Cameron Winter Quotes

Love cannot thrive simply by being offered. Sooner or later it must be accepted and reciprocated. It must be seen for what it is and nourished according to its needs, or it will die.

Then she smiles, like it's the first time she's seen sun after a decade of winters.

Sirus let his gaze drop and linger over the fine lines of Grey’s body that no amount of winter clothing could hide, and he cursed under his breath at the waste of such a thing of perfection attached to such an asshole of a person.

Sometimes, pushing against change only makes it push back twice as hard. But even the most bitter fruit may contain something sweet at its core. A taste you would never have encountered if you had not been willing to endure the bitter first.

A plant needs to do more than stretch its leaves toward the sun. It also needs to send down roots deep into the ground. They hold on tightly in the dark, out of sight where it is easy to forget about them. But it is the fact that a plant can do these two things at once, anchoring itself to the earth even as it reaches for the sky, that makes it strong.

I realised I really was shy. And once I was in it, I couldn't escape. I'd go to talk and find my face was made of cement. Nothing would come out. On winter days, I'd feel myself turning grey at the edges and fading into the walls. Was this defensive strategy? It was paralysing. And it went on for years.

We have no control over what labels others give us, but we can define who we are by the ones we choose to give ourselves.

Even the most bitter fruit may contain something sweet at it's core.

You have worked to build me what I asked for all the days of our lives. Even when the task seemed impossible, even when it would have been easier to give it up, you did not, but kept on going. You have kept me warm in winter, and cool in summer. You have laughed with me, and you have cried. You have given me children who are almost, but not quite, my greatest joy. For the greatest joy of all is the way you held my wish in the center of your heart thorough all the days of our lives. That is where the room that you have built for me lies. Just as the room I built for you lies within mine. And in this way have all our wishes been granted. Together, we have made ourselves a home.

Our eyes see different things, I thought. They always have. Even when we're looking in the same direction, standing side by side.

First impressions can be tricky things, for they can be both shallow and lasting, all at once.

A home is a place one's heart creates and so recognizes as its own. A place it enters of its own free will. All others are merely dwelling places.

But fear is no fit means to measure anyone, for fools have no fear, or so I've heard it said.

Do not put your penis inside anything with a tail

Even so, [... in the silence after a winter storm has ceased to howl, in the soft whisper of a morning snowfall, in the way the moonlight sparkles over new-fallen snow, you can feel when she has been near by, ever searching. You can sense the presence of the Winter Child.

The trouble with being angry is that it not only makes you feel stupid, it encourages you to say stupid things as well. Stupid things that are hard to take back and impossible to erase.

Even so, [...] in the silence after a winter storm has ceased to howl, in the soft whisper of a morning snowfall, in the way the moonlight sparkles over new-fallen snow, you can feel when she has been near by, ever searching. You can sense the presence of the Winter Child.

She was a woman who had clearly had practice in keeping her thoughts to herself.

But even the most bitter fruit can contain something sweet at its core. A taste you would never have encountered if you had not been willing to endure the bitter first.

None of us can accept all what we may be offered in this life. Sometimes we must say no, even to love.

Everything is beautiful in its own way, ma belle, even if you have to look hard to find it.

Men are quite unobservant, you know. They see only what they wish to see.

Perhaps love and hope are one and the same.

And, much more than hate, it is pity which is the opposite, the doom, of love. For to love or hate truly, you need to be equals, or at least close in strength. But pity is a thing which flows from the strong to the weak.

I don’t know what it is about houses at night—houses with lighted windows in the dark of night—they always make me feel sad somehow, as if I’m lost out in the world alone and everyone else is safe and warm and together inside.

He had one more glimpse of them as he pulled the Jeep out: three figures captured in the headlights, a child clinging to a woman, a man with his arms around the woman’s shoulders, the snow coming down on them, man, woman, and child, like figures in a Christmas globe.

I love you, Papa," I said. "And I love you," my father replied. "I have loved you every day of your life. I will love you for every day of mine and more. My love will never diminish, no matter how many steps you take throughout the world, no matter how many years you wander until your task is done.

Pick any time of the day or night and somewhere, everywhere, stories are being told. They overlap and flow across one another, the pull away again just as waves do upon a shore. It is this knack that stories have of rubbing up against one another that makes the world an interesting place, a place of greater possibility than it would be if we told our tales alone. This is impossible, of course. Make no mistake, everyone's stories touches someone else's. And every brush of one life tale upon another, be it ever so gentle, creates something new: a pathway that wasn't there before. The possibility to create a new tale.

It was all the same every year. And that’s how I liked it. I never wanted it to be different, not even a little bit. It’s funny. When you’re young, you always want things to change. You want to grow up. You want to go to new places, do new things. But in the end, it’s the things like Christmas, the things that are always the same, that you love the most.

I love you, Papa,” I said. “And I love you,” my father replied. “I have loved you every day of your life. I will love you for every day of mine and more. My love will never diminish, no matter how many steps you take throughout the world, no matter how many years you wander until your task is done.” “I will love you as long as I draw breath,” I replied. “And the moment I stop breathing, I will find you. Wherever you are.

More proof that Lynn is still meant to continue with the government programme occurred during the winter of 2000, when she was sitting at a cafeteria table at the area college. It was later in the afternoon when a few people congregated there with books spread out so they could study while drinking coffee or snacking. Many tables were empty, yet after Lynn had been sitting for a few moments, an elderly man sat down across from her. The old man seemed familiar to Lynn, though, at first, she pretended to ignore him. He said nothing, just sat there as someone might when all the tables are filled and it is necessary to share space with a stranger. His presence made her uncomfortable, yet there was nothing specific that alerted her. A short while later, Mac, the man who had been Lynn's handler in Mexico, came out of the shadows and stopped at the table. He was younger than the old man. His clothes were military casual, the type of garments that veteran students who have military experience might recognise, but not think unusual. He leaned over Lynn and kissed her gently on the forehead, spoke quietly to her, and then said 'Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.' Those were the code words that would start the cover programme of which she was still part. The words led to her being switched from the control of the old man, a researcher she now believes may have been part of Dr Ewen Cameron's staff before coming to the United States for the latter part of his career, to the younger man. The change is like a re-enlistment in an army she never willingly joined. In a very real way, she is a career soldier who has never been paid, never allowed to retire and never given a chance to lead a life free from the fear of what she might do without conscious awareness.

I nod along, watching him sing under his breath. He’s off-key but doesn’t care. Ian’s in his own world. I love how music does that—takes us to the middle of a packed arena with a spotlight and a microphone, even if we can’t sing the ABCs without our voices cracking. Music doesn’t just seep into our souls; it wraps careful fingers around our nerves and presses new life into them.

After the first six times, coming out became as basic as telling a stranger my name. It became a joke: “Hi, my name is Gay and my sexuality is Remy Cameron.” Over and over, I’ve had to acknowledge my sexuality as if it’s a warning. The thing is, you always have to come out. Every day. To new people, to people you’ve known forever, to people who keep trying to ignore it.

It made her seem almost - I don’t know - ghostlike.

Sorrow is the price of love in a world where nothing lasts.

We reveal ourselves in the stories we tell.

And here May remained, thought Winter, all alone. And he felt for her. Because he was alone. Because it seemed to him just now that we were all alone in the end: hearts in space, drifting far and away from the impossible planet of the past.

Before you lose things, you don’t really know you can lose them,

From Hive, the party rode the sturdy slaver barge downriver to the coast. None of them had any experience in navigating anything larger than a puddle, never mind a river swollen with winter melt water, so it swiftly became a nerve-racking trip for all involved.

She was struck, too, by how often in this sad life a person’s gifts are useless in helping him fulfill his true desire.

How much easier my life would be if I did not love you! I thought. How much less painful, but how much plainer. How much less color there would be in the world.

Cameron

the water. They worked in tandem, and in near silence, communicating with grunts, shrugs, and the occasional oath. The work was a comfort, since the crabs were plentiful. There were years when they weren’t, years when it seemed the winter had killed them off or the waters would never warm up enough to tempt them to swim. In those years, the watermen suffered. Unless they had another source of income. Ethan intended to have one, building boats. The first boat by Quinn was nearly finished. And a little beauty it was, Ethan thought. Cameron had a second client on the line—some rich guy from Cam’s racing days—so they would start another before long. Ethan never doubted that his brother would reel the money in. They’d do it, he told himself, however

Saturday the weather couldn't decide if it was ready to fully entertain winter or if we were still stuck in the fall." "...winter showed up in an angry, punishing fury...

What’s the penalty for possessing meth in California?” Winter asked. “A stern talking to?” “Pretty much. If that. It’s a misdemeanor. A violation of the Health and Safety Code. There’s a fine. You can get up to a year in jail if you did something stupid while you were high, like drove your car over a group of schoolchildren. Something like that might be frowned upon.

The Good World Project. This too made Winter smile his wintry smile. “To silence the voices of hate that divide us—this is not controversial, this is simply the right thing to do. To direct the resources of all nations toward humanity’s shared objectives—this is not controversial. It’s the right thing to do. To heal the planet from the wounds inflicted on her . . .

After Dimi and the Summer of Emo-Music Hell, I decided that it was time to just be Remy, single and focused and chill-as-eff. No more trips to Boyfriend Land for me.

— Remy, nous ne pouvons pas décider la façon dont les autres nous perçoivent. Les étiquettes qu’ils veulent nous attribuer. Mais nous pouvons nous montrer à nous-mêmes que nous savons qui nous sommes. Tu te connais mieux que personne d’autre. Tu es un cadeau. Tu es toi, et ça n’a pas besoin d’explications ou d’étiquettes.

— Ce que je veux dire, c’est que tu en as découvert un peu plus sur toi-même. Tu le fais tout le temps. La vie est un voyage, Rembrandt. Tu n’en connais rien, à dix-sept ans. Ou même quand tu es adulte. En fait, je pense que, quand tu sais enfin qui tu es, l’univers arrête l’horloge et c’est la fin du voyage.

— Pour ceux qui comptent, nous serons une source d’inspiration, un meilleur ami, ou l’amour de leur vie. Ce sont ces étiquettes-là qui sont importantes. Et ne laisse pas les autres t’empêcher d’être fier de ce que tu es, de ta race, de ton orientation sexuelle, peu importe. Ils ne t’ont pas donné cette fierté, ils n’ont aucun droit de te la retirer.

With one of those long biblical beards men grow when their heads can no longer contain their self-regard and it simply flows out of their chins all the way down to their sternums. Also a black ponytail. Also a purple flower tattoo on his neck. Also a ring in his nose. Oh, how original and eccentric he was!

There is something that lessens the horror of a crime when one sees the criminal—who has been depicted as a monster—is just like any other man.

She didn’t have a standing reservation at SoulCycle or Barry’s Bootcamp, nor did she have any desire to vacation like a migratory bird—with Palm Beach in the winter and East Hampton in the summer. Add to the mix the fact that she was the main breadwinner of the family (gasp!) and she might as well have been showing up to this party in a Halloween costume, she was so out of place.

Well . . . I spent the night once with a woman who was one of those—what do you call them?—congenital liars. Every single thing she told me about herself was untrue. And if I caught her in some contradiction or some obvious mistake, she would simply replace that untruth with another untruth. There was no bottom to it. It went on all night. Lies upon lies upon lies. And what I found was that, by the time morning came, a strange thing had happened to me.” “You began to believe her.” “Of course. I just began to accept whatever she said. Because I’m not insane. Only an insane person can live as if everything he hears is a lie.

Sorrow is the price of love in a world where nothing lasts. Isn’t it?” He smiled back at her fondly. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.” “Without love and sorrow we’re just objects in space,” said Molly. Winter was surprised by a surge of emotion. He pressed his lips together.

My parents had no time for me. Whenever they would come upon me in one of the rooms, they always looked startles, as if they'd completely forgotten I lived in the same house with them. If my mother came upon me by myself, a look of absolute panic would come into her eyes. She would ask, "Where's Nanny?" in this strained, high-pitched, near-hysterical voice. And when Nanny would return from wherever she was, mother would breathe an enormous sigh of relief. "Oh! There she is!" Clearly, for a moment, she had been terrified she was going to have to figure out how to mother me on her own.

She was—I'm not sure how to best describe it—a receiving presence, not a giving one. You talked to her. She listened. Pretty soon, you found you had told her everything about yourself—and you felt better for it too. She had a wonderful soothing way about her. But she hadn't told you anything, nothing at all.

If she had rejected me then, it would have crushed me. If she had pitied me, I never would have recovered. But while what I saw in her eyes and in her face wasn't the reciprocal passion I hungered for, it was not an impossible barrier either. Her expression was saying to me Not now, but maybe someday. My love for her was wrong now—even I felt that, now that the moment of crisis had passed. I was too young. She was starting a new life. It wasn't our time. But that time might come. It might. It was possible. All of that was in her expression and in her eyes.

She called out as she ran after them—called out to the child, not the father. She was shy about calling out to the father for some reason.

I can't compete with the woman in your head, Cam. I don't even know if she's real.

Let’s face it, if you don’t like curling or snowmobiling, there isn’t a lot else to do in a small town in the dead of an Ontario winter. But in June? Hockey should have been done months ago.

I don't want a date, Mason. I just want you to know that I accept that I'm young and I'm a weird girl.' Then, she hovers closer. 'Also, you just got owned because I'm young and a weird girl.

We have no control over what labels others give us, but we can define who we are by the ones we choose to give ourselves.

his mind was running naked and babbling down the hallways of his brain, dangerously free.

landing a lucky elbow on one of the Stasi men’s nose.

the United States government had actually been able to keep a secret.

The world seemed in chaos with no shortage of evil—carried on the back of religious extremism, disputed lands, and natural disaster.

At the very least, it was extraordinary in offering up a very real bequest to later poets of a multi-layered hero figure, practical lessons in poetic direction and conviction, guidance in poetic technique, and, for some, a treasury of quotations, images and impressions. When aggregated, the seed capital of the poem is considerable. All this may be true but there remains a suspicion that this verdict would underplay the depth of the poem's heritability: perhaps a more accurate hypothesis is that The Minstrel had a pervasive spiritual and intellectual influence on other poets, even to the point of inspiration. Nothing like it had been written before and there are signs that it catalysed prospective poets as they grappled with their own poetical identities and sought to make a living from their talents.