just Lora Jones. I can't even remember how to tell a shrimp fork from an oyster fork. I can barely find middle C. I can't save Jesse and Armand and the castle. I can't defeat them all.
But I had to. We were going to die unless I did. ~ Shana Abe

On whom am I dependent? What are my main fears? Who was I meant to be at birth? What were my goals and how did they change? What were the forks of the road where I took the wrong direction and went the wrong way? What efforts did I make to correct the error and return to the right way? Who am I now, and who would I be if I had always made the right decisions and avoided crucial errors? Whom did I want to be long ago, now, and in the future? What is my image of myself? What is the image I wish others to have of me? Where are the discrepancies between the two images, both between themselves and with what I sense in my real self? Who will I be if I continue to live as I am living now? What are the conditions responsible for the development as it happened? What are the alternatives for further development open to me now? What must I do to realize the possibility I choose? ~ Erich Fromm

Everybody has a calling. And your real job in life is to figure out as soon as possible what that is, who you were meant to be, and to begin to honor that in the best way possible for yourself. ~ Oprah Winfrey

Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying motherhood lacks meaning. There's great dignity in the smallness of motherhood; we're essential in our contingency. And though we may not follow the Western model of the epic hero, we mothers can find a metaphor for our lives.

The metaphor is in the kuroko, the Kabuki theater stage assistant. You've heard of Kabuki - with its wildly theatrical actors, its gorgeous costumes, and spectacular scale. The kuroko are assistants who help the actors move through their elaborate dramas. Meant to provide unobtrusive assistance with props and costumes, kuroko try to remain in the wings. They huddle in half-kneeling posture, wearing black bags over their heads and bodies - the better to recede into both actors' and audience's preconscious mind.

Scurrying to arrange the trailing hems of heavy brocade kimonos, like an American mother repeatedly straightening her daughter's wedding train, the kuroko's role is to suport the real players of life's dramas. ~ Lydia Minatoya

Ivy linked her arm through mine again and I led her toward where I left the car. As we walked, some shrieking, and yelling broke over the sounds of the party, and I glanced around for what was going on. Over on the other side of the fire, two girls were on the verge of what looked like a fight. I couldn't help but stare because I was so surprised. One of the girls reached out and yanked a handful of the other's hair. It was all downhill from there.
Beside me, Ivy laughed. "That's what she gets for trying to steal someone's man."
I tore my eyes off the fight and glanced at Ivy. "Seriously?"
"Them bitches be cray-cray," she slurred.
I didn't understand what that meant, but I laughed because it sounded ridiculous.
- Ivy & Rimmel ~ Cambria Hebert

It was not just the drink, though, that was making me happy, but the tenderness of things, the simple goodness of the world. This sunset, for instance, how lavishly it was laid on, the clouds, the light on the sea, that heartbreaking, blue-green distance, laid on, all of it, as if to console some lost suffering waybarer. I have never really got used to being on this earth. Somethings I think our presence here is due to a cosmic blunder, that we were meant for another planet altogether, with other arrangements, and other laws, and other, grimmer skies. I try to imagine it, our true place, off on the far side of the galaxy, whirling and whirling. And the ones who were meant for here, are they out there, baffled and homesick, like us? No, they would have become extinct long ago. How could they survive, these gentle earthlings, in a world that was meant to contain us? ~ John Banville

A persistent case of the bingos was enough to wash a man out of night carrier landings. That did not mean you were finished as a Navy pilot. It merely meant that you were finished so far as carrier ops were concerned, which meant that you were finished so far as combat was concerned, which meant you were no longer in the competition, no longer ascending the pyramid, no longer qualified for the company of those with the right stuff. ~ Tom Wolfe

It was a while before my mind was quiet enough for reading. The conversation with Shevraeth I was determined not to think about. What was the use? It was over, and it was clear it wasn't going to be repeated.
Recalling the name he'd mentioned, Lady Trishe
one of the names Bran had spoken earlier that morning
I realized it was Shevraeth they were planning to go riding with. She wouldn't enjoy this ride was what Nee had said, meaning that I wouldn't enjoy it because Shevraeth would be along. What it probably also meant, I realized glumly, was that they wouldn't enjoy having me along if I glared at Shevraeth and started squabbling. ~ Sherwood Smith

What do you do for Nigel Jennings?"
There was no pause at all. "I'm his tailer," he answered immediately.
"You're nothing of the sort."
Rupert gave her a cheeky grin. "Meant to say, he's my tailor."
She cast him a thoughtful look. "Interesting that you would lie about it."
"You call joking lying?"
"Evasion is a form of deceit."
"Interesting that you would see it that way." He gave her back her own words. She almost laughed.
While he hadn't answered her question any more truthfully than she had answered his, he surprised her by not pursuing his inquiry about why she had been on Wigmore Street. Fingering a white silk yarn within his reach, he said, "I'll take a vest in this if you run out of ideas to ply your needle toward."
She couldn't help but grin. "Will you indeed? But that implies a gift-"
He cut in, "Consider it an early Christmas present," and actually sounded serious.
"I don't make presents for mere aquaintances."
"We're more'n that."
"We aren't."
"Of course we are,or do you make a habit of kissing mere aquaintances?"
She huffed. "You did the kissing, not I."
He was grinning again. "You fully participated,Becca. Don't even try to deny it. ~ Johanna Lindsey

At Camp Don Bosco, there were Bibles all over the place, mostly 1970s hippie versions like Good News for Modern Man. They had groovy titles like The Word or The Way, and translated the Bible into "contemporary English," which meant Saul yelling at Jonathan, "You son of a bitch!" (I Samuel 20:30). Awesome! The King James version gave this verse as "Thou son of the perverse rebellious woman," which was bogus in comparison. Maybe these translations went a bit far. I recall one of the Bibles translating the inscription over the cross, "INRI" (Iesus Nazaremus Rex Iudaeorum), as "SSDD" (Same Shit Different Day), and another describing the Last Supper - the night before Jesus' death, a death he freely accepted - where Jesus breaks the bread, gives it to his disciples, and says, "It's better to burn out than fade away," but these memories could be deceptive. ~ Rob Sheffield

I understand now that all those antique essays and stories with which I was to compare my own work were not magnificent for their datedness or foreignness, but for saying precisely what their authors meant them to say. My teachers wished me to write accurately, always selecting the most effective words, and relating the words to one another unambiguously, rigidly, like parts of a machine. The teachers did not want to turn me into an Englishman after all. They hoped that I would become understandable - and therefore understood. ~ Kurt Vonnegut

Taking off the masks, being real, and living in freedom - this is a process. After all, it takes some time to get to know the real you. This is not about loving yourself more and embracing the "you" that you were always meant to be. No, this is about seeing the real you in the real Light. It is a good thing to feel horrified by the real you and run to the only One who can save you from yourself. The gospel frees you to believe that there is no "making it" and therefore you can stop "faking it." You already have everything you need through the righteousness earned for you on the cross. If you believe these truths, the masks you wear will begin to melt away. Then, bit by bit, we can help one another become free as well. Allow other moms to be imperfect. Allow yourself to be imperfect. Be free! ~ Kimm Crandall

Not the historians. No, not them. Their greatest crime is that they presume to know what happened, how things come about, when they have only what the past chose to leave behind
for the most part, they think what they were meant to think, and it's a rare one that sees what really happened, behind the smokescreen of artifacts and paper ... No, the fault lies with the artists ... The writers, the singers, the tellers of tales. It's them that take the past and re-create it to their liking. Them that could take a fool and give you back a hero, take a sot and make him a king ... Liars? ... or sorcerers? Do they see the bones in the dust of the earth, see the essence of a thing that was, and clothe it in new flesh, so the plodding beast reemerges as a fabulous monster? ~ Diana Gabaldon

You will never be a hero. You were never meant to be a hero."
Hero. that one word made Aru lift her chin. It made her think of Mini and Boo, her mom, and all the incredible things she herself had done in just nine days. Breaking the lamp hadn't been heroic... but everything else? Fighting for people she cared about and doing everything it took to fix her mistake? That was heroism.
Vajra became a spear in her hand.
"I already am. And it's heroine. ~ Roshani Chokshi

You were small, but far-famed. We were in Oldtown at your birth, and all the city talked of was the monster that had been born to the King's Hand, and what such an omen might foretell for the realm."
"Famine, plague, and war, no doubt." Tyrion gave a sour smile. "It's always famine, plague, and war. Oh, and winter, and the long night that never ends."
"All that," said Prince Oberyn, "and your father's fall as well. Lord Tywin had made himself greater than King Aerys, I heard one begging brother preach, but only a god is meant to stand above a king. You were his curse, a punishment sent by the gods to teach him that he was no better than any other man."
"I try, but he refuses to learn." Tyrion gave a sigh. "But do go on, I pray you. I love a good tale."
"And well you might, since you were said to have one, a stiff curly tail like a swine's. ~ George R R Martin

In Texas, having a vehicle meant having a life--if you walked on the shoulder, everybody could see that you'd failed in some way. That you couldn't afford a vehicle, that your car had broken down and you couldn't pay for a cab, that you had no friends to call. Maybe you were too weird to hitchhike. ~ James Hannaham

Look at the people who you surround yourself with. Who your friends are and who they are because they are a reflection of you. Your experiences in life define who you are, and everything else that makes you, you; shapes you into the person you are meant to be. Self discovery can last a lifetime because we are continually growing and changing as human beings. You are the person you've become today for a reason. So, ask yourself why. What brought you to the person you are now? Paint yourself a picture of who you once were, and who you now are to see how much you've changed, and, maybe, you'll discover something valuable to who you truly are. ~ Auliq Ice

They say that whatever is meant to be will happen. That if a love is true, it will always come back to you. Bullshit. You can't wait around for love to come back or for something to happen. You have to make it happen. Have you ever heard of someone accomplishing their dreams by waiting around because 'what is meant to be will happen'?
No.
Those people fought for what they wanted and loved. They didn't lean back and wait for their dreams to come rushing at them. Each and every one made their dream come true. They found love because they were searching for it. They didn't let anything get in their way. Every day for the rest of my
life, I will fight for my love and my dreams. I will work to make things stick together instead of working to make them fall apart. ~ Lindsay Paige