Chasing Pavement Quotes

Love with pride is like chasing the pavement. There'll be a long chasing until it ends.

And then, every time I didn't see her, there was a fall involved. I thought about dancing on the fifth-floor ledge outside out apartment. Every train she wasn't on felt something like hitting the pavement from five floors up. So maybe my father was right about that. Maybe happiness and excitement really are dangerous things.

It was raining when Amarelle Parathis went out just after sunset to find a drink, and there was strange magic in the rain. It came down in pale lavenders and coppers and reds, soft lines like liquid dusk that turned luminescent mist on the warm pavement. The air itself felt like champagne bubbles breaking against the skin. Over the dark shapes of distant rooftops, blue-white lightning blazed, and stuttering thunder chased it.

instead.” “Do you really have to curse so much? And are you serious when you use terms like hit the pavement? This isn’t a movie or one of those weekly cop shows. Policemen and women, and investigators like Lizzy, don’t need to ‘hit the pavement’ now that so much information is at their fingertips. It’s not stupid. It’s life in the modern world. Pretty soon they won’t need to chase after criminals in high-speed chases either. The police will tag a car with a laser-guided GPS tracking system. Once the transmitter is attached to the fleeing car, the police can track the suspect over a wireless network, then hang back and let the crook believe he’s outrun

Tom looked at St. Vincent. “I assume the editor at the Chronicle refused to divulge the writer’s identity?” St. Vincent looked rueful. “Categorically. I’ll have to find a way to pry it out of him without bringing the entire British press to his defense.” “Yes,” Tom mused, tapping his lower lip with a fingertip, “they tend to be so touchy about protecting their sources.” “Trenear,” Lord Ripon said through gritted teeth, “will you kindly throw him out?” “I’ll see myself out,” Tom said casually. He turned as if to leave, and paused as if something had just occurred to him. “Although … as your friend, Trenear, I find it disappointing that you haven’t asked about my day. It makes me feel as if you don’t care.” Before Devon could respond, Pandora jumped in. “I will,” she volunteered eagerly. “How was your day, Mr. Severin?” Tom sent her a brief grin. “Busy. After six tedious hours of business negotiations, I paid a call to the chief editor of the London Chronicle.” St. Vincent lifted his brows. “After I’d already met with him?” Trying to look repentant, Tom replied, “I know you said not to. But I had a bit of leverage you didn’t.” “Oh?” “I told him the paper’s owner would dismiss him and toss him out on the pavement if he didn’t name the anonymous writer.” St. Vincent stared at him quizzically. “You bluffed?” “No, that is what the business negotiations were about. I’m the new owner. And while the chief editor happens to be a staunch advocate for freedom of the press, he’s also a staunch supporter of not losing his job.” “You just bought the London Chronicle,” Devon said slowly, to make certain he hadn’t misheard. “Today.” “No one could do that in less than a day,” Ripon sneered. Winterborne smiled slightly. “He could,” he said, with a nod toward Tom. “I did,” Tom confirmed, picking idly at a bit of lint on his cuff. “All it took was a preliminary purchase agreement and some earnest money.

Annabeth didn't mean to, but she surged forward. Percy rushed toward her at the same time. The crowd tensed. Some reached for swords that weren't there. Percy threw his arms around her. They kissed, and for a moment nothing else mattered. An asteroid could have hit the planet and wiped out all life, and Annabeth wouldn't have cared. Percy smelled of ocean air. His lips were salty. Seaweed Brain, she thought giddily. Percy pulled away and studied her face. "Gods, I never thought--" Annabeth grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her shoulder. He slammed into the stone pavement. Romans cried out. Some surged forward, but Reyna shouted, "Hold! Stand down!" Annabeth put her knee on Percy's chest. She pushed her forearm against his throat. She didn't care what the Romans thought. A white-hot lump of anger expanded in her chest--a tumor of worry and bitterness she'd been carrying around since last autumn. "If you ever leave me again," she said, her eyes stinging, "I swear to all the gods--" Percy had the nerve to laugh. Suddenly the lump of heated emotions melted inside Annabeth. "Consider me warned," Percy said. "I missed you, too." Annabeth rose and helped him to his feet. She wanted to kiss him again so badly, but she managed to restrain herself.

Rain is the last thing you want when you're chasing someone in Miami. They drive shitty enough as it is, but on top of that, snow is a foreign concept, which means they never got the crash course in traction judgment for when pavement slickness turns less than ideal. And because of the land-sea temperature differential, Florida has regular afternoon rain showers. Nothing big, over in a jiff. But minutes later, all major intersections in Miami-Dade are clogged with debris from spectacular smash-ups. In Northern states, snow teaches drivers real fast about the Newtonian physics of large moving objects. I haven't seen snow either, but I drink coffee, so the calculus of tire-grip ratio is intuitive to my body.

The Sinsar Dubh popped up on my radar, and it was moving straight toward us. At an extremely high rate of speed. I whipped the Viper around, tires smoking on the pavement. There was nothing else I could do. Barrons looked at me sharply. “What? Do you sense it?” Oh, how ironic, he thought I’d turned us toward it. “No,” I lied, “I just realized I forgot my spear tonight. I left it back at the bookstore. Can you believe it? I never forget my spear. I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I guess I wasn’t. I was talking to my dad while I was getting dressed and I totally spaced it.” I worked the pedals, ripping through the gears. He didn’t even try to pat me down. He just said, “Liar.” I sped up, pasting a blushing, uncomfortable look on my face. “All right, Barrons. You got me. But I do need to go back to the bookstore. It’s . . . well . . . it’s personal.” The bloody, stupid Sinsar Dubh was gaining on me. I was being chased by the thing I was supposed to be chasing. There was something very wrong with that. “It’s . . . a woman thing . . . you know.” “No, I don’t know, Ms. Lane. Why don’t you enlighten me?” A stream of pubs whizzed by. I was grateful it was too cold for much pedestrian traffic. If I had to slow down, the Book would gain on me, and I already had a headache the size of Texas that was threatening to absorb New Mexico and Oklahoma. “It’s that time. You know. Of the month.” I swallowed a moan of pain. “That time?” he echoed softly. “You mean time to stop at one of the multiple convenience stores we just whizzed past so you can buy tampons? Is that what you’re telling me?” I was going to throw up. It was too close. Saliva was pooling in my mouth. How far behind me was it? Two blocks? Less? “Yes,” I cried. “That’s it! But I use a special kind and they don’t carry it.” “I can smell you, Ms. Lane,” he said, even more softly. “The only blood on you is from your veins, not your womb.” My head whipped to the left and I stared at him. Okay, that was one of the more disturbing things he’d ever said to me. “Ahhh!” I cried, letting go of both the wheel and the gearshift to clutch my head. The Viper ran up on the sidewalk and took out two newspaper stands and a streetlamp before crashing to a stop against a fire hydrant. And the blasted, idiotic Book was still coming. I began foaming at the mouth, wondering what would happen if it passed within a few feet of me. Would I die? Would my head really explode?

JAMIE'S SONG 'I Had No Choice': I had no choice, I had to be hers. And now she’s gone, I have to be hurt. She’s not the one that I wanted, She’s just the one that I had. She’s not the one that I’d chosen, She’s just the one I got given. I never said, ‘Hey, she’s the one for me,’ It was already built in me. I didn’t say, ‘Hey, she’s so pretty,’ It’s just these eyes were made to see… her. I had no choice, I had to be hers. And now she’s gone, I have to be hurt. I had no choice, that’s how it was written. I had no choice, that’s the life I got given.

JAMIE'S SONG 'Bright Blue Dream': I watch the world go round and round. And see the sun go up and down. I think I’ve heard most every sound Except your voice. I feel the river by my feet. And let the tears dry indiscrete. Seems the horizon’s incomplete Without your face. The world is a colder place, Shadows everywhere you used to be. Darker than the darkest nights I’ve seen. And I try go back to that Bright blue dream. When there was nothing, there was nothing, but you and me. Clear blue sky. Yes there was something, there was something, I could not see.

Of course, she didn’t remember them; she’d never been introduced to them. Only knew them as Tallskinnyblonde and the rest. She felt like seaweed dragged on a line but managed to smile and say hello. This was the opportunity for which she’d waited. Here she was standing among the friends she wanted to join. Her mind fought for words, something clever to say that might interest them. Finally, two of them greeted her coolly and turned abruptly away, the others following quickly like a school of minnows finning down the street. “Well, so here we are,” Chase said. “I don’t want to interrupt anything. I’ve just come for supplies, then back home.” “You’re not interrupting. I just ran into them. I’ll be out on Sunday, like I said.” Chase shifted his feet, fingered the shell necklace. “I’ll see you then,” she said, but he’d already turned to catch the others. She hurried toward the market, stepping around a family of mallard ducks waddling down Main Street, their bright feet surprisingly orange against the dull pavement. In the Piggly Wiggly, pushing the vision of Chase and the girl from her head, she rounded the end of the bread aisle and saw the truant lady, Mrs. Culpepper, only four feet away. They stood there like a rabbit and a coyote caught together in a yard fence. Kya was now taller than the woman and much more educated, though neither would have thought of that. After all the running, she wanted to bolt, but stood her ground and returned Mrs. Culpepper’s stare. The woman nodded slightly, then moved on.

She was happy, curious, expressive. Everything I wasn’t. While she was sweet springtime, I was wet, gray pavement. A girl of beautiful, golden light and a boy, nothing more than the weight of life incarnate.

Mr Chamy performed splendid camouflage and went after them to recover his leaf at the earliest. He found himself upon the pavement beneath the Banyan tree of Orioles. Mr Oriole was in the prison and his followers must have crept behind the chameleon, he guessed that too. It strongly attaches Mr Chamy to sun himself in the day before an opportunity to steal surfaces in the darker hours. He paid enough heed to the consequence of his attacking anytime at the birds. Beyond all, it is that life which is most valuable to him but the next thing in order would be the golden leaf. The fearsome Orioles deprived him of it even though he'd earned it out of the tree. It forced him to think once in a while what if the leaf being golden logically went to golden Orioles. He kept suggesting many things to avoid the chaotic chase but his legs were stubborn to

How hard can it be to follow five black SUVs?” Serge leaned over the steering wheel. “Except we’re in Miami.” “So?” “Miami drivers are a breed unto their own. Always distracted.” He uncapped a coffee thermos and chugged. “Quick on the gas and the horn. No separation between vehicles, every lane change a new adventure. The worst of both worlds: They race around as if they are really good, but they’re really bad, like if you taught a driver’s-ed class with NASCAR films.” He watched the first few droplets hit the windshield. “Oh, and worst of all, most of them have never seen snow.” “But it’s not snow,” said Felicia. “It’s rain. And just a tiny shower.” “That’s right.” Serge hit the wipers and took another slug from the thermos. “Rain is the last thing you want when you’re chasing someone in Miami. They drive shitty enough as it is, but on top of that, snow is a foreign concept, which means they never got the crash course in traction judgment for when pavement slickness turns less than ideal. And because of the land-sea temperature differential, Florida has regular afternoon rain showers. Nothing big, over in a jiff. But minutes later, all major intersections in Miami-Dade are clogged with debris from spectacular smash-ups. In Northern states, snow teaches drivers real fast about the Newtonian physics of large moving objects. I haven’t seen snow either, but I drink coffee, so the calculus of tire-grip ratio is intuitive to my body. It feels like mild electricity. Sometimes it’s pleasant, but mostly I’m ambivalent. Then you’re chasing someone in the rain through Miami, and your pursuit becomes this harrowing slalom through wrecked traffic like a disaster movie where everyone’s fleeing the city from an alien invasion, or a ridiculous change in weather that the scientist played by Dennis Quaid warned about but nobody paid attention.” Serge held the mouth of the thermos to his mouth. “Empty. Fuck it—

The vibrating was then followed by Adele’s Chasing Pavements. I had that as my ringtone, and it seemed fit to my life.

JAMIE'S SONG 'ONE HALF': I wish you wouldn’t try, to find me where I hide. I am fine where I reside, So please don’t follow. I wish you wouldn’t cry, can’t bear that in your eyes. I am more than terrified. Please say you won’t go. If I could make two of me, you would get one half. But there’s only one of me, and that’s more than enough. I wish you wouldn’t want from me, what I cannot give. I wish you could be satisfied, with what you now receive. There is only one of me, and I belong to her. If I live another life, hope you come before her.

JAMIE'S SONG 'She': There’s something about her eyes. I don’t know what I see. She wears a cloak of lies. I don’t know what I mean. She hides behind those eyes. Will she let me in? I could feel the barrier between, Her and the world and sea. She is not what she may seem.....

JAMIE'S SONG 'Mukti': She’s sitting on the step, staring back at me. Wonder why she does, wonder what she sees. Nothing but the lies. Nothing but the cries. There’s nothing in her eyes except for me. I don‘t really quite see, what I’m meant to find. But something in me says, there’s something in her mind, That I need to know, have to comprehend. Wonder what she’ll see if I want to be her friend. Nothing but the lies. Nothing but the cries. There’s nothing in her mind except for me.

JAMIE'S SONG 'KILL ME': In the darkness of the night, you come to me to fight. You tell me stories of your life, and make me miss you all the while. I used to crave you but now I find, I’m not living, I’m blind. And the daylight has combined, with the hollow that’s inside. This black space that’s in me, is all you’ve left me to feel. The love you took from me, was all I had, is all I feel. But now there’s nothing left of me. You should’ve killed me, or buried me alive. You could’ve shot me, even stabbed me with a knife. I wish you’d killed me; I wish you’d kill me instead.

JAMIE'S SONG 'August and November': They say it was a beautiful summer. I say I felt so cold the whole short while. I heard that it rained for days, Between August and November. Well I didn’t see it rain on the enslaved river. I am the river no more (x2) And the rain is just acid water from their cloudy black smoke. And now I’m at a standstill on the streets, That are lit up like a funfair from some forgotten dream. Yet faces, headlights, and the whole world passes by me. Without taking a step, I’m down in the hole too. And if it rains this coming Dark and lonely December, I will never watch it fall on the entrapped river. I am the river no more (x2) And the rain is acid water from their cloudy black smoke.

JAMIE'S SONG 'LOVE TRANSFUSION': I’m not sleeping nights, I’m not doing good. I’m not eating right, have no use for food. All I do is bleed dry for you. But somehow I survive, And wake up with more love for you. It’s not blood running through my veins, it’s you. I’ve had a strange blood transfusion, To add to my confusion. It’s not compatible; I’m going hysterical. It’s some kind of love transfusion. Love transfusion. Love transfusion. I’ve had a strange blood transfusion. Blood transfusion. Blood transfusion. It’s not blood running through my veins, it’s you.

JAMIE'S SONG 'UN-BROKE': Un-broke and, All is well. I did not expect that. Unspoken, All I felt. I should not have done that. But now that is all behind me. Something else, something more defines me. I could be scattered all over the world again, And I would still be me. Find my way back here again. Though I don’t think that could happen, I feel so unbreakable, Now that I am un-broke. Like the wind, I floated. I could not change one thing. Like the trees, I stood there. Branches swayed bare in Spring. My darkest days are behind me. Blinding sun and stars always find me. I could be shattered into the abyss again, But I would still be free. Climb out of the hole again. I’ll see the skies that never darken. I know I’m unbreakable, Now that I am un-broke.

We drove for at least an hour on dusty, unpaved back roads. Dimitri made sure to hit every pot hole and ant hill. I’d never realized what a smooth ride Grandma delivered. I closed my eyes as we hit another bone-rattling dip in the pavement.

My mind wanders as I work, leaving me to wonder whether Adena is having any luck selling her clothes on the other end of the long street. I steal, she sews. And that’s been our lives for the past five years. I was barely thirteen and utterly alone in the world when Adena quite literally ran into me. Well, she phased right through me. I’ll never forget the look on the Imperial’s face as he sprinted after her, screaming about stolen pastries. And without a second thought, I didn’t hesitate before sticking my foot out into his path. As soon as I got a glimpse of the guard’s face meeting the pavement, I was chasing after the gangly, curly-haired girl who ran right through me. An uneasy alliance was born that day, one that was supposed to stay that way.

Ankled, banjaxed, bladdered bleezin’ Why? Do I really need a reason? I’m cabbaged clobbered, Chevy Chased But not a broken vein upon my face Despite being thoroughly Dot Cottoned Sobriety almost forgotten I’m etched – egregiously and completely That creme de menthe went down so sweetly So now, I’m fleemered and I’m flecked So many snifters have been necked That guttered, sweaty, ganted, howling I’m wearing shirts made out of towelling Inebriated, kaed up, jaxied I’ve been ill in every single taxi In every city kiboshed, kaned Bernhard Langered, legless, debrained Dhuisg, it is in Gaelic, mottled (I must recycle all my bottles) I’m Newcastled, out of my tree There’s really not much wrong with me On the skite, overly refreshed I swear I’d still pass my driving “tesht” For drink improves pronounciation Adds sparkle to enunciation Predicting earthquakes, kissing pavements Quite quoited, rubbered, I’ve made arrangements To remain forever snobbled Sleeping on tarmac or on cobbles Thora Hirded, trousered, trashed I’ve spent great lakes of liquid cash Unca’ fou, marocced, it’s easy Discombobulated, queasy My wobbly boots are on, I’m wellied But only very slightly smelly Xenophoned, Yorkshired as a skunk Zombied But not even slightly drunk.

TAKE ONE STORY, viewed from two different angles. Take a rainy Sunday morning in July, in the late 1920s, when Eddie and his friends are tossing a baseball Eddie got for his birthday nearly a year ago. Take a moment when that ball flies over Eddie’s head and out into the street. Eddie, wearing tawny pants and a wool cap, chases after it, and runs in front of an automobile, a Ford Model A. The car screeches, veers, and just misses him. He shivers, exhales, gets the ball, and races back to his friends. The game soon ends and the children run to the arcade to play the Erie Digger machine, with its claw-like mechanism that picks up small toys. Now take that same story from a different angle. A man is behind the wheel of a Ford Model A, which he has borrowed from a friend to practice his driving. The road is wet from the morning rain. Suddenly, a baseball bounces across the street, and a boy comes racing after it. The driver slams on the brakes and yanks the wheel. The car skids, the tires screech. The man somehow regains control, and the Model A rolls on. The child has disappeared in the rearview mirror, but the man’s body is still affected, thinking of how close he came to tragedy. The jolt of adrenaline has forced his heart to pump furiously and this heart is not a strong one and the pumping leaves him drained. The man feels dizzy and his head drops momentarily. His automobile nearly collides with another. The second driver honks, the man veers again, spinning the wheel, pushing on the brake pedal. He skids along an avenue then turns down an alley. His vehicle rolls until it collides with the rear of a parked truck. There is a small crashing noise. The headlights shatter. The impact smacks the man into the steering wheel. His forehead bleeds. He steps from the Model A, sees the damage, then collapses onto the wet pavement. His arm throbs. His chest hurts. It is Sunday morning. The alley is empty. He remains there, unnoticed, slumped against the side of the car. The blood from his coronary arteries no longer flows to his heart. An hour passes. A policeman finds him. A medical examiner pronounces him dead. The cause of death is listed as “heart attack.” There are no known relatives. Take one story, viewed from two different angles. It is the same day, the same moment, but one angle ends happily, at an arcade, with the little boy in tawny pants dropping pennies into the Erie Digger machine, and the other ends badly, in a city morgue, where one worker calls another worker over to marvel at the blue skin of the newest arrival.

Magpies are well known for taunting larger animals, especially pets. They are probably just trying to drive off a perceived predator, but sometimes they seem to consciously trick other creatures with mean-spirited mind games. One BBC documentary featured a pet magpie that loved to torment two domestic dogs by imitating the alarm call of ducks on the pond outside his house; this would invariably send the poor canines scrambling outside to chase a nonexistent fox—because the ducks often called warnings to one another when the fox passed by. Another pair of magpies once repeatedly taunted a cat along a busy country road in Britain by perching in a tree, waiting for a break in traffic, and then flying down to the pavement to lure the kitty into the road; when a car approached, the birds would flutter up at the last second while the cat scrambled to avoid becoming roadkill.

As soon as Jeremiah saw me, he sprang up. “Ladies and Gentlemen-men-men,” he began dramatically, bowing like a circus ringmaster. “I do believe it is time… for our first belly flop of the summer.” I inched away from them uneasily. Too fast a movement, and it would be all over—they’d chase me then. “No way,” I said. Then Conrad and Steven stood up, circling me. “You can’t fight tradition,” Steven said. Conrad just grinned evilly. “I’m too old for this,” I said desperately. I walked backward, and that’s when they grabbed me. Steven and Jeremiah each took a wrist. “Come on, guys,” I said, trying to wriggle out of their grasp. I dragged my feet, but they pulled me along. I knew it was futile to resist, but I always tried, even though the bottoms of my feet got burned along the pavement in the process. “Ready?” Jeremiah said, lifting me up under my armpits. Conrad grabbed my feet, and then Steven took my right arm while Jeremiah hung on to my left. They swung me back and forth like I was a sack of flour. “I hate you guys,” I yelled over their laughter. “One,” Jeremiah began. “Two,” Steven said. “And three,” Conrad finished. Then they launched me into the pool, clothes and all. I hit the water with a loud smack. Underwater, I could hear them busting up. The Belly Flop was something they’d started about a million summers ago. Probably it had been Steven. I hated it. Even though it was one of the only times I was included in their fun, I hated being the brunt of it. It made me feel utterly powerless, and it was a reminder that I was an outsider, too weak to fight them, all because I was a girl. Somebody’s little sister.

Stanton skimmed over the jagged path of black shadows beneath the palm trees until he was over her head. Abruptly he slid back into himself and landed on his feet in front of her. She gasped. He let an indolent smile creep over his face and breathed in the sweet smell of her fear as his hand shot out and grabbed her before she could turn and run. Soon you'll have nothing to fear. He pushed the words into her mind and added a pledge of love to make her his for eternity. Her eyes flashed back with a promise of her own. The warrior-goddess emerged. At first he thought she was going to battle him. He opened his mind with eager anticipation. He wanted her to fight. Instead, she surprised him. She dropped her cello case. It thudded on the concrete and glass. Then she flung her books at him. He batted the books aside as she darted across the street. Her skirt flapped wildly about her legs and her shoes smacked hard on the pavement. He ran after her, his heart excited by the chase. You can't escape me, he whispered into her mind. That's what you think. He loved her foolish bravery.

I'm not sure I can ever repay you, considering I am leaving town for the foreseeable future, but if you have ever need of me, I assure you I will be happy to assist you in any way." The coil of desire that seemed to always possess him in her presence made itself known, tightening deep in his gut. A vision of her on her knees in the carriage repaying him ran through his mind. She was entirely too naive to have meant those words the way his body had taken them. A quick glance at her innocent face assured him that he was every bit the lecher in this scenario. He would not seduce her innocence away from her, not until they were married. That flicker of guilt returned, putting a fine edge of pain on his desire for her. The gossips would have told her that he was not some bastion of virtue. She must know that men like him were to be avoided. He had even heard Lady Helena warn her away. She should have run from him, or at least made him chase her down the pavement, forced to prove his good intentions. But no, she had put her small hand in his and allowed him to help her into his carriage. The wolf leading the innocent astray.