Quotes by American Authors - Page 1661

For a kid in crisis, there is no "make it happen," only "survive today." Who am I to have the cojones to think my "critical questions" are the most important thing in this kid's life? I think of the times I was in crisis and failed to pay attention to the manila folders on my desk as an adult.

You can tell a lot about a society by what it fears.

I hated you,” she continued, “because you have done nothing more than abide by rules that every gentlewoman follows every day of her life. Yet for this prosaic feat, you are feted and cosseted as if you were a hero.” She felt nothing as she spoke, but still her voice shook. Her hands were trembling, too. “I hate that if a woman missteps once, she is condemned forever, and yet the men who follow you can tie a simple ribbon to their hats after years of debauchery, and pass themselves off as upright pillars of society.

The truth, when finally revealed, is sticky like wet dough. The majority of it stays in place as one handles it, but pieces break off and adhere, making certain facts seem larger, more portentous, than others.

I thought I was in love, but it was only a head cold." (Humans)

After a torrent of rapid knocking, Lucy swept past her in the hallway, threw her purse on the table, and landed her ass on the couch before turning expectantly toward Riley and patting the couch next to her. Her dark eyes examined every nuance of Riley’s appearance.“Okay, dish,” she demanded. “Every last detail.”Riley rolled her eyes and shook her head as she scooted across the floor in her sock feet. She didn’t feel great, but at least she wasn’t in full torture mode. She thought Lucy might have waited until afternoon instead of showing up at ten-thirty a.m. but what the hell. Her old sweatshirt hugged against her stomach as she pulled her arms together. “Well,” she feigned ignorance, “what do you want to talk about?”Lucy slammed her hand on the couch. “Oh, don’t you even. Right now.” She threw herself back against the couch, her face fixed in a not-to-be-toyed-with expression. Riley noted with mild interest how her breasts jiggled inside her white t-shirt. Maybe she was turning into some kind of sex fiend.“Okay, yes, he sets me on fire. I can’t help it. Blame my gender lineage.”“I could see he set you fire. Your eyes could hardly look at anything else.” She picked at a tear in her faded jeans then flared back at Riley with an expression of awe. “Of course, my eyes had a few spasms of their own in his direction. Shit, the man is a god. I can’t remember seeing a body that well put together. At least,” she arched her back, “not a male body.”Riley threw back her head and laughed. Lucy was good tonic, at the very least. “Oh my god, can you stand it?!”“No—but tell me you didn’t give in, before I pass out.”“No, we didn’t have sex. But he did kiss me and my panties nearly fell straight to my ankles,” she chuckled. “He stopped himself, thank god, or I would have had him right there on the floor.”“You were drunk.”“Oh, yeah, ridiculous drunk. He ordered steaks delivered while he drove me home, and then sliced the steak for me and practically put it in my mouth.” She couldn’t sit still, the memory forcing her up from the couch to pace. She’d spent the entire morning and half the night trying to forget everything about him, and of course the other half had been consumed with remembering everything about him. “Shit. Fire.” Lucy’s glance followed her. “I want some. Can we have him?

I don’t think Australians ever use a couple of words when twenty will do just fine.

It's just nice, I guess. Knowing that someone else can put into words what I feel. That there are people who have been through things worse than I have, and they come out on the other side okay. Not only that, but they made some kind of twisted, fucked-up sense of the completely senseless. They made it mean something. These songs tell me I'm not alone. If you look at it at that way, music... music can see you through anything.

I'll never know why it was important to him that the couple (he said it later that he'd never seen them before) would take a picture of the whole Mr. Johnson back to Little Rock.He must have been tired of being crippled, as prisoners tire of penitentiary bars and the guilty tire of blame. The high topped shoes and the cane, his uncontrollable muscles and thick tongue, and the looks he suffered of either contempt or pity had simply worn him out, and for one afternoon, one part of an afternoon, he wanted no part of them.I understood and felt closer to him at that moment than ever before or since.

Academe, n.: An ancient school where morality and philosophy were taught. Academy, n.: A modern school where football is taught.

Breath, Love, & Lust This is what we live for

He didn’t miss them. He didn’t miss any of his life, really, especially the last year. Time had simply been a bookmark. Something that held his place while he waited to finish the story.

(As Plato:) There is nothing superstitious about forcing bad consequences for the hubris of paternalistic utopianism. Humanity should never be frozen into a vision of the best. A creative society must be willing to tolerate some degree of instability because creativity is inherently unstable.

...the human soul is a divine non-substance. A spirit that permeates our flesh, dwells in our conscious, and rules our subconscious self. It makes us cling to life even when we no longer want to embrace it. It makes us hope in the most desperate of circumstances. It gives our dream shape, our inspiration form, our love its timeless beauty." From The Cartesian Machine

Letting her head hang, all she could do was think what a freaking mess she had gotten herself into.And not even Ben & Jerry's could get her out of this.

One problem with today's culture is that we defend too many rights and ignore too many wrongs.

money has no essence. It's not "really" anything; therefore, its nature has always been and presumably always will be a matter of political conten­tion.

You know you’ve read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend.

[Christians] are commanded to love our neighbors, and the first step in doing this is to show a watching world that Christ reigns within us.

I promised I'd save him, take him home! I promised him!" . . . Thomas hugged Chuck to his chest, squeezed him as tightly as possible, as if that could somehow bring him back, or show thanks for saving his life, for being his friend when no one else would.Thomas cried, wept like he'd never wept before. His great, racking sobs echoed through the chamber like the sounds of tortured pain. (pg 358 hardback)

I have diligently disciplined my life to search out life’s gifts in the places where life stores its scraps.

There's a fine line between deserving and just desserts.

When a girl cries, few things are more worthless than a boy.

Comparisons are like rigid fingers—eager to point at a subject but unwilling to grasp it.

This is worth an eternity of torture,” he whispered. “I’m quite certain I love you more than anyone I’ve ever loved, in any life. I may have lost my soul when I was turned, but it’s been replaced by you, Cassandra. I’ll never let you go.

Something with inner beauty will live forever, like the scent of a rose.

...sometimes you just want the comfort of knowing that somebody really does care about you (even if they show it in peculiar ways).

You don’t need to be a psychologist to manage change, but you need to understand psychological emotions behind changes.

He glared at Mr. Diddley’s yellow-toothed smile, and thought how he’d like to shove a toothbrush in his mouth and teach him how to use it.

The power of love is enough to reach a distant shore and to touch a heart.

The Word does not change. The Dead Sea scrolls, archeology, modern science—they do not change the Bible; they confirm it.

I know the truth now. You've figured out I'm falling in love with you and you're trying to make me stop by hurting me this way. Well it won't work.One way or another, I'm going to make you care about me. Yes, I am, unless your cold attitude kills me first.It's only fair, Connor. If I'm going to be miserable, by God, so are you.I am not a common wench and I will not be treated like one.

If you're only using your bed for sleep, then don't bother waking up.

I was angry at God until I came to understand that it isn't God's fault when people mistreat me. I still have my doubts at times, but I try to remember that God has given them the same free will that He's given me.

I think many people kill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or they won't.

I want you, Delilah Anne. Never doubt that. I want a life with you. With your voice and your touch and your thoughts and your arguments. I want your grace and your mistakes and your promises and your everything, all twisted up with mine. I want it so bad that I feel like I can’t breathe whenever I think about being without you.

Sandrine opened her eyes to the soft gray light of early dawn. Recollections of sensual pleasure seemed to caress her body, bringing a smile to her lips. She lay back in the pillow and listened to the breathing of Philippe beside her. She lingered in the memory of the previous night, a memory that was like a warm and tender embrace, an evening of small intimate harmonies. As it should be.

If I wouldn’t have spent so much time shooting spit wads at my English teacher, I’d know how to punctuate. Good thing I normally write poetry.

I have a vision. In this vision, I see men not being distrustful of women and I see women not being distrustful of men. I see a world wherein people don’t say, “I want to win, I want to control, I want to make him/her...” when talking about a potential lover. I see men believing in women and women believing in men, believing in each others’ dreams and ambitions. And I have another vision. In this vision, I see women looking at other women with eyes of love and men looking at other men with eyes of acceptance. In these two visions, I see all people looking at all other people and remembering that we are all children on the inside. We all don't want to be hurt, we all don’t want to be left behind and we all want to know where home is.

Hypercritical, Shaming ParentsHypercritical and shaming parents send the same message to their children as perfectionistic parents do - that they are never good enough. Parents often deliberately shame their children into minding them without realizing the disruptive impact shame can have on a child's sense of self. Statements such as "You should be ashamed of yourself" or "Shame on you" are obvious examples. Yet these types of overtly shaming statements are actually easier for the child to defend against than are more subtle forms of shaming, such as contempt, humiliation, and public shaming.There are many ways that parents shame their children. These include belittling, blaming, contempt, humiliation, and disabling expectations.-BELITTLING. Comments such as "You're too old to want to be held" or "You're just a cry-baby" are horribly humiliating to a child. When a parent makes a negative comparison between his or her child and another, such as "Why can't you act like Jenny? See how she sits quietly while her mother is talking," it is not only humiliating but teaches a child to always compare himself or herself with peers and find himself or herself deficient by comparison.-BLAMING. When a child makes a mistake, such as breaking a vase while rough-housing, he or she needs to take responsibility. But many parents go way beyond teaching a lesson by blaming and berating the child: "You stupid idiot! Do you think money grows on trees? I don't have money to buy new vases!" The only thing this accomplishes is shaming the child to such an extent that he or she cannot find a way to walk away from the situation with his or her head held high.-CONTEMPT. Expressions of disgust or contempt communicate absolute rejection. The look of contempt (often a sneer or a raised upper lip), especially from someone who is significant to a child, can make him or her feel disgusting or offensive. When I was a child, my mother had an extremely negative attitude toward me. Much of the time she either looked at me with the kind of expectant expression that said, "What are you up to now?" or with a look of disapproval or disgust over what I had already done. These looks were extremely shaming to me, causing me to feel that there was something terribly wrong with me.-HUMILIATION. There are many ways a parent can humiliate a child, such as making him or her wear clothes that have become dirty. But as Gershen Kaufman stated in his book Shame: The Power of Caring, "There is no more humiliating experience than to have another person who is clearly the stronger and more powerful take advantage of that power and give us a beating." I can personally attest to this. In addition to shaming me with her contemptuous looks, my mother often punished me by hitting me with the branch of a tree, and she often did this outside, in front of the neighbors. The humiliation I felt was like a deep wound to my soul.-DISABLING EXPECTATIONS. Parents who have an inordinate need to have their child excel at a particular activity or skill are likely to behave in ways that pressure the child to do more and more. According to Kaufman, when a child becomes aware of the real possibility of failing to meet parental expectations, he or she often experiences a binding self-consciousness. This self-consciousness - the painful watching of oneself - is very disabling. When something is expected of us in this way, attaining the goal is made harder, if not impossible.Yet another way that parents induce shame in their children is by communicating to them that they are a disappointment to them. Such messages as "I can't believe you could do such a thing" or "I am deeply disappointed in you" accompanied by a disapproving tone of voice and facial expression can crush a child's spirit.

Ivar grabbed hold of my shoulders, swung me into a strung-up fishing net, and then smashed me into a set of shelves. Clutter rained down on me, and I fought my way to the surface, clawing free of the net. Ivar's fingers curled around my shirt and lifted me until I was eye level with her."I'm going to enjoy killing you," she sneered. "And when you come back, I'll enjoy killing you again. If the Enshi doesn't eat your soul, I'll gladly eat your heart."Instead of replying, I stabbed her in the gut with a Khopesh. Her eyes bulged and she dropped me. I pulled the flaming sword out and slashed, but she caught my wrist before my blade could catch her skin, and she hissed, pulling her lips back viciously."Wrong move." Her flesh healed shut with only an ugly marbled scar left behind. She lashed her black power at me, striking me across the chest like a whip, and I staggered back. I shook off the blow and saw her lunge for me through the smoky remains of her attack. My own power detonated in a deafening explosion of white and collided with her. It blew her through the cabin, and she crashed through the wall and flew back out on the other side of the deck in a storm of fiberglass and steel.

But until then, and right now, the sun is bright, the air is cool, my head is clear, there’s a whole day ahead of us, we’re almost to the mountains, it’s a good day to be alive. It’s this thinner air that does it. You always feel like this when you start getting into higher altitudes.

You are the ultimate truth of your life. Everything that happens to you depends on you and your thoughts.

We are, each of us, a multitude. I am not the man I was this morning, nor the man of yesterday. I am a throng of myself queued through time. We are, gentle reader, each a crowd within a crowd.

Propagandists reveal themselves through their use of tricks such as "name-calling", employing "glittering generalities", "plain folks" identifications, "card stacking", "bandwagon" devices, and so on. Such devices could be identified easily in many religious and political speeches, even in academic lectures, and this approach to propaganda analysis led to a kind of witch-hunt for propagandists.

How exhausted I am suddenly!—though this has been Ray’s best day in the hospital so far, and we are feeling—almost—exhilarated.

Distance can ruin even the best of intentions.But I suppose it depends on how you look at it.Distance just adds a richness you would not otherwise get.People come. People go. They will drift in and out of your life, almost like characters in a favorite book.When you finally close the cover, the characters have told their stories and you start up again with another book, complete with new characters and adventures. Then you find yourself focusing on the new ones. Not the ones from the past.

Listen, my child, to the voices of your ancestors. Take pride in our accomplishments; find your strength in our suffering. For WE are not just voices in the wind, WE are a living part of YOU

Writing is easy, its marketing that is truly hell!

I don't want to fail, of course. But even though I didn't know how bad things really were, I still had a lot to think about before I said yes. I had to consider the implications for Pixar, for my family, for my reputation. I decided that I didn't really care, because this is what I want to do. If I try my best and fail, well, I've tried my best.

Mithorden: 'He was brilliant, yes, but ready to laugh at himself when he made mistakes. You may not believe it, but he made mistakes often.'Luthiel: 'Why?' She choked around her tears.Mithorden: 'Because he tried to do great things. Anyone can succeed at easy things. But the things Valkire tried were very difficult. He wanted to make things better for people of all races -- for he saw the good in them.

Worry is the darkroom in which negatives can develop.

He could, Andi."Andi's heart turned to ice.It wasn't possible.He was dead, cast away into some deep, dark hell where he'd never be able to claw his way back out.

Myrtle Mae, you have a lot to learn, and I hope you never learn it.

If you're so into badsides, you should have become a doctor, so you could see a new one every day."t"I don't want to see everybody's," he said from behind her, so close his breath brushed her neck. "I have standards, and let me tell you, in those tight jeans, you've met and exceeded every one of them.

If the point of life is the same as the point of a story, the point of life is character transformation. If I got any comfort as I set out on my first story, it was that in nearly every story, the protagonist is transformed. He's a jerk at the beginning and nice at the end, or a coward at the beginning and brave at the end. If the character doesn't change, the story hasn't happened yet. And if story is derived from real life, if story is just condensed version of life then life itself may be designed to change us so that we evolve from one kind of person to another.

life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity, & stumble from defeat to defeat.

There is a fine line that separates thinking you know something, and actually knowing the truth. It is a line as thin as a strand of hair, and it's called hope.

I lifted my head, my gaze meeting his. “Wanting something doesn’t guarantee you will get it.”“A man can still hope.”“I’ve never had much room for hope.

By helping us keep the world in perspective, sleep gives us a chance to refocus on the essence of who we are. And in that place of connection, it is easier for the fears and concerns of the world to drop away.