Caitlyn Quotes

Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.

When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.

I mean, I hope you're happy, But the sky is still the sky without you, And I'm not surprised by that anymore.

Do not fall in love with people like me we will take you to museums and parks and monuments and kiss you in every beautiful place so that you can never go back to them without tasting us like blood in your mouth.

When they don’t love you the way you want to, you mourn that for however long you need to. But then you get back up and you remind yourself. You are not a reflection of the people who can’t love you. You will love again. You will be loved again.

when your little girl asks you if she’s pretty your heart will drop like a wineglass on the hardwood floor part of you will want to say of course you are, don’t ever question it and the other part the part that is clawing at you will want to grab her by her shoulders look straight into the wells of her eyes until they echo back to you and say you do not have to be if you don’t want to it is not your job both will feel right one will feel better she will only understand the first when she wants to cut her hair off or wear her brother’s clothes you will feel the words in your mouth like marbles you do not have to be pretty if you don’t want to it is not your job

Don't you do that. Don't you look at what I had for you and call it weak. Not when you were the one afraid of it. I stood there with my hands open, my mouth bruised tender with supplication. Don't you dare treat me like a victim of my own emotions, like being moved to my knees by love was a mistake that I regret. I will go to my grave with the memory of the bravery in my bones.

So, what is my story? I don't know. It's long and twisted and not quite finished yet.

It ends or it doesn't. That’s what you say. That’s how you get through it. The tunnel, the night, the pain, the love. It ends or it doesn't. If the sun never comes up, you find a way to live without it. If they don’t come back, you sleep in the middle of the bed, learn how to make enough coffee for yourself alone. Adapt. Adjust. It ends or it doesn't. It ends or it doesn't. We do not perish.

When the boys come with the intention of hurting you, my advice will always stay the same, my darling: Give 'em hell.

They all tell you not to fight fire with fire, but that is only because they are afraid of your flames.

Opinions are like onions. They spell similarly, usually have many layers, and tend to make people cry.

An innocent mind is a rarity. Society corrupts us all, even if only a little.

Stars are not small or gentle. They are writhing and dying and burning. They are not here to be pretty. I am trying to learn from them.

Insanity is nothing more than ordinary.

We actually wanted to ask you a few questions. About the interview you did this morning." At the mention of her KTVU debut, Caitlyn softened a little. "You saw that?" I nodded. "How did I look on camera?" Her grief was touching.

when you walk, you look like you’re trying to disappear. your back is gonna be fucked up. why do you think change is so hard? is it because you’re afraid? people might think you’re pretty, but they’ll never love you. you talk like you’re apologizing for your own voice. speak up. grow up. find your spine, stop shrinking. there is nothing brave about keeping silent. how many times have you been in love? I can’t picture it ever happening for you. you lie because it makes you feel free. this is a prison. you’re always gonna think about him. you will never get him out of your system. I wish I never had to see you again. you poor thing. go to hell. you may be a nice person but you will never be a good person. no one is ever going to want to touch you. is there a vision in your head of who you want to be? you do not have the strength to become her. there is no boat big enough to keep you from drowning in the sea of yourself. go to bed, baby. you are tired from all of this nothing. sleep. rest.

There's no bright side," Phineas objected. "The man's got no gonads." "But she hit the target," Carlos said. "The man has got no gonads," Phineas repeated forcefully. "It was an accident." Caitlyn set her gun on the counter. "I was aiming for his chest." "You blew his pecker to Connecticut," Phineas muttered. She grinned. "I think you have issues, Phineas. It was only a paper pecker.

We talk, even if no one listens, because we never know when someone will.

I always talk about love but I’ve seen a life where I can live without it, where I can eat with my hands, make the whole bed, leave the light on for myself.

I did not fall in love with you, I was born on the floor. Everything else was just remembering.

This is the place I finally learned what it meant to dance alone to the song you put in my chest. Thanks for the symphony. I can still hear it when I think of you, and it is so much like remembering.

I am still learning how to ask the important questions, like “Do you want children?” or “How do you take your coffee?” so I'm sorry if I stare at your mouth and ask you if you've ever swallowed a dandelion seed, instead.

My mother tells me that when I meet someone I like, I have to ask them three questions: 1. what are you afraid of? 2. do you like dogs? 3. what do you do when it rains? of those three, she says the first one is the most important. “They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”I asked you what you were afraid of. “spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.” I asked you if you liked dogs. “I have three.” I asked you what you do when it rains. “sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.” he smiled like he knew. like his mom told him the same thing. “how about you?” me? I’m scared of everything. of the hole in the o-zone layer, of the lady next door who never smiles at her dog, and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking it’s back trying to keep from us. I love dogs so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. I want to wake up in your hair and make you shitty coffee and kiss your neck and draw silly stick figures of us. I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again.

I will learn your anger. I will lick your sadness. I will feast on your hunger.

What ever happened to creativity? What ever happened to the passion? What ever happened to speaking ones mind? I'll tell you what happened. The kids aged, but never grew up. A baby can whine if it does not like something because it doesn't know better. What's your excuse? Stop getting offended whenever the wind blows your hair the wrong way! We will get nowhere if we continue to avoid truths to avoid offense. Speak your mind and do not be afraid of stepping on toes. The truth can be ugly, and that's what makes it so beautiful. Speak your mind, but don't take this as a chance to lose respect either. Always keep respect. If someone then still claims to be offended, it is not because of you, nor is it your fault. They simply don't like the taste of the bittersweet truth.

I am a city of sounds. I will keep you safe. I know I am supposed to feel ugly. They all tell me that no woman should look so well-traveled, but they do not know. I am earth. I am sun and skies. I am the high road, the low road. I am every poem about skin. I am a world that cannot be explored in one day. I am not a place for cowards.

Start by pulling him out of the fire and hoping that he will forget the smell. He was supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light and turned him into something hungry, something that forgets what his hands are for when they aren’t shaking. He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first, and you would let the world break its own neck if it means keeping him. Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and pretending to understand. Repeat to yourself “I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you” until you fall asleep and dream of the place where nothing is red. When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep. Here are your upturned hands. Give them to him and watch how he prays like he is learning his first words. Start by pulling him out of another fire, and putting him back together with the pieces you find on the floor. There is so much to forgive, but you do not know how to forget. When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled. Here is your humble offering, obliterated and broken in the mouth of this abandoned church. He has come back to stop the world from turning itself inside out, and you love him, you do, so you won’t let him. Tell him that you will never know any better.

Caitlyn isn't someone to get over. She's someone to come to terms with, the way you have to come to terms with your parents, your siblings. You can't deny they ever happened. You can't deny you ever loved them, love them still, even if loving them causes you pain.

When the boys yell after you like hyenas, you yell back, baby. I will not teach you to be afraid of your anger so that you look for it in others. I will not make you be the better person, because you already are. You wanna fight 'em? Fight 'em. Don't you dare apologize for the fierce love you have for yourself and the lengths you go to preserve it.

We're walking with our eyes on everyone else, ignoring the screams that come from the people buried alive underneath our feet. Yet we say we're here for each other and say we care. And we hypocritically wonder why everyone is walking passed our own screams as though we don't do the same.

Because some information is better than no information. Life does not give you big, simple answers, Caitlyn. It demands patience, focus, and an open, intelligent mind to gather the pieces of a puzzle and fit them together into a coherent whole. Nothing worth knowing is ever easily learned.

I'll talk to him before I go," Carlos grumbled. "And what about the girls?" Toni asked. "They need you, Carlos." "They need a mother!" Carlos yelled. "And I need a mate." Caitlyn gasped. Hes was looking for a mate? What kind of mate? His gaze shifted towards her, and his eyes glittered with a hard, angry look. "You--what?" Toni stepped back, apparently stunned. "You heard me," Carlos growled. "Ye want to get married?" the Scotsman asked. "Don't look so shocked, Ian. Didn't want you want to get married?" "Aye, but--" "You can't get married," Toni declared. "You're gay." Caitlyn snorted. Were they crazy? Carlos glared at her in the shadows, then shifted his gaze to Toni. "I never said I was gay." "Of course you're gay," she insisted. "I saw you dance the samba in a hot pink sequined thong." Carlos shrugged. "So? You said I was very sexy. You were practically drooling." Ian stiffened. "When was this?" "Before I met you," Toni muttered.

eat, baby. eat. chew. please. I know it hurts. I know it doesn’t feel good. please. I know your hunger is different than mine. I know it doesn’t taste the same as mine. imagine you could grow up all over again and pinpoint the millisecond that you started counting calories like casualties of war, mourning each one like it had a family. would you? sometimes I wonder that. sometimes I wonder if you would go back and watch yourself reappear and disappear right in front of your own eyes. and I love you so much. I am going to hold your little hand through the night. just please eat. just a little. you wrote a poem once, about a city of walking skeletons. the teacher called home because you told her you wished it could be like that here. let me tell you something about bones, baby. they are not warm or soft. the wind whistles through them like they are holes in a tree. and they break, too. they break right in half. they bruise and splinter like wood. are you hungry? I know. I know how much you hate that question. I will find another way to ask it, someday. please. the voices. I know they are all yelling at you to stretch yourself thinner. l hear them counting, always counting. I wish I had been there when the world made you snap yourself in half. I would have told you that your body is not a war-zone, that, sometimes, it is okay to leave your plate empty.

There are some things in life that we try to ignore, thinking that maybe if we don't see the problem, it won't see us when in reality, it's only getting bigger.

Okay, forget about the disrespect, facts don’t care about your feelings. It, turns out that every chromosome, every cell in Caitlyn Jenner’s body, is male, with the exception of some of his sperm cells. … It turns out that he still has all of his male appendages. How he feels on the inside is irrelevant to the question of his biological self.

And that's my problem. I love to be alone and hate being around people, but I love to be with people and hate being alone. I don't know what I like and I don't know what I want. Time is a difficult thing. It moves too slowly and speeds up when you finally wish it would slow down or stop. You get to the aftermath and all you have are your memories. Precious memories. The kind that make you smile and laugh like you're living it again, while a nostalgic tear falls. And then another. And then another, until you want to just forget it all to stop the painfully happy memories because at the end of the day, those - not the sad ones - are the memories that hurt us most.

Do not fall in love with people like me. We will take you to museums and parks and monuments and kiss you in every beautiful place so that you can never go back to them without tasting us like blood in your mouth.

Girl, bite. Girl, devour. Girl, don't forgive. Girl, stay angry. Girl, be selfish. Girl, walk away from him when he raises his hand. There is no place that can handle you, but you must go anyway, to the hills, the mountains, the cities. They'll call you monster, and they'll be so right. Girl, show them. Girl, run your hands along the wound and seal it with your heat. Cauterize. They thought they could get to you. They thought they could take you and make you small. There may be bruises, but you are no little thing. Girl, show them your claws. Show them your wings. Rise. Show them your army of injuries who have come to fight. Show them the others like you. Take over the city. Own the mountains. Bite the hand and the one behind their back with all the good stuff. Girl, show your teeth. Never forget what you can do with them.

I am a world that cannot be explored in one day. I am not a place for cowards.

I wore your armor just to feel deathless.

I promise a banquet for our ending. I promise a parade of drums for the day you close the door behind you for the last time. I promise not to carry you around with me like a mistake or a pack of gum, even when I forget what you taste like. When they ask me about you, I will always smile. I will say your name and it will sound like “thank you.

Yet truth is a diamond; even mishandles, smeared with grease, or buried in mud, it cannot be marred and waits for one with a cloth to polish it clean.

You’re a vampire?” Shanna’s eyes widened. “No. I’m the same as I ever was.” “Oh, thank God.” Caitlyn pressed a hand to her chest and collapsed onto the chair. “You scared me to death.” Shanna smiled. “Relax, sweetie. I’m not a vampire.” She patted her arm. “My husband is.

When your little girl asks you if she's pretty, your heart will drop like a wineglass on the hardwood floor. Part of you will want to say “Of course you are, don't ever question it,” and the other part, the part that is clawing at you, will want to grab her by her shoulders, look straight into the wells of her eyes until they echo back to you and say “You do not have to be if you don't want to. It is not your job.” Both will feel right. One will feel better. She will only understand the first. When she wants to cut her hair off or wear her brother's clothes, you will feel the words in your mouth like marbles. “You do not have to be pretty if you don't want to. It is not your job.

I think you know you’ve found someone special when you meet them for the first time, and it feels like you’re just picking up where you left off. You kind of look at them and think ‘Where the hell did you come from? Where the hell have you been?

DO NOT FALL IN LOVE WITH PEOPLE LIKE ME Do not fall in love with people like me. People like me will love you so hard that you turn into stone, into a statue where people come to marvel at how long it must have taken to carve that faraway look into your eyes. Do not fall in love with people like me. We will take you to museums and parks and monuments and kiss you in every beautiful place so that you can never go back to them without tasting us like blood in your mouth. Do not come any closer. People like me are bombs. When our time is up, we will splatter loss all over your walls in angry colors that make you wish your doorway never learned our name. Do not fall in love with people like me. With the lonely ones. We will forget our own names if it means learning yours. We will make you think that hurricanes are gentle, that pain is a gift. You will get lost in the desperation, in the longing for something that is always reaching, but never able to hold. Do not fall in love with people like me. We will destroy your apartment. We will throw apologies at you that shatter on the floor and cut your feet. We will never learn how to be soft. We will leave. We always do.

Caitlyn is breathtaking, one of the most gorgeous women I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, and I pity you for being so wrapped up in shit-talk you’d stoop to the level you just did. But you’ve given me all the more reason to beat your ass come September.

I don’t think we’re in love anymore. I think about sex constantly. I hate your parents. I’m pretty sure they hate me. Do you have any idea how fucked up this is? I’ve been sleeping with my back to you for months now, and you haven’t touched me once. I almost went home with the guy who gave me change at the bank. I almost asked his name. I don’t think we’re in love anymore. We don’t kiss like we used to. Your lips are always cold and mine are always chapped. Neither of us even apologize. I haven’t shaved in days and you haven’t noticed. I am insatiable. I am a disaster just waiting to remember the storm in her bones. I am proud of this. I want someone to fuck me so hard that something inside of me snaps and I can’t stop screaming ‘I love you, oh my God, I love you.’ I don’t think we’re in love anymore. Sometimes, I genuinely think the sky is bleeding, and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t think I am capable of staying put. My bags are already packed. I’ve been waiting for you to check the bedroom. I don’t think we’re in love anymore. I don’t know whose fault it is. Let’s stop trying to make a broken thing work. We were brave for trying. We were brave for trying.

Hi,” Caitlyn said. “Hello.” “I’m Caitlyn.” Mathilde grinned. “The Wild West girl who rode bareback! Yes, I know. The whole school knows! Can you shoot a gun, too?” Caitlyn’s cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Urg,” she gurgled, “no.

We may not have worked, but my God, we were good at pretending. My God, we were something to look at.

More than 300 children have been hospitalized worldwide since The Princess and the Frog was released. They were hospitalized with salmonella which they contracted from kissing frogs.

Не доверяй таким людям как я. Я буду водить тебя в музеи, парки, к памятникам, буду целовать тебя в самых красивых местах, так что ты никогда не сможешь туда вернуться не вспоминая меня, словно кровь во рту. Я уничтожу тебя самым прекрасным способом, который только возможен. А когда я покину тебя, ты поймешь, почему штормы называют человеческими именами. Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.

The comet fell limp in an unnamed river and killed nothing.

I am writing this poem to remember everything that is bigger and more brutal than me. Stars are not small or gentle. They are writhing and dying and burning. They are not here to be pretty. I am trying to learn from them.

It’s a good thing you didn’t get out of the workshop much. The girls of Rome would have been in trouble!” He grinned and waggled his brows. “Do you think so?” She pushed his shoulder. “Naughty boy.” “I could be much naughtier.” Caitlyn sucked in a breath, alarmed and thrilled by the dangerous look in his eyes. She clasped her hands primly in front of her

Are you insane? You still not convinced that chances are better with me?

Cadoc sighed. “Someday, chief, I’ll avenge your sense of humor. I don’t know who murdered it, but it died before its time.

Emma Watson wrote a 16-page essay. Daniel Radcliffe wrote a one-page summary. Rupert Grint never even bothered to turned his in.

My mother tells me that when I meet someone I like, I have to ask them three questions: 1. what are you afraid of? 2. do you like dogs? 3. what do you do when it rains? of those three, she says the first one is the most important. “They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.” I asked you what you were afraid of. “spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.” I asked you if you liked dogs. “I have three.” I asked you what you do when it rains. “sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.” he smiled like he knew. like his mom told him the same thing. “how about you?” me? I’m scared of everything. of the hole in the o-zone layer, of the lady next door who never smiles at her dog, and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking it’s back trying to keep from us. I love dogs so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. I want to wake up in your hair and make you shitty coffee and kiss your neck and draw silly stick figures of us. I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again.

Tell them you don’t know how Eve felt when she saw Adam in one hand, and the rest of the fucking universe in the other. Tell them you don’t know how Eve felt when she wanted the universe.

Good-girl-gone-queer Lindsay Lohan, divorced single mother Britney Spears, Caitlyn Jenner with her sultry poses, Kim Kardashian having the gall to show up on the cover of Vogue with her black husband: All of them are tied to the tracks and gleefully run over, less for what they've done than for the threat they pose to the idea that female sexuality fits within a familiar and safe pattern. If control over women's bodies were the sole point of the trainwreck, that would be terrifying enough. But it's only the beginning: Shame and fear are used to police pretty much every aspect of being female. After you've told someone what to do with her body, you need to tell her what to do with her mind.

I will talk to you again in my office, at nine A.M. tomorrow morning, to give you a more thorough orientation to the school and to explain what I will be expecting of you as a scholarship student.” She turned to Greta. “Greta, please see Caitlyn settled in her room, and see that she showers.” With a nod she turned on her heel and left. Caitlyn raised her arm and sneaked a sniff at her armpit. Was Madame Snowe saying she smelled? She caught Greta watching her and lowered her arm. “Just checking,” she said sheepishly.

Keep calm and read on

It struck me as funny that she was on the other side of the world having the exact same realization as I was: that parents aren't any better at making decisions that kids.

Because if you walk into a room and notice what is missing from it, It's still there, isn't it? The first poem I wrote that wasn't about you was still about you.

We may not have worked, but my God, we were good at pretending. My God, we were something to look at.

Hermione is younger than both Harry and Ron, but Emma Watson is older than Daniel Radcliff and Rupert Grint.

Caitlyn Jenner is not brave nor a hero

Is it okay to be a tiny tiny bit tired of Caitlyn? Yes, was very brave but so far he's gone from man to mannequin, instead of man to woman.

You are the love of my life, Caitlyn McClare, and all I can say is thank You, sweet God in heaven . . .

When The Matrix debuted in 1999, it was a huge box-office success. It was also well received by critics, most of whom focused on one of two qualities—the technological (it mainstreamed the digital technique of three-dimensional “bullet time,” where the on-screen action would freeze while the camera continued to revolve around the participants) or the philosophical (it served as a trippy entry point for the notion that we already live in a simulated world, directly quoting philosopher Jean Baudrillard’s 1981 reality-rejecting book Simulacra and Simulation). If you talk about The Matrix right now, these are still the two things you likely discuss. But what will still be interesting about this film once the technology becomes ancient and the philosophy becomes standard? I suspect it might be this: The Matrix was written and directed by “the Wachowski siblings.” In 1999, this designation meant two brothers; as I write today, it means two sisters. In the years following the release of The Matrix, the older Wachowski (Larry, now Lana) completed her transition from male to female. The younger Wachowski (Andy, now Lilly) publicly announced her transition in the spring of 2016. These events occurred during a period when the social view of transgender issues radically evolved, more rapidly than any other component of modern society. In 1999, it was almost impossible to find any example of a trans person within any realm of popular culture; by 2014, a TV series devoted exclusively to the notion won the Golden Globe for Best Television Series. In the fifteen-year window from 1999 to 2014, no aspect of interpersonal civilization changed more, to the point where Caitlyn (formerly Bruce) Jenner attracted more Twitter followers than the president (and the importance of this shift will amplify as the decades pass—soon, the notion of a transgender US president will not seem remotely implausible). So think how this might alter the memory of The Matrix: In some protracted reality, film historians will reinvestigate an extremely commercial action movie made by people who (unbeknownst to the audience) would eventually transition from male to female. Suddenly, the symbolic meaning of a universe with two worlds—one false and constructed, the other genuine and hidden—takes on an entirely new meaning. The idea of a character choosing between swallowing a blue pill that allows him to remain a false placeholder and a red pill that forces him to confront who he truly is becomes a much different metaphor. Considered from this speculative vantage point, The Matrix may seem like a breakthrough of a far different kind. It would feel more reflective than entertaining, which is precisely why certain things get remembered while certain others get lost.

I hope it doesn't get worse. But even if it gets worse, I won't regret it. I would rather be dead than live in the factory anymore. Not much difference as they just want you to work to death anyway. And you can't even think there or talk. but I have to think. I have to talk. I have to talk about what I think.

Monsieur Girard grinned at the effect his story had had, and moved on, grunting disparagingly at another student’s efforts. As he approached her, Caitlyn went back to work, afraid to be caught slacking. He came to stand behind her, watching her attempts, and despite her best efforts her arm slowed and then dropped as she was overcome with self-consciousness. “Do you, too, have a brilliant artist locked in your head?” he asked. “No. I’m beginning to think I don’t know a thing about art.” “Class! Do you hear? She knows nothing about art! And she proves it in her drawing.” Caitlyn cringed. “This,” he went on, laying his hand upon her head, “is the proper state of mind for learning to draw. Your mind must be blank of your old ideas and old ways of seeing. You must start fresh, like a baby who has never seen the world.” He dropped his hand from her head and pointed to the area she’d shaded with parallel lines. “This is nice.” “Thank you,” Caitlyn said in soft surprise. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Keep listening. With open ears, you will be one of the few who learn.

Outside, most people knew that decades ago, the religious fundamentalists lost the ability to transform society when they became a political movement. Their boycotts and protests were commonplace, any outcry against anything beyond the narrow range of what they saw as biblically acceptable was dismissed as a knee-jerk reaction.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Caitlyn protested. “I’m sure it keeps you out of trouble.” “Thierry told me I was cold. He wasn’t the first boy to say that, either.” Caitlyn winced. “Ouch.” Amalia turned toward Caitlyn. “I wish I could be more like you.” “Me? Are you kidding? Why?” “You let your emotions show on your face. They’re right on the surface, for all to see.” Caitlyn grimaced. “I thought I’d learned to control that.” “See?” Amalia copied her grimace. “Right on the surface!” “Mmph,” Caitlyn grunted unhappily. “Mmph,” Amalia copied. Caitlyn threw up her hands in defeat, then cast a quick warning look at Amalia. “Don’t you do it!” Amalia chuckled.

Why hadn’t the Woman in Black called for Raphael? Mathilde’s idea that she’d stopped looking for him seemed out of keeping with most ghost stories; ghosts didn’t change their behavior, did they? Whatever the reason, Caitlyn was glad of it. Raphael was hers, and she didn’t want to share him. She hated the idea of a long-lost lover roaming the halls of the castle, looking for him. It meant there was someone else in his life. She was, she realized, jealous. That’s stupid! How can I be jealous of a ghost, over a guy who might not even exist? And yet, there was no other word for what she felt. Since the moment she’d seen Raphael riding in the valley, her heart had claimed him as her Knight of Cups

Caitlyn (telling a story of her friend): So. [She] grew up and left Neverland for the distant planet called College... And made a bunch of new friends. So. There was the one guy who was there since the beginning basically... Zechariah: Since the beginning?

Stop. You can’t love me because you’re lonely, or because I am the only one who doesn’t piss you off. I want to piss you off, I want to get on your fucking nerves. I don’t want the responsibility of always being your rock. I will try, but I’m a mess, too. I lie, I sleep too much and I don’t like children under the age of 6, really. I don’t even know if I want kids because I’m selfish, and mothers can’t be selfish once they decide to carry another life. I’m always looking for the rain to come so I trip over my own feet. I know exactly what the air smells like before a storm. Before you fall in love with me, I want you to know that I cry a lot because it feels good, and I masturbate at least 4 times a week, and you might fall out of love with me before either of us are ready for it. I have no experience with this. I’m trying to be brave and smart but its almost impossible to be both at the same time. You can’t love me like a fire escape. Sometimes I will be the match, or the smoke under the door. I don’t know what I’m doing, all I know is that we all catch fire sometimes, before we even get warm. Before you fall in love with me, I want you to know that there’s a 50% chance that this won’t work, that one of us will wind up hating the other. I will try to keep your head above water, but sometimes I’ll need help, too. I can’t be your savior, and I don’t expect you to be mine. Just watch me unfold and I’ll watch you unfold, too. We’ll get drunk and tell each other everything. I know that’s cheating but maybe it’ll be alright. Maybe we won’t wake up embarrassed. I am going to fall in love with you, too, feet first. Maybe we’ll slow dance off a building together, maybe we’ll have forgotten each other’s names by this time next year. I don’t care, the sky is gray with or without you, so I’m not going to look up anymore, I’m going to look ahead .

In order to get acquainted with the three lead actors, director Alfonso Cuarón had each one of them write an essay about their characters. Emma Watson wrote a 16-page essay. Daniel Radcliffe wrote a one-page summary. Rupert Grint never even bothered to turned his in.

Except Caitlyn. High school dating, drill team, school spirit—it all seemed silly to her. Why did it feel like high school was crushing her soul? She had nothing concrete she could point to. All she knew was that she didn’t belong here. She preferred old, used clothes to new ones; her iPod was full of classical music; and photos of castles and reproductions of old European art covered her bedroom walls, including a Renaissance painting of a young girl in white, named Bia. It should have been pop singers on her wall, or movie stars

The driver bumped his way through the door and plopped down Caitlyn’s “luggage.” Caitlyn watched Madame Snowe’s eyes go to it, widening as she took it in. Caitlyn’s cheeks heated. Her “luggage” was a Vietnam War-era army green duffel bag, bought for a dollar at a garage sale. Cloud-shaped moisture stains mottled its faded surface, and jagged stitches of black carpet thread sealed a rip on one end, Caitlyn’s clumsy needlework giving the mended hole the look of one of Frankenstein’s scars. “Is that all you brought?” Greta asked. Caitlyn nodded, wishing the floor would swallow her. “Very good. You will have no trouble unpacking, and then you can burn your bag, heh?” “Reduce, reuse, recycle!” Caitlyn said with false cheer. “We’re very big on living green in Oregon. Why buy a new suitcase when someone else’s old duffel bag will do?” “We’ll see that it gets … disposed of properly,

Caitlyn, s’il vous plait!” Madame said, whacking the blackboard with her stick, its end pointing to the irregular verb devoir, “to have to.” She wanted Caitlyn to conjugate it. Caitlyn felt the class’s attention turn to her, and a clammy sweat broke out in her armpits. Her brain stopped in its tracks, unable to move under the pressure. A vague sense of having known how to speak French in her dreams tickled at her brain, but the skill was as lost to her in the waking world as was Raphael. “Devoir,” Caitlyn croaked. “Er. Je dev? Tu dev?” Madame gaped at her, horrified. Caitlyn shook her head; she knew those words were wrong. “Er … I mean, uh …” And then out of nowhere came, “Egli deve, lei dovrebbe …” These words felt right. He must, she must … Several girls burst into laughter. “What?” Caitlyn demanded. “You’re speaking Italian!” one girl shrieked, and collapsed into hysterical giggles.

Geez what is it with these guys and their swords, why can't they just century up and get normal bad guy weapons?

What kind of happy horseshit was this?

I wore your armor just to feel deathless. I wore your armor just to know what it meant to be inside of you.

Mother, her absence was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever suffered through, ache like a purple gown that trailed behind me when I walked.

We don’t have that kind of magic anymore. This world—your world—you could call it our post-apocalypse.

The world still has rules, we’ve just been playing with an incomplete set.

As far as boys went, I would have probably attracted more attention from the male species if I were a skateboard.

My father loved the attention, I noticed. He really was a bit of a fame whore.

I envy you then. I have no idea what it would be like to have people like that in my life. People who needed me." She watched him go. She could need him. Could fill up that part of him.

A hand pressed lightly against my neck. Lips grazing the apple of my bottom lip. Your name like a tongue over the ridges of my teeth. Your body like a downpour with me dancing underneath it

A hand pressed lightly against my neck. Lips grazing the apple of my bottom lip. Your name like a tongue over the ridges of my teeth. Your body like a downpour with me dancing underneath it.

Love is physical, it is a feeling both inside and out. Lust is visual, its is seeing something and wanting it. Though lust is a game for two it is just for oneself plesure. Then there is love.... Love is not a game

Some people say that love itself is the most powerful magic,” Caitlyn said. “But would true love make a man go against every principle that had guided his life, and make him break vows he had made to God?” Raphael shook his head. “Simon brought Eshael here, to the château, but she would not give up her goddess and so he could not marry her. The local men were frightened of Eshael and her strange ways. There were stories of firelight in the caves that pierce the cliffs beneath the château, and the dancing shadows of local women that Eshael had converted to worship of her goddess. “Simon’s love for Eshael began to fade; he started to see evil in all she did and all she was. The final straw came after Eshael bore him their first child, a daughter. When Simon discovered Eshael consecrating their child to her goddess, the last vestiges of his love turned to hatred. In his rage, he killed her.

Talking to Rhys was nothing like talking to Cadoc. With Cadoc, everything was a game. He smoldered because he meant to smolder. There was nothing calculated or put on about Rhys, and that made him more mesmerizing than Cadoc could ever hope be.

As she neared the gazebo, the unmistakable sounds of passion drifted from the interior. She halted as a woman let out a long, soft moan. "Oh, Robby, we need to stop. We're missing the party." "I canna wait another minute," he grumbled in a low voice. "I need you now, Olivia." The woman let out another long moan that Caitlyn could only interpret as surrender. She tiptoed across the grass, headed in another direction. A feminine squeal emanated from the gazebo, followed by a masculine growl.

Wake her up,” she commanded Ashem. The dark man folded his arms across his chest. “Politeness is the sinew that holds the wing together.” Exasperated, Kai bared her teeth. “That is especially rich, coming from you. What is it, some kind of dragon proverb?

Please, I am begging you, don’t ever let your life succumb to what others think. Do not give into fear, as I did for so many years. Do what is in your heart and soul. I guarantee you will never ever regret it. Instead, you will have the very opposite, not an imagined life but a life of new possibility, a true life.