Contemporary Quotes - Page 7

He turned to her and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. When he spoke his deep voice vibrated all through her. 'I. Remember. Everything.

Talking to you is like talking to someone I’ve never met before. When did you become so competitive? When did you decide that you needed to win all of the time?’He stopped dead in the promenade and grabbed her hand, turning her to face him.He caught her by surprise. She leant her neck backwards slightly in defence.‘When I lost you.

Sometimes our balance has to be upset and our course reset in order to help us navigate to our final destination. This is my final destination and where I was meant to be.

The smoke burns slightly down my throat and to my lungs. I focus on this, and empty my head, empty the images of Skye’s beautiful face all bruised up. In the end, I can’t even give her what she’s rightfully asking. A kiss. Just a fucking kiss on her lips. Even that I’m unable to do. It’d be pathetic if our situation and our past weren’t so tragic. I take another drag of my cigarette and watch the smoke swirling in the room only lit by the moonlight. — Duke

Identify yourself,” Colleen demanded. “I’ve got a bat and I will beat the living shit out of you if you so much as blink. I’ve got a black belt,” she lied frantically, “and…and…a gun. A big one.” - Colleen O’Brien

It was almost as if she had willed him into existence, into standing before her at the precise moment she was willing to accommodate him, arriving not a minute too early or too late.

I lost my freedom for so many years. Until he entered my cage. Him, with the black eyes and blacker soul.

He’s letting me see the real him, something he doesn’t allow a lot of people to see.

While you’re alive there’s no time for minor amazements.

Secrets are dangerous.” Gottfried Baumauer.

Most people surrendered fairy tale hopes in exchange for cookie cutter lives

In the mind of the kid in skinny jeans leading the worship band, there isn’t a large enough gap between holiness and sinfulness, truth and error, demons and angels, or heaven and hell.

Poetry is not an art, it's a symptom.

All I see is my father’s tax money being wasted on shooting satellite pictures of South America like you guys work for the Travel Channel.-- Todd Dooley (BLACK MARIAH - A Calling)

Honest dishonesty. That’s quite the oxymoron – but I like the originality that you’ve brought to bear in the art of rationalization. Maybe you should consider becoming a lawyer,” he added jokingly.

I cannot believe I have been duped, not once but twice. My three years gaining a degree in psychology was clearly a waste of time. I might as well have studied Klingon.

...the locale did not make him think of her, nor did most things. He felt no negativity about the time they had spent together, but simply did not dwell on it much. She had been a seat filler, memorable as the smiling face of a beautiful girl in the window of a passing train, inspiring a fleeting moment of joy and promise, immediately forgotten with the opening of that day’s newspaper.

It’s not a bad thing, if you’re responsible about it. Just don’t start having boyfriends. Wait until you’ve found your husband.” “And how am I supposed to find a husband if I can’t have a boyfriend until then?” I asked ironically.

Your mother would have more luck winning her election than teaching you how to be charming. Izzy Malone, going to charm school! Are you going to walk across the room with a book stuck on your head?""No, it's not like that at all," I said as he doubled over with laughter. "And I really don't see what's so funny.""It's just that"--he gasped--"it would be like teaching a hippo to wear high heels!

Mia, I already told you I wasn’t going anywhere. This is where I want to be.

And in that moment, he knew one thing. If it was possible to slay his dragons, he’d do it. For her.

You have no idea how dirty I can play.” He laughed. “Bring. It. On.

His grip on my shoulder tightens. His other hand behind my head caresses me softly and I sigh."Touch me, Skye."His voice is rough, almost sounding like a groan.

Mending a broken heart isn't easy. It's messy and complicated, but when it's finished, it's stronger than ever.

When I’d remember this night in weeks, months, or even years, it wouldn’t be the sex. Sex would fade and so would the need to be filled with him, but right now I felt him inscribe his soul around my chest, and the reminder would be there with every beat for as long as I lived.

Hey, she was his fantasy girl. She was supposed to act in an appropriate fantasy-like manner. She wasn’t supposed to look at him as though he was all her nightmares rolled up into one big pile of dog crap that she couldn’t wait to scrape off her sensible shoes. And that was only after she’d finally recognized him—which had taken far longer than it should have done considering they’d had hot, mind-blowing sex every night for a year...In his dreams.

Patriotism means to stand by the people, not to stand by the party.

Nothing felt better to him than the act of waiting for her. As long as he believed it wasn’t in vain, he was able to justify his presence.

My eyes refuse to let him leave, but he stands still holding my hand, lingering for as long as possible.

James looked at the people around his table. He stared at each one of them as though he were looking at a magic-eye puzzle and he could see all of the different pieces and the colours but not beyond what was on the surface, and the more he tried, the depth, the revealing images, were kept away from him.

The engine roared to life. He ran toward her. She shot our of her parking space. He rushed to the side of her car. "Stop it, Kristy! You're overreacting! Let's talk about this." That was when she did the unthinkable. She rolled down the window, thrust out her hand, and gave Reverend Ethan Bonner the bird.

Right, I can't watch this shit." Kacey grunted as he got up. "It's one thing getting a hard-on over you, baby girl. The fact that Tyler happens to be in the picture…I'm freaking slightly.

I slowly, deliberately began to work the blade into his throat. He squirmed and kicked and fought agains tme, but in his current state, I was stronger. His will to live was pathetic, just like he was. Eventually he stopped kicking. I kept cutting. When I was finally done, I was covered in sweat and only a few drops of blood on my shoes and pants. They'd come out in a good wash.I put his head into the garbage and pulled the bag out, making a knot at the end. I hoped it wouldn't leak through. Then I looked around the office. It was a mess before I came in, piles of paper and empty beer bottles scattered around. The addition of his blood and a headless corpse was barely noticeable.

A blank canvas...has unlimited possibilities.

Calm down. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't need this knife to do it.

Looking at her is like looking up at a sky full of stars. You don’t know what you’ll see today, but you know it’ll still be breathtaking.

The winter of love is a cellar of empty bins / In an orchard soft with rot."The soft with rot part sounded so familiar, but it took a few moments before she made the connection as to why. "He was mumbling that to me," she said. A clear image of Marcus, gaunt and pale in his dining room deathbed, lit up her brain. She hadn't thought of him like that in so long. "The last time I saw him.""He said it was you," Jackson said, suddenly looking at somber as she felt. "You were going to be those empty bins, once he died. And it was maybe the saddest thing I had ever heard.

She loves dogs. And in time, who knows, maybe she would even have ended up loving the type of dogs who eat other small dogs for lunch.-- Leslie McNeill

someone like Grace. Someone exactly like Grace, with her Ted Bundy rantsand her calming presence and—hello, irony.

Om is the things, Om is the ingredient, Om is the container and the content of this universe.

I had never had a big opinion for myself. I had always thought I'd be a fuck up, that I'd be disappointed like always by life and people. But at this very moment, I knew it. I wasn't a good man, not well-adjusted. —Nolan

A tightrope walker uncertain if he could make it to the other side probably would not. A race car driver wondering if he was taking a turn too fast was likely to lose control. If a man feared death, whether his own or the taking of another's, death would surely come calling.

How can you be kissing at a time like this? Have you no respect for the dead?

Around eighth grade Margot started getting really sensitive about her weight, even though she wasn’t remotely fat—just a little round-faced. So Margot did what any normal fourteen-year-old girl would do. She started puking on purpose, every day after fifth period. Of course now, she does more than puke. But we don’t talk about that. Because real friends don’t judge each other for what they do to survive in hell.

He has the body of a professional athlete, chiseled to perfection in all the right places.

Each day of the week, Kalist indulges himself in a different, secret ritual. On Mondays, he wears cologne. On Tuesdays, he eats meat for lunch. On Wednesdays, he places a bet after work. On Thursdays, he smokes one cigarette (but claims he’s not a smoker). On Fridays, he treats himself to his favourite pastime: horse practice – he grew up with horses and likes to try and emulate their distinctive whinnies, snorts, neighs, snuffles, sighs, grunts, fluttering nostrils, the occasional aggressive outburst and the especially beautiful nicker of a mare to her foal. And, on Saturdays, lest we forget, Maxwell D. Kalist drinks wine from a chalice.

Sometimes violence is necessary to prevent even more violence,” I concluded, almost as if it were an epiphany.

I don’t know why Kate was trying to impress him, as far as I could see the guy had all the allure and social grace of a psychotic slug with halitosis and a bad head cold.

His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. “…my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,” Faolán grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the restaurant booth. “These lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,” he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. “I’m not, am I?”The inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen’s face. “No, you’re not, but I guess I can see how they’d think that,” she muttered darkly. “What you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.

Moments like these are fleeting, and we have to grab onto them while we can. From the instant I saw you, I wanted to give you my heart. But today I’ll settle for giving you a flower.

I love you to insanity. I'm not even sure if it's a good thing.'' — Duke

When you're lucky enough to catch lightning in a bottle, you put the lid on as fast as you can.

He stopped to rest at a cart selling nuts and candy, bought himself some Jelly Belly's, flirted just enought with the Mexican cutie working there to convince her pull out the banana-flavored one. Although he liked his Jelly Belly's mixed up, he didn't like banana, but, since it took too much effort to pull them out himself, he generally tried to talk someone else into doing it. If that didn't work, he just ate 'em.- Kenny Traveler

All women should feel as Sex Subjects if they want and choose so without fear of repressions, condemnations and put down and without the need to pay them for that.Being freely a sexy and seductive woman is allowed only for few privileged professions: actresses, dancers, models, singers, prostitutes. They all do it for work. You can pay for them being sexy.If a sexy woman is openly adored by a man, the woman remains as a woman, she is not turning into a table, a cup or a bill of money. She is still the Subject who knows her power.

I plastered on my best poker face, attempting to appear cool and casual even thought I had never been so eager to deliver two Chicken Parmagianas in my life."Just be careful, hon," Rosanna said."Oh, are the plates hot?" I flinched back just before my hands made contact.Rosanna laughed. "No, but hot boys can burn just as easily.

I’m frozen in place as his eyes rake over me.

Keep a logical but open mind. What one may pass off as a psychological dysfunction could be a burst of imagination at its finest.

Fate was cruel to play this trick on her, although if she were honest she knew she only had herself to blame. She had taken the chance and now she had to pay the price.

I want him and even if it's frightening, even if I may not be completely ready for a relationship, I want him. Now... And tomorrow, and all the following days.

This assumption of the intrinsically repressive nature of collective experience and redemptive power of individuation is a staple of contemporary art theory and criticism. I would argue that a closer analysis of collaborative and collective art practices can reveal a more complex model of social change and identity, one in which the binary oppositions of divided vs. coherent subjectivity, desiring singularity vs. totalizing collective, liberating distanciation vs. stultifying interdependence, are challenged and complicated.