Youre Not The Reason I Smile Anymore Quotes

When I was younger I thought going through something rough would be fun, or uplifting somehow. That sounds odd, but it was how everyone portrayed terrible things. You go through this horrid experience, and suddenly you're a better person. I wanted that; everyone wants to be a better person.
Now, though, after all of this, I realized that wasn't true. Not all the time, at least. Suffering didn't make a person stronger. It didn't make character, or mold someone into a better part of themselves.
It could - don't get me wrong, it could. It could make someone see the light, see the world through a clearer vision. It could change everything. It could make people good and courteous, make them spend their lives trying to save others'. Their past could lead them to something brighter in the future, creating the theory that everything happened for a reason. It could make them grateful for their life instead of hateful, scornful, wishing they were never born.
But it wasn't like that for me; I didn't get better. For me, all pain ever did was hurt. ~ Lauren Evers

Anderson!" he snapped murderously, "if you can tear your attention from Miss Danner's bust, the rest of us will be able to finish this meeting." Lauren flushed a vivid pink, but the elderly Anderson turned a purple hue that might be indicative of an impending stroke.
As soon as the last staff member had filed out of the conference room, Lauren ignored Mary's warning look and turned furiously on Nick. "I hope you're satisfied!" she hissed furiously. "You not only humiliated me, you nearly gave that poor old man a heart attack.What do you plan to do for an encore?"
"Fire the first woman who opens her mouth," Nick retorted coldly. He walked around her and strode out of the conference room.
Outraged past all reason, Lauren started after him, but Mary stopped her. "Don't argue with him," she said, gazing after Nick with a beatific smile on her face. She looked as if she had just witnessed a miracle. "In his present mood he'd fire you, and he'd regret that for the rest of his life. ~ Judith McNaught

Oria and I walked into the kitchen to find Julen staring at a handsome young man with curly black hair and fine new livery in Astiar colors.
His chin was up, and he swept a cool glance over us all as he said, "My errand is with my lady, the Countess of Tlanth."
"I am she." I stepped forward.
He gave me one incredulous look, then hastily smoothed his face as he bowed low. In the background, Julen clucked rather audibly. Next to me Oria had her arms crossed, her face stony. The young man looked about with the air of one who knows himself in unfriendly territory, and I reflected that for all his airs my brother had hired him or he wouldn't be here, and he deserved a chance to present himself fair.
"Surely you'll have been warned that we are very informal here," I said, and gave him a big smile.
And for some reason he flushed right up to his fine hairline. Bowing again, he said courteously, "My lady, I was to give this directly to you."
I held out one hand, noticed the dirt smudges, and hastily wiped it on my clothes before putting it out again. When I glanced up at the equerry, I saw in his eyes just a hint of answering amusement at the absurdity of the situation, though his face was strictly schooled when he handed me the letter.
"Welcome among us. What is your name?" I said.
"Jerrol, as it pleases you, my lady." And again the bow.
"Well, it's your name if it pleases me or not," I said, sitting on the edge of the great slate prep tab ~ Sherwood Smith

My clothes aren't going to get dried until you wash them. Which involves putting them in the washer, and that involves picking them off the floor." Marshell wiggled his eyebrows at me, then turned and stepped into the shower.
I did drool when I got a look at his ass. "Oh my…." Did I mention I was an ass man?
"Remi?"
"Uh-huh?" My vocabulary had taken a hike, it appeared.
"I can smell your desire. If you're still here by the count of five, I'm getting out and coming after you. One of us is going to get fucked in this awesome shower of yours, so…." Marshell said from the shower. "One."
The sound I made was a cross between a squeak and a growl, thanks to acres and acres of wet, glistening skin. I wanted to run my tongue over every square -
"Two….
"Three…."
I grabbed his jeans and ran. The softly whispered word "chicken" followed me out of there. I was halfway to the laundry room before I could take a deep breath. Then it hit me what I'd done. I ran out on him. Honestly calling me a chicken was too kind. I was a coward. The only reason I ran was because I was afraid to bottom.
I was a top. I always topped. I threw his clothes in the washer, tossed in one of those little pods, and turned it on. Then banged my head against it. What was I doing? Why was I standing here and not in the shower with him?
Yes, I topped because I was afraid to do anything else. My one and only experience with bottoming was an unmitigated disaster. A painfu ~ M.A. Church

With a deep regret, I wiggled out from under him despite his sleepy protests and grabbed articles of clothing as I tiptoed to his door. What amazing willpower I had. What fantastic self-control. I'd come over for one reason, and everything but that reason seemed to be resolved. When I reached the door, I saw what looked like another note. But this was his door, not mine. I peeled it off, then angled it until I could read it by the light of the fire.
Is that all you've got?
With a smile spreading slowly across my face, I dropped everything I'd just picked up and went back for more. ~ Darynda Jones

Her gaze wavered towards one of the books on the sales counter beside the register, a hardcover copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet with many of the pages dog-eared and stained with coffee and tea. The store owner caught her looking at it and slid it across the counter towards her. "You ever read Hamlet?" he questioned.

"I tried to when I was in high school," said Mandy, picking up the book and flipping it over to read the back. "I mean, it's expected that everyone should like Shakespeare's books and plays, but I just…." her words faltered when she noticed him laughing to himself. "What's so funny, Sir?" she added, slightly offended.

"…Oh, I'm not laughing at you, just with you," said the store owner. "Most people who say they love Shakespeare only pretend to love his work. You're honest Ma'am, that's all. You see, the reason you and so many others are put-off by reading Shakespeare is because reading his words on paper, and seeing his words in action, in a play as they were meant to be seen, are two separate things… and if you can find a way to relate his plays to yourself, you'll enjoy them so much more because you'll feel connected to them. Take Hamlet for example – Hamlet himself is grieving over a loss in his life, and everyone is telling him to move on but no matter how hard he tries to, in the end all he can do is to get even with the ones who betrayed him."

"…Wow, when you put it that way… sure, I think I'll buy a copy just to try reading, wh ~ Rebecca McNutt

Time doesn't matter. When you love someone, the way I love your mother, you'll know, and the amount of time it took you to get there will be irrelevant. But what does matter, is that you find the woman who will be your reason to live, who will stick with you, not during the good times but through the hard times, and who will tell you when you're being an ass. Find the woman worth keeping, for more than sex, the one you can see your future with. And when you look at her, you'll know you've found her. ~ Tamsyn Bester

You know, I think I understand what you're like now. You're very beautiful and you think men are only interested in you because you're beautiful. But you want them to be interested in you because you're you. The problem is, aside from all that beauty, you're not very interesting. You're rude, you're hostile, you're sullen, you're withdrawn ... oh, I know- you want someone to look past all that at the real person underneath. But the only reason anyone would bother to look past all that is because you're beautful. Ironic, isn't it? In an odd way you're your own problem. ~ Jack Nicholson

Insanity is an inability to come to terms with reality. Don Quixote was definitely insane, because he couldn't come to terms. But there was a reason: the reality in which Don Quixote lived was a sordid and ugly reality … Don Quixote didn't want that. He wanted to live in a world where there was truth, and human dignity, and, yes, love.… Instead of giving up on it, he imposed his reality onto the real world. Where other people saw a filthy country hostel, he saw a castle! Where other people saw a flock of sheep, he saw a mighty army! Where other people saw a windmill, he saw a dragon. Yes, Don Quixote was a crazy old fool. But, you know, he was more honest about his dream than most people, and for that, I honor him.
[...]
I have committed myself, I have dedicated myself, to the pursuit of the dragon. And having made that commitment … all of a sudden, I can see him! There he is, right in front of me, clear as day.… You're so much bigger than I ever imagined, and I'm, I'm not so sure I like this. I mean, yes, you're glorious and beautiful, but you're ugly, too. Your breath reeks of death!… Am I so pitiful that you can sneer in my face like that? Yes, yes, you frighten me! You hurt me! I've felt your claws ripping through my soul! But I'm going to die someday, and before I can do that, I've got to face you, eyeball to eyeball. I've got to look you right in the eye, and see what's inside, but I'm not good enough to do that yet. I'm not experienced enough, so I'm going to ~ Chris Crawford

You see, King, we have a legend - I used to believe that it was all fairy-tale rubbish and empty smoke. It is a legend about how such things as war and death and despair were common in our country at one time. These terrible words, which we have long since stopped using in our language, can be read in collections of our old tales, and they sound awful to us and even a little ridiculous. Today I've learned that these tales are all true ... But now tell me, don't you have in your soul a sort of intimation that you're not doing the right thing? Don't you have a yearning for bright, serene gods, for sensible and cheerful leaders and mentors? Don't you ever dream in your sleep about another, more beautiful life where nobody is envious of others, where reason and order prevails, where people treat other people only with cheerfulness and considerations? ~ Hermann Hesse

Don't wear those trousers with that shirt. What are you thinking?"
"I'm going to a bust, not a party."
"That's no reason not to look your best. Let's see, what's the well-dressed cop wearing these days to take down a major terrorist organization? You can't go wrong with basic black."
"Is this a joke?" she asked as he selected another shirt.
"Good fashion sense is never a joke." He handed her the shirt, slid a finger down the dent in her chin. "But it's good to see you smile again, Lieutenant. Oh, and wear the black boots, not the brown."
"I don't have any black boots."
He reached in, pulled out a pair of sturdy black leather. "You do now. ~ J.D. Robb

... it's just something women used to say when they sent their men off to war. Come back with your shield, or on it."
"On your shield?" said Nobby. ""You mean like ... sledging, sort of thing?"
"Like dead," said Angua. "It meant come back a winner or not at all."
"Well, I always came back with my shield," said Nobby. "No problem there."
"Nobby," sighed Colon, "you used to come back with your shield, everyone else's shield, a sack of teeth and fifteen pairs of still-warm boots. On a cart."
"We-el, no point in going to war unless you're on the winning side," said Nobby, sticking the white feather in his helmet.
"Nobby, you was always on the winning side, the reason bein', you used to lurk aroun' the edges to see who was winning and then pull the right uniform off'f some poor dead sod. I used to hear where the generals kept an eye on what you were wearin' so they'd know how the battle was going. ~ Terry Pratchett

I'm falling in love with you too, sweetheart. I know you're scared, and I know the shit that dickless douchebag put you through has you doing everything in your power to never go through something like that again, but I'm not him, baby. Don't run from it. Fall with me. Be with me, Ellie. I want to give you every part of myself. I want to be the reason you wake up every day with a smile on your beautiful face. God, Ellie. You own me. You fucking have me by the balls and I don't even care. ~ N.A. Alcorn

You know," she said dreamily, passing over his question, "you're not nearly as handsome as Lord St.Vincent."
"There's a surprise," he said dryly.
"But for some reason," she continued, "I never want to kiss him the way I do you." It was a good thing that she had closed her eyes, for if she had seen his expression, she might not have continued. "There is something about you that makes me feel terribly wicked. You make me want to do shocking things. Maybe it's because you're so proper. Your necktie is never crooked, and your shoes are always shiny. And your shirts are so starchy. Sometimes when I look at you, I want to tear off all your buttons. Or set your trousers on fire. ~ Lisa Kleypas

So I feared not just the violence of this world but the rules designed to protect you from it, the rules that would have you contort your body to address the block, and contort again to be taken seriously by colleagues, and contort again so as not to give the police a reason. All my life I'd heard people tell their black boys and black girls to "be twice as good," which is to say "accept half as much." These words would be spoken with a veneer of religious nobility, as though they evidenced some unspoken quality, some undetected courage, when in fact all they evidenced was the gun to our head and the hand in our pocket. This is how we lose our softness. This is how they steal our right to smile. ~ Ta-Nehisi Coates

Yeah, we used to talk like best friends
I remember that I guess I don't know what happened to us
Now you got me questionin' what trust is
You told me you would be there for me
Yeah, but you ain't really mean it did ya
Now you wanna jump ship
Leave me here alone
Well, I'm used to it
Everybody else did
Who you havin' fun with
Don't tell me I don't wanna know every time I ask I just feel sick
You're the one that jumped in
Told me you had some feelins
Now you tryin' to tell me that is not true
I ain't gotta clue
Who I'm lookin' at right now, but I know the person that I'm lookin' at is not you
Yeah
They say that you are who you hang with
Maybe that's the reason you been changin'
Maybe that's the reason why I'm feelin' like you're dangerous
And every time we talk it's like I'm talkin' to a stranger ~ Nathan Feuerstein (NF)

If you're looking for an Inspiration, then I think Rahul Mahajan is a perfect example for all the fainthearted people out there who fear to show their talent. Many people around us assume themselves as "not so special" person and people will laugh at them if they perform in public. I've seen Rahul Mahajan in a reality show of dancing, which is no way related to him. He is been asked to dance various dance forms, but the fact is he doesn't have the body language to perform like a dancer. His dances make people laugh, and his mistakes in the performances are taken as humor. Rahul never thinks about the results or what the audiences are thinking and keep on performing. Not only that but he is a favorite contestant of all the judges and the audiences too. The power is his honesty, hardwork, innocence, ego-less and he enjoys every bit of his performance to the core. I think that's the reason why he's successful and lives in the heart of the Indian Audiences. Hats off to your spirit Rahul Mahajan. :) ~ Ritesh Rangare

My season of compromise is OVER. The reason I am misunderstood ... I am not stuck up, I am selective. You can't let everyone get close to you. Being pleasing and sacraficing parts or all yourself to the undeserving is self-sabaotage. You're not a victim, you made a choice. If it doesn't work, make a new one. Next. ~ C. Nzingha Smith

I don't know when I can come back," he said. "The second you get tired of living in a smelly old surplus tent, I want you to come across town to my house." Mollie nodded and stepped closer. How safe she felt standing within the circle of his arms and laying her head against his chest, where she could hear the strong beating of his heart. "I heard it the first time you offered," she said with a smile in her voice. "And the fifth, and the tenth." He pinched her cheek. "Such a clever lass. I knew there was a reason I liked you." Why didn't she just leave with him? When she glanced over at the church, she saw Sophie reading the daily newssheet to Frank while Dr. Buchanan played a game of dice with the lumber merchant. "I'm not sure I can explain it," Mollie said, "but I feel bonded to these people. I can't leave to go live in the lap of luxury while they are all stranded here." "You can sleep in my root cellar if it would make you feel better. ~ Elizabeth Camden

But there's another reason you can't go. You still haven't told me about your trip to Tennessee." A sudden spark seemed to light his keen eyes. "I wanted to tell you, but you didn't come, even when I gave you back your bed." She looked up, full of wonder. "You wanted me to come upstairs?" "You know I wouldn't hurt you ... dishonor you." "I - I know you wouldn't ... but ... being alone with you ... like that ... " She faltered and looked away, a furious blush staining her face. "It's not the proper way," he finished for her. She merely nodded, trying to start sewing again, but instead making a knot of her thread. He said quietly, "Sometimes I think you're still afraid of me." She looked up at him again and wished she hadn't. His eyes held hers with a startling intensity, as if daring her to deny it. She got up abruptly, nearly spilling her sewing onto the floor. "I made some broth," she said. "You'll need to regain your strength. And I'll have to see to your shoulder. ~ Laura Frantz

The reason is obvious. You're my grandfather, okay. Like it or not, you're who you are and i'm who i am. And i'm here right now, so what are we going to do about it? -Adam Cayhall- ~ John Grisham

< So, it's a date? Whenever I get out of here? >
I considered a long time before responding: < Have you ever been with a guy before? >
Now it was his turn to blush, then: < Yeah. Quiet as I've kept it. >
I nodded, but didn't write anything. He looked like he needed to unburden.
< Pathetic, isn't it? That I've been hiding. Not to everyone, but to my fans. People who maybe could have used a role model. >
< I'm not judging you. >
He shrugged. < Don't have to. I'm judging myself. >
There was a long moment between us. His eyes met my face, but it felt like he was looking inside himself rather than at me. Finally: < No reason to hide anymore. I quit the band today. >
I squeezed his hand, then wrote: < So you're coming out, like, now? >
He shrugged.
< Because you should. Definitely. For lots of reasons. But no one could fault you if you wanted to wait. You're dealing with A LOT right now. > ~ Peter Styles

It's about feeling alive in the moment because your adrenaline is going, your thinking about that present moment, you're not somewhere else, you're not thinking about what's going to happen 10 minutes from now, and that's the reason why I love fighting, it's when I'm in there. I feel free, I feel like there's no other place I want t be. I can't even think of anything beyond that second. That's why I'm drawn to the fight, because I love the presence of it, where it brings me mentally, it's the purest thing for me. ~ Rashad Evans

No," she whispered. "No more."
His breath came hot and heavy against her ear as his arm crept back around her waist. "Why not?"
For a moment her mind was blank. What reason could she give that would make sense to him? If she protested that they weren't married, he would simply put an end to that objection by marrying her, and that would be disastrous.
Then she remembered Petey's plan. "Because I've already promised myself to another."
His body went still against hers. An oppressive silence fell over them both, punctuated only by the distant clanging of the watch bell. But he didn't move away, and at first she feared he hadn't heard her.
"I said - " she began.
"I heard you." He drew back, his face taught with suspicion. "What do you mean 'another?' Someone in England?"
She considered inventing a fiancé in London. But that would have no weight with him, would it? "Another sailor. I . . . I've agreed to marry one of your crew."
His expression hardened until it looked chiseled from the same oak that formed his formidable ship. "You're joking."
She shook her head furiously. "Peter Hargraves asked me to . . . to be his wife last night. And I agreed."
A stunned expression spread over his face before anger replaced it. Planting his hands on either side of her hips, he bent his head until his face was within inches from her. "He's not one of my crew. Is that why you accepted his proposal - because he's not one of my men? Or do you clai ~ Sabrina Jeffries

When I reached him, I anchored my hands on my hips and glared. "Do not get into anymore fights on my behalf." I didn't want him suspended-or worse. "Now give me your keys."
He gently flicked the end of my nose. "Haven't you heard? I do what I want, when I want, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me."
I could knee him between the legs and simply steal his keys, proving otherwise, but all I said was, "Believe me, I've witnessed that firsthand," and held out my hands. "Now be a good boy and do what I want you to do."
He lifted the sunglasses and I saw a bright gleam in those violet eyes. "And what is it, exactly, that Little Ali wants?"
Little Ali. Ugh. "I said give me your keys." No reason to play nice. He certainly wasn't. "And if you call me Little Ali again, I'll smash your trachea the way I hear you like to to others."
Suddenly suspicious, he snapped out a quick "Why?"
"Because I hate it."
"Not the name. The keys."
"Hello. Because I want to stab you with them, why else?"
"Why?"He insisted.
Fine. "Because I need to practice my driving, and I promised my grandparents I would."
"You're telling me..." The glasses slid back into place as he cupped the back of my neck and dragged me closer to him, peering down at me sternly. "That you Don't know how to drive?"
"Of course I know how to drive. Now, if you ask me if I know how to drive well, the answer will be different."
He choked out a laugh, but backed away a ~ Gena Showalter

I breathed in a deep dose of night air, trying to calm my schoolgirl nervousness. "I, umm…" I began. "I decided to stick around here a little while." There. I'd said it. This was all officially real.
Without a moment of hesitation, Marlboro Man wrapped his ample arms around my waist. Then, in what seemed to be less than a second, he hoisted me from my horizontal position on the bed of his pickup until we were both standing in front of each other. Scooping me off my feet, he raised me up to his height so his icy blue eyes were level with mine.
"Wait…are you serious?" he asked, taking my face in his hands. Squaring it in front of his. Looking me in the eye. "You're not going?"
"Nope," I answered.
"Whoa," he said, smiling and moving in for a long, impassioned kiss on the back of his Ford F250. "I can't believe it," he continued, squeezing me tightly.
Our knees buckled under the heat, and before I knew it we were back where we'd been before, rolling around and kissing manically in the bed of his diesel pickup. Occasionally my arm would hit a crowbar and my head would slam against a spare tire or a cattle prod or a jack; I didn't care, of course. I'd said what I wanted to say that night. Everything else--even minor head injuries--was a piece of cake.
We stayed there a long, long time, the balmy night air giving us no good reason to leave. Under the innumerable stars, amidst all the embraces and kisses and sounds from the surrounding livestock, I sudde ~ Ree Drummond

I'm sure that inside your heart you're trying with all your might to find it on your own ... the reason you were born. Because really, there might not be anyone who was born with a reason. I think ... that everyone ... everyone might have to find one on their own. A reason for being born, a reason that it's okay to be alive, a reason to exist. I think everyone might have to find it themselves ... and decide it for themselves ... The reason you're looking for might be vague, unclear and uncertain. And you might lose it. But as long as you're alive, you have to keep searching for that reason. ~ Natsuki Takaya

The knife point dug into Akos's skin, right over the scar Ryzek had given him.
"Vas," Eijeh said, and he sounded a little terse. Nervous? Akos thought. But it was a foolish hope. "You can't kill him, Ryzek won't allow it. So stop playing at it."
Vas grunted, and took the knife away.
Akos's body ached as it relaxed. "Is there some kind of Shotet holiday today where you visit the people you hate to make them miserable?" He wiped at the cold sweat on the back of his neck. "Well, I'm not celebrating. Leave me alone."
"No, but your presence has been requested to witness the interrogation of a confessed renegade," Vas said. "Along with Cyra's."
"What use would I be at an interrogation?" Akos said.
Vas tilted his head, a smile creeping across his face. "You were initially brought here to bring relief to Cyra on a regular basis. I assume that is the use you will be put to."
"Right," Akos said. "I'm sure that's the reason."
Vas sheathed his knife--he probably knew as well as Akos did that he wouldn't need it to get Akos to do what he said. After all, they were on a ship. In space. ~ Veronica Roth

I still get plenty anxious. The weird thing, and the unpleasant surprise for me, of proceeding well into the middle, perhaps even post-prime of my career is that writing books has not got any easier. And that doesn't seem fair. I mean, I've been doing it so surely I should be getting better at it, at least a little bit blasé... And it seems to be working absolutely the opposite. This book [Big Brother] I had no confidence in the entirety of its composition, and I only decided I liked it when I finished the very final draft. This means I'm in a state of semi-misery for a long time. And I can't blithely seem either that's some little game I'm playing with myself because, you know, you can easily come along and you don't like what's you're writing for good reason. Right? So, yeah, it's very anxious making, I don't think it's so much the becoming a little more successful, I think it's becoming slightly more aware of how much has already been written, and just becoming less self-impressed as the years go by. More impressed with some people who are better than I am, but... It doesn't wow me that I can write a sentence any more. It has to be a really good sentence. And... I think that's what potentially leads to paralysis in late career, is a kind of killing humility.


Politics & Prose Bookstore in Washington, DC, on June 11, 2013 ~ Lionel Shriver

He slumped down into the pen, and the puppies immediately leapt on him. "Perhaps I'll see you later tonight."

"If you're lucky," Celaena purred, and walked away. She smiled to herself as they strode through the castle.

Eventully Nehemia turned to her. "Do you like him?"

Celaena made a face. "Of course not. Why would I?"
You converse easily. It seems as if you have...a connection."

"A connection?" Celaena choked on the word. "I just enjoy teasing him."

"It's not a crime if you consider him handsome. I'll admit I judged him wrong; I thought him to be a pompous, selfish idiot, but he's not so bad."

"He's a Havilliard."

"My mother was the daughter of a chief who sought to overthrow my grandfather."

"We're both silly. It's nothing."

"He seems to take great interest in you."

Celaena's head whipped around, her eyes full of long-forgotten fury that made her belly ache and twist. "I would sooner cut out my own heart than love a Havilliard," she snarled.

They completed their walk in silence, and when they parted ways, Celaena quickly wished Nehemia a pleasant evening before striding to her part of the castle. ~ Sarah J. Maas

Do you see that man in the black Porsche?" I asked the women.
They squinted out at Ranger. "Yes," they said."Your partner."
"He's homeless. He's looking for a place to stay and he might be interested in renting Singh's room."
Mrs.Apusenja's eyes widened. "We could use the income."She looked at Nonnie and then back at Ranger. "Is he married?"
"Nope. He's single. He's a real catch."
Connie did something between a gasp and a snort and buried her head back behind the computer. "Thank you for everything." Mrs.Apusenja said. "I suppose you are not such a bad slut. I will go talk to your partner.:
"Omigod," Connie said, when the door closed behind the Apusenja's. "Ranger's going to kill you." The Apusenjas stood beside the Porsche, talkig to Ranger for a few long minutes, giving him the big sales pitch. The pitch wound down, Ranger responded, and Mrs. Apusenja looked disappointed. The two women crossed the road and got into the burgundy Escort and quickly drove away. Ranger turned his head in my direction and our eyes met. His expression was still bemused, but this time it was the sort of bemused expression a kid has when he's pulling the wings off a fly.
"Uh-Oh,"Connie said. I whipped around and faced Connie. "Quick, give me an FTA. You're backed up, right? For God's sake, give me something fast. I need a reason to stand here until he calms down!" Connie shoved a pile of folders at me. "Pick one. Any one! Oh shit, he's getting out of his car.".... ~ Janet Evanovich

Sebastian: There's something we nee to talk about.

Lena: Is there?

Sebastian: There are a lot of things we need to talk about.

Lena: I'm getting tired and I .

Sebastian: Don't do it. Don't shut me out.

Lena: I'm not shutting you out.

Sebastian: Yes. You're shutting Abbi and Dary out, and the only reason you haven't completely shut me out is because I'm not letting you. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

Coming up behind me, Jack touched my shoulders with his palms and let them coast down my upper arms, the warmth of his hands making the cool skin prickle pleasantly. He took one of my hands in his. Folding my icy fingers more tightly in his, Jack lowered his mouth to the vulnerable curve of my neck. There was a sensual promise in the way his lips grazed my skin. He continued to kiss me there, searching for the most acute place, and when he found it, I backed up against him reflexively.
"Jack . . . You're not still mad because Dane slept over, are you?"
His hand wandered along my front, charting every curve and plane, pausing at every flicker of response. My body caught a tense, pleasured arch.
Dimly I realized he was gathering information, softly winnowing out the pulses and twitches from all the places I was most vulnerable.
"Actually, Ella . . . every time I think about it, I want to bend a crowbar in half."
"But nothing happened," I protested.
"That's the only reason I haven't hunted him down and dropped him."
I couldn't tell how much of the macho bravado was for show, or how much Jack actually meant.
I strove for a reasonable, ironic tone, which was difficult as I felt his fingers slip beneath the edge of my neckline. "You're not going to take it out on me, are you?"
"Afraid so." His breath fractured as he discovered I wasn't wearing a bra. "Tonight you're in for it, blue eyes. ~ Lisa Kleypas

Edgar, there's a difference between missing him and wanting nothing to change," she said. "They aren't the same things at all. And we can't do anything about either one. Things always change. Things would be changing right now if your father were alive, Edgar. That's just life. You can fight it or you accept it. The only difference is, if you accept it, you can get to do other things. If you fight it, you're stuck in the same spot forever. Does that make sense?"
But aren't some changes worth fighting?"
You know that's true."
So how do you know which is which?"
I don't know a way to tell for sure," she said. "You ask, 'Why am I really fighting this?' If the answer is 'Because I'm scared of what things will be like,' then, most times, you're fighting for the wrong reason."
And if that's not the answer?"
Then you dig in your heels and you fight and fight and fight. But you have to be absolutely sure you can handle a different kind of change, because in the end, things will change anyway, just not that way. In fact, if you get into a fight like that, it pretty much guarantees things are going to change. ~ David Wroblewski

So many people glorify and romanticize 'busy.' I do not. I value purpose. I believe in resting in reason and moving in passion. If you're always busy/moving, you will miss important details. I like the mountain. Still, but when it moves, lands shift and earth quakes. ~ Joseph Cook

Someone else was approaching, and Jackson was none too happy about it. He hadn't seen Devonmont since the house party and wouldn't mind never seeing the man again, but since Devonmont was his new sister-in-law's cousin, that was unlikely.
As the man neared them, Celia cast Jackson an assessing glance. "You do know he never meant a thing to me."
"That makes me only slightly less inclined to smash his face in."
"Jackson!" she said laughingly. "You would never do any such thing."
"Try me." He glanced at her. "Don't let this sober façade fool you, sweeting. When it comes to you, I can be as jealous as the next man."
"Well, you have no reason." She leaned up to kiss his cheek and whisper, "You're the only man I'll ever love."
He was still reveling in that remark when Devonmont reached them. "I take it this would not be a good time for me to kiss the bride?" he drawled.
Jackson glared at him.
"That's what I thought," Devonmont said, laughing. "But seriously, Pinter, you're a very lucky man."
"How well I know it," Jackson said.
"And I say most sincerely that your wife is a very lucky woman as well."
Jackson was taken aback. "Thank you, sir," he managed.
After Devonmont nodded and walked away, Celia said, "Surely that softens you toward him a little."
"Perhaps," Jackson conceded. "Though it's a good thing Lyons isn't here. I don't think I could be civil to both in one day. ~ Sabrina Jeffries

Where did you get that assault weapon?"
"Assault weapon?" Zach turned his head to look at her. "Well, lookey there. You're cute when you blush."
Maddie's face grew hotter, but at least he'd mistaken the reason for her embarrassment.
Zach turned his face back toward the ceiling. "That there's standard equipment, darlin'."
"There's nothing standard about that."
"I didn't hear you complaining."
"Of course not. You sprang it on me when I was mentally incompetent."
Zach laughed out loud. "That you were, sweet Maddie that you were."
Maddie and Zach ~ Suzie Quint

Seith Mann: The thing about that scene [where the girl student slices the other girl's face] that really struck me, was Dukie and the fan. After this girl does this horrific thing, Dukie is reaching out with this fan in this sweet way. It was profound to me, seeing Dukie and the way he goes in the story. ... Seeing someone in the midst of all that chaos, for him to zero in on this girl and try to extend this gesture of kindness, of sweetness that can't really be articulated, was poetic. Even in the midst of all this madness, there's this sweet soul trying to touch somebody else and knowing the rest of the reason and how he gets lost on his way, to a certain extent, is why I think that season is so powerful. Just having an inherently good heart does not help you when you're in certain circumstances. That's tragic. (228) ~ Jonathan Abrams

Charley: If you're not going to tell
me where you are, if you're not going to trust me to help you, then why are you here? Why bother?
Reyes: Because you're the reason I breathe. ~ Darynda Jones

Though I obviously have no proof of this, the one aspect of life that seems clear to me is that good people do whatever they believe is the right thing to do. Being virtuous is hard, not easy. The idea of doing good things simply because you're good seems like a zero-sum game; I'm not even sure those actions would still qualify as 'good,' since they'd merely be a function of normal behavior. Regardless of what kind of god you believe in--a loving god, a vengeful god, a capricious god, a snooty beret-wearing French god, or whatever--one has to assume that you can't be penalized for doing the things you believe to be truly righteous and just. Certainly, this creates some pretty glaring problems: Hitler may have thought he was serving God. Stalin may have thought he was serving God (or something vaguely similar). I'm certain Osama bin Laden was positive he was serving God. It's not hard to fathom that all of those maniacs were certain that what they were doing was right. Meanwhile, I constantly do things that I know are wrong; they're not on the same scale as incinerating Jews or blowing up skyscrapers, but my motivations might be worse. I have looked directly into the eyes of a woman I loved and told her lies for no reason, except that those lies would allow me to continue having sex with another woman I cared about less. This act did not kill 20 million Russian peasants, but it might be more 'diabolical' in a literal sense. If I died and found out I was going to hell and Stali ~ Chuck Klosterman