Ck Love Quotes

Unhealthy love is based on two people trying to escape their problems through their emotions for each other—in other words, they’re using each other as an escape. Healthy love is based on two people acknowledging and addressing their own problems with each other’s support.

Let people feel the weight of who you really are, and let them fucking deal with it.

Shut up…let me tell you, LET ME. Every time I look at your face or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough...I don’t even think about women anymore. I think about you.

I love humanity but I hate humans. —Albert Einstein

You shouldn’t have to convince anyone to choose you. There is no real choice in love.

To defeat a monster, you have to be twice as monstrous. To love a monster, you have to share your soul. —Lana Myers

Fuck it... That's really the attitude that keeps a family together, it's not "we love each other", it's just "fuck it, man.

This is something I’ve learned. You can’t run away to find yourself. Yourself is there no matter where you go.

Self-love is a good thing but self-awareness is more important. You need to once in a while go ‘Uh, I’m kind of an asshole.

Fuck fear, and fuck Kit and fuck love. I don't need any of that muggle shit.

The best kind of love is the love that isn't supposed to happen.

I don’t want to be someone’s ‘girl who got away.’ I want to be someone’s ‘girl who’d I’d never let get away.

I think it's hard for you to fall in love because you like control, and you can't control what another person does or feels, so you keep all your cards.

That’s the worst thing about being young. You really have no clue about all the changes that are coming. And when they come, no matter how people have warned you, you are genuinely surprised

You're a dead language, you know that? No one is like you, and you are like no one.

He doesn’t love me like I love him,” I say hoarsely. “I love him enough to burn the world to the ground in his name.

We think we can control our lives, but our lives control us. And everything that touches our lives controls us. People have less power than they think they do. It’s just the reactions we control.

Nothing worth finding is actually easy to find,

That’s the most pathetic part of being a human, the emotions you don’t ask for or want, they just rush you anyway.

If each of our lives represented a page in a book, happiness would be the punctuation.

I’m trying to find myself.” Greer grins. “That, my dear, is the scariest thing you’re ever going to do.” “Why is that?” “Because you might not like what you find.

To defeat a monster, you have to be twice as monstrous. To love a monster, you have to share your soul.

Don’t be upset that you can’t attain constant happiness. It’s the quickest way to feel like a failure in life. If each of our lives represented a page in a book, happiness would be the punctuation. It breaks up the parts that are too long. It closes off some things, divides others. But it’s brief—showing up when it’s needed and filling tired paragraphs with breaks.

Love is not supposed to be beautiful. It’s supposed to be a raw, gritty struggle that forces you to face the most vulnerable parts of yourself, so that when the good times come, you can savor and enjoy them, fully appreciate what they’re worth. Otherwise, you take it all for granted. —Lana Myers

Romeo and Juliet is synonymous with “romance” in our culture today. It is seen as the love story in English-speaking culture, an emotional ideal to live up to. Yet when you really get down to what happens in the story, these kids are absolutely out of their fucking minds. And they just killed themselves to prove it!

There is only war in love,” he says. “If anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying. The constant fight to keep love relevant, while growing and changing as a human, is the battle. You fight for them, fight to keep them, fight to love them. Do you fight for yourself, or do you fight for the relationship? What can’t you live without? There’s your answer.

Art is the war against what we do not choose to feel. It’s the battle of color, words, sound, and shape, and it rages for or against love.

You’re just raw, and yourself, and beautiful. You don’t need anything from anyone, unless it’s the kind of love that chooses you first, always.

Love does strange things to you sometimes. It can twist you into saying and doing things that you know you’ll regret and still, you do them.

I have a disease called can’t keep your fucking mouth shut.

Be good and be kind,” I tell her. “No matter how pretty you grow up to be.

Trying to walk away from something you love is like trying to drown yourself. You want to, but it’s unnatural to not crave air.

We are focusing on the small details and hiding the misery in the world. Look at the smoker and we miss global warming, war, and the crap we eat--not the bad guys but smoking. I smoke and they talk about cancer, I eat and they talk about cholesterol, I make love, it's AIDS. Before AIDS and cholesterol and cancer there's the pleasure of making love and eating and smoking. I have to die someday, so if the thing that gave me pleasure all of my life kills me instead of me going under a truck, that's fine. Besides, why should I live so that when I die I give fresh meat to the worms? I hope that I am rotted and they don't want to eat me. F@#$ck the worms.

I love him enough to burn the world to the ground in his name.

Love? Sodding, bloody, tossing, bloody, sodding, bloody love? Irrelevant, superfluous, bloody, ruddy, rotten, sodding love? What ho? Wherefore? What the f*ck? Love?

Contrast is important in life. We understand what light is because we can compare it with what we know is dark. Sweet is made sweeter after we eat something bitter. It’s the very same with sadness.

Because I’m not brave enough to change with everyone watching me. I want to do it alone. I want it to be real.

Romantics always believe in revenge, because romantics love harder, suffer loss more painfully, and hold onto a grudge that has shattered their hearts. Their hearts are of the greatest importance, above all else—body, soul, or mind.

I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream…

If they could see my heart, they’d understand why my mascara is smudged.

You’re chasing him, but who’s chasing you?

We were both on the search for something true at the same time. Sometimes a person’s truth is another person’s love.

Everybody enjoys what feels good. Everyone wants to live a carefree, happy, and easy life, to fall in love and have amazing sex and relationships, to look perfect and make money and be popular and well-respected and admired and a total baller to the point that people part like the Red Sea when they walk into the room. Everybody wants that. It’s easy to want that. A more interesting question, a question that most people never consider, is, “What pain do you want in your life? What are you willing to struggle for?” Because that seems to be a greater determinant of how our lives turn out. For

When a white man goes to the pub, he is a socializer; a Brown man in a bar is a drunkard. A white arrogant man is an alpha male; headstrong Indians are pricks. A white man sleeping around is a lover; an Indian on multiple dates is a womanizer. White men make love, we Brown Indians f*ck

Do you know that feeling you have right now? The bewilderment, the fear, the fascination? I nod. That's what I feel every day. Because I've never loved someone like I love you.

...don’t break one girl’s heart because you’re trying to heal yourself of another one

I love you too, Lana Myers,” he says so softly. And in that moment, I’m completely his. There’s no revenge; there are no deaths staining my hands. I’m just a girl in love with a man who’s destined to hate me when he learns the truth.

Pamela, I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up! Lemme tell you. Let me. Every time I look at your face or even remember it, it wrecks me - and the way you are with me - and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel like I’m going to live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s gonna take me to have one thought about you which is that I’m crazy about you, Pamela. I don’t wanna be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream. You were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. I’m sick in love with you, Pamela. It’s like a condition. It’s like polio. I feel like I’m gonna die if I can’t be with you. And I can’t be with you. So I’m gonna die - and I don’t care cause I was brought into existence to know you and that’s enough. The idea that you would want me back it’s like greedy.

Timing is everything when you’re about to tell someone you dreamed him into your heart.

If hatred didn't exist, love wouldn't either, for one is formed by the other.

You spend months barely acknowledging someone's existence and then BOOM, you're emotionally addicted to her. Science would probably blame it on chemicals, genetics or something equally logical, but it didn't feel like anything logical

The people who blind themselves to the truth. They’re just trying to survive.

But you are very good at passion. And if you have enough passion, you can almost learn to do anything well.

Monsters can come in many forms. A pretty girl who loves the color red, for example--the color her victims bleed when they are begging to be spared.

Life is but a carousel of four seasons. Unpredictable for the most part. Happy. Unhappy. Content. Searching. Mess up the order, and they still rebound at one point or another. I’ve learned that revolution can be inward or outward. A move across the country to gain perspective. A change of heart and mind to gain sanity. But the point is to revolt when the season changes. If only to quench your thirst, revolt.

I take pictures because I want to remember this place and all the things it made me feel. What does it feel like? I ask myself. Like cold air in your lungs after too much warm air.

To defeat a monster, you have to be twice as monstrous. To love a monster, you have to share your soul.

This is something I’ve learned. You can’t run away to find yourself. Yourself is there no matter where you go. The difference is, if you’re running, you’ll be too busy to pick up the sword and face your enemies. Sometimes your enemy will be you; sometimes it will be those with the power to hurt you. Take off your shoes and stop running. Live barefoot and fucking fight. I ran from my feelings—the ones I felt for

Who wants to hide from the truth? Maybe people who have had too much of it. Or people who have had too little. Or people who are too shallow to appreciate its hard edges. #TRUTH

I cannot hate the dream; the dream woke me up.

nor do I tell her that in my mind the line between Harry Potter and real life is blurry, if not non-existent.

I’d do it again just to show you I’d do it.

He just loves me enough to feel betrayed,” I add on a rasp whisper.

I thought love would rip my heart out. I thought it would set me on fire. Instead, it turned me into ice.

In two years you can love somebody with all your heart and lose them. You can become the very best of friends with someone and then neglect them to the point that they don't expect anything different from you anymore. You can become someone you never expected and forget things you believed you could take for granted about yourself.

Embrace the lows so that you can more effectively enjoy the highs.

For all the woman who have done, or are doing the work to love yourself from the inside out. You’re allowed to take up space.

Art is the blood that comes from a wound. You can’t let it scab; let it keep bleeding. Let it bleed until you have enough blood to paint with.

Real love? The kind Lana gave you? It’s the kind of love that looks beyond one’s offenses against others and only calls to the soul.

Love is not supposed to be beautiful. It’s supposed to be a raw, gritty struggle that forces you to face the most vulnerable parts of yourself, so that when the good times come, you can savor and enjoy them, fully appreciate what they’re worth. Otherwise, you take it all for granted.

Then grow a pair and get over it. Jesus mother of f*ck Christ in a piss sh*thole, dick for brains, the answer is bathtub.

I feel so pouty. I am just a muggle. A beige bitch muggle.

No one tells you that it hurts this much to be a grown-up. That people are so complicated they end up hurting each other to self preserve.

just smile, looking all sweet and shit. No ruthless killer here, boys. Just a harmless woman falling in love. That’s all.

Fuck love, fuck Florida, Fuck Kit Isley and his prettier-than-me girlfriend.

We all love to take responsibility for success and happiness. Hell, we often fight over who gets to be responsible for success and happiness. But taking responsibility for our problems is far more important, because that’s where the real learning comes from. That’s where the real-life improvement comes from. To

But the truth is far less interesting than any of these explanations. The truth is, I thought I wanted something, but it turns out I didn’t. End of story. I wanted the reward and not the struggle. I wanted the result and not the process. I was in love with not the fight but only the victory. And

That’s the worst thing about being young. You really have no clue about all the changes that are coming. And when they come, no matter how people have warned you, you are genuinely surprised.

It never passes, and it never pauses. It’s like a fist clutched around my heart, squeezing all day long.

something about me responds to something about you.

You can love someone your whole life and not know why. You can even live with it.

And it’s important to experience sadness, to embrace it in order to truly know happiness.

Your girlfriend is a narcissistic bitch, and you’re an indecisive coward. Congrats on creating a little human that’s perfect.

I abandon before I can be abandoned. Sometimes that’s been a good thing,

But they’re looking for a monster. Not a girl who loves red. Not a girl who is falling in love. Not a girl who died ten years ago.

Because the mind is a fragile thing,” I say once again. “It’s easier to pretend the words you hear are just rumors or lies. It’s not so easy to ignore something you can see. And the sheriff has plenty he doesn’t want anyone to see.

You don’t see a lot of shit, Helena. You have a blind soul.

Governments need to have both shepherds and butchers. —Voltaire

Amid the haze, his first thought was, '…Can’t believe it. Why the f@ck didn’t I do this with Lan Zhan back when I was fifteen? I’ve really pissed away all my days, haven’t I?

Just like that. From a hundred miles an hour to asleep in a nanosecond. I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not f*ck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

I know that life is not simple because I am not simple. In fact, I am learning that I am more than simple and less than normal. To fall in love with a boy is one thing, but to fall in love with you best friend's boy because of a dream is . . . well, I'm fucked.

Also, gasping is for damsels, and I'm a gangster.

He’s everything I wish I could be. A hero. A hero loved by a monster.

Of all the things that have happened tonight, that’s what affects me most. The way he so effortlessly drops his bags to catch her. I don’t have much reference since Neil was my one serious boyfriend, though I know he never would have dropped his bags to catch me lest something broke. That causes an ache deep in my chest. To know that there are guys willing to drop their shopping bags to catch their girl. And I want someone to love me that effortlessly.

I wanted the reward and not the struggle. I wanted the result and not the process. I was in love not with the fight but only the victory. And life doesn't work that way.

What the f~ck you're doing is pulling your head outta your ass and getting with the motherf~cking program, babe.

Comes in hot flashes. Just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, it passes for a bit. But it comes back, boy does it.

You don’t need anything from anyone, unless it’s the kind of love that chooses you first, always.

The thief of love was ego. How weak was love that it could not sustain insecurity? Wasn’t it supposed to do the opposite?

Do I have to thank Colleen again? God, I’m so sick of thanking Colleen. Shit, she’s so great, you know? Thank you, Colleen. You’ve made a circus out of our friendship. Filthy Muggle.

Love is not supposed to be beautiful. It's supposed to be a raw, gritty struggle that forces you to face the most vulnerable parts of yourself, so that when the good times come, you can savor and enjoy them, fully appreciate what they're worth. Otherwise, you take it all for granted. – Lana Myers

Every man is fucking COWARD. Every girl is fucking FOOL.

I wish I felt self-conscious about my hair, but truth be told, I look hella cute with psycho hair.

Love is faithful, love is kind, love is patient. Love is not—I wasn’t thinking.

You have that thing about you that changes other people.

But perhaps art isn’t supposed to make you feel good, but just to make you feel. Does it cure the numb? I don’t know.

Contrast is important in life. We understand what light is because we can compare it with what we know is dark. Sweet is made sweeter after we eat something bitter. It’s the very same with sadness. And it’s important to experience sadness, to embrace it in order to truly know happiness.

That’s why we make art, Helena,” Greer says. “Art is the war against what we do not choose to feel. It’s the battle of color, words, sound, and shape, and it rages for or against love.

I kiss him to shut him up, letting him feel how good he makes me feel. I kiss him for so many reasons, all of them tangled around one simple, innocuous little four-letter-word that holds more power than I ever imagined. I now know why my father could never move on after my mother’s death. He was a romantic. And a true romantic would never recover from losing his love.

One person cannot change the world. But one person can strike terror into multitudes. —Robert Evans Any demon is capable of cruelty, but only an angel is majestic enough to rain down vengeance for the innocent. —Marcus Evans Little eyes see. Little eyes learn. Be a good example for all the little eyes watching you. They’re everywhere. —Jasmine Evans The wicked can fake nobility, just as the damned can fake innocence. But only the truth will rise from the ashes when we all start to burn. —Victoria Evans A wise man knows when the war is lost, and will understand retreat is the only way to save lives. A foolish man will condemn all his followers to death because of his pride. —Robert Evans If hatred didn’t exist, love wouldn’t either, for one is formed by the other. I love and hate this town. —Marcus Evans I believe the souls of the wrongfully persecuted often haunt our world, bringing the same grief they feel from beyond the grave. —Jasmine Evans Never mock or harm the passionate, for they are the fiercest with their wrath. —Victoria Evans

I marvel at how yearning can make you disintegrate.

think that the right girl can wipe away the memories of the wrong girl.

How do you know, and I mean really know, when you’re in love with someone?” ... “It all feels like a dream,” he says. “A dream,” I repeat. Ain’t he right.

Embrace the lows so that you can more effectively enjoy the highs. Love the fight. Love it so much, and let it save you when your emotional muscles have become soft.

It’s okay to talk to yourself here; I saw someone else doing it.

The truth is often angry.

They know if I could kill a monster like Kyle so savagely and live to tell about it, then I’m the real thing of nightmares. Love it.

Romantics love harder, suffer loss more painfully, and hold onto a grudge that has shattered their hearts.

That’s the nature of the truth, though. What’s fun about being dropped into ice water? That’s why half the world walks around wearing rose-colored glasses, watching comedies and reading romance books.

I love being white. Seriously, I really do. If you're not white, your missing out. 'Cuz this shit is thoroughly good. Let me clear this up by the way: I'm not saying white people are better. I'm saying that BEING white is clearly better. Who could even argue? If it was an option I would re-up every year! 'Oh yeah, I'll take white again. Absolutely.' Here's how great it is to be white: if I would have a time machine I could go to any time and it would be awesome when I get there! That is exclusively a white privilege! Black people can't fuck with time machines! .

Hurt of this magnitude is like menopause,” Phyllis tells me. I’ve just wiped my nose with one of the hats. She takes it from me and hands me a tissue. “Comes in hot flashes. Just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, it passes for a bit. But it comes back, boy does it.

It doesn't have any effect on your life. What do you care?! People try to talk about it like it's a social issue. Like when you see someone stand up on a talk show and say, 'How am I supposed to explain to my child that two men are getting married?' ... I dunno, it's your shitty kid, you fucking' tell 'em. Why is that anyone else's problem? Two guys are in love but they can't get married because you don't want to talk to your ugly child for fuckin' five minutes?

We are only given one life. You want to waste it waging war against yourself, go right ahead." "Or you can fight for what you want,

I am just a muggle. A beige bitch muggle.

The best kind of love is the love that isn’t supposed to happen.

I am crouched in the trashy novel section, looking for cheap thrills and deep skills.

I’m in emotional purgatory, the up and the down, the right and the wrong. I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying not to… touch him

What’s a Muggle?” he asks, taking it from me. “I save that mug for special people, Kit. Don’t ask questions.

That’s why you never smile. You’d be a better man if you drank coffee.

Maybe people who have had too much of it. Or people who have had too little. Or people who are too shallow to appreciate its hard edges.

Hos before bros!” I yell at the phone. But it’s too late. A bro came, and both the hos are in turmoil.

I’m a predator. I wait for women to tell me what they want, and then I convince them that I can give it to them.” I laugh. “I already know you’re a man. Tell me something new.

Sweet is made sweeter after we eat something bitter.

You can’t run away to find yourself. Yourself is there no matter where you go.

Take off your shoes and stop running. Live barefoot and fucking fight.

I was just a flat line until he came along. And maybe now I'm hurting. But isn't that what love is supposed to do? Make you feel, make you brave, make you look at yourself more carefully?

Love is real and real love lasts. I used to feel sorry for people who didn't believe in it--the people who were lonely with someone else or lonely along. For awhile I was was one of the lucky ones.

Personally, I think it’s over-the-top to stab a guy for the man you love, but still perfectly affective.

no life of faith can be lived privately. There must be an overflow into the lives of others.

If hatred didn’t exist, love wouldn’t either, for one is formed by the other. I love and hate this town. —Marcus Evans

Humans seek connection above all else, and we are willing to destroy things to attain it.

K: Also, for being in my state- #Fuckyou.

I have a disease called can’t keep your fucking mouth shut

I fully expect him to do as I say. Hands on hips, I wait. After all, I am angry, and yelling— channeling my inner Professor McGonagall like a bad bitch.

I don’t know much about artists, but I’m beginning to feel as if they possess sorcery.

I feel compressed. I’m folding my emotions like a piece of paper—a tiny square, into a tiny square, into a tiny square. When they’re folded up enough I can leave them in a corner of my mind somewhere, to be forgotten. That’s how I deal, isn’t it? And sometimes, on a day like today, I imagine that my brain is littered with hundreds of bastard feelings I won’t claim.

Unhealthy love is based on two people trying to escape their problems through their emotions for each other--in other words, they're using each other as an escape. Healthy love is based on two people acknowledging and addressing their own problems with each other's support. ...The mark of an unhealthy relationship is when two people who try to solve each other's problems in order to feel good about themselves. Rather, a healthy relationship is when two people solve their own problems in other to feel good about each other.

F*ck, Cassie. What do you want to hear? How much I hate myself for getting drunk that night and losing the only girl in my life I've ever trusted and truly loved? How I called Dean fifty times a day for weeks begging him to tell me how I could get you back? Do you want to hear how fucking weak and pathetic I think I am for not being able to tell her no that night, when I knew what was at stake? His eyebrows pinched together and his jaw tensed as his emotions spilled out into the night air. "Do you want to hear how I tried to talk her out of keeping this baby so that it wouldn't fuck everything up? How I begged her not to keep it, told her I'd pay for everything, I'd drive her there and give her money after it was all over, just to please not to this to me. And then how much of an asshole I felt after that too? Who tells someone that?

There are cities that take your breath away by their sheer size; some by the beat of their rhythmic culture, but Seattle gives you your breath back. Fills your lungs. I take it in and feel like I can breathe for the first time in my life. My God, it’s like I’ve been looking for this place all along. My

It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever experienced, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it anyway. That’s the most pathetic part of being a human, the emotions you don’t ask for or want, they just rush you anyway.

People with strong boundaries understand that it's unreasonable to expect two people to accommodate each other 100 percent and fulfill every need the other has. People with strong boundaries understand that they may hurt someone's feelings sometimes, but ultimately they can't determine how other people feel. People with strong boundaries understand that a healthy relationship is not about controlling one another's emotions, but rather about each partner supporting the other in their individual growth and in solving their own problems. It's not about giving a fuck about everything your partner gives a fuck about. It's about giving a fuck about your partner regardless of the fucks he or she gives. That's unconditional love baby.

It’s often easier for someone to believe evil can’t exist inside someone they love, than to admit they’ve failed someone who should be more important. We see it too often. The blind eye effect is what we call it,

I start to speak again, but he grabs my mouth, painfully pushing it closed. The worst thing he could do is what he’s doing now. Silencing me. It was the worst part of it all. Being silenced, because no one wanted to hear. Now the one person I’ve opened myself up enough to love is silencing me.

Working hard at managing love doesn’t mean becoming supremely unselfish and generous in a totally unconditional, nonjudgmental way; it means becoming very judgmental about what you can expect from people and yourself and putting conditions on whom you allow yourself to get close to, love be damned.

No necesitas nada de nadie, a menos que sea el tipo de amor que te elige primero, siempre.

That’s how the truth works. If you avoid looking at it, you can pretend it’s not there.

I love you, little sister,” he says softly. “I love you, big brother,” I say back, clutching him tighter.

love humanity but I hate humans. —Albert Einstein

Who wants to survive without truth?

That’s easy to say until the person you love is happy with someone else. Girls always choose men, and men always choose the wrong girls. It’s an endless cycle.

I laugh and go back to looking at my magazine. Actually, it’s not really a magazine. It’s a math journal, because I’m super cool like that.

Don’t hurt your brain. This is awkward for all of us except June, who likes being awkward. Hello, from us to you. Now move aside; we are hungry for raw fish.

Sadie is keeping the baby, of course, because her dad is a minister, and she is pro-life. Not pro-abstinence.

I’m not brave enough to change with everyone watching me. I want to do it alone. I want it to be real.

People rely on you. You can’t just go down a different path and not warn anyone.

I almost have no nails left by the time his bubble pops up, but that’s cool because everyone has fingernails, and I like to be different.

Men don’t cheat because they’re not in love, they cheat because they don’t feel loved.

You don’t feel loved until you trust that the love being expressed toward you comes without any special conditions or baggage attached to it.

Trying to walk away from something you love is like trying to drown yourself. You want to, but it's unnatural to not crave air. Your body demands it; your mind says you need it. Eventually you break to the surface, gasping and unable to deny yourself that basic need of air. Of love. Of fierce desire.

You’ll shut the hell up right now, Lana,” he snaps, his eyes glistening with his own unshed tears. “I loved you. I cared about you. And you? All you fucking did was lie! You used me!

I kind of like being single. You’re not responsible to tell anyone where you are or who you’re with. It’s freedom and loneliness, exhilaration and inner calm. You don’t have to shave.

I don't do passion, and I sure don't do love. I f*ck. And that doesn't require a whole lot of demonstrative hoo-hah. Just technique. Which I have plenty of. -Roman Masterson of Cousins

He needs to know he has worked for your love and attention. What is given too soon and freely seems cheap. Your love and attention are not cheap. So be careful on whom you spend it.   High-value

I just want you to know that aside from any degree you get, or what job you get, or any accomplishment you make in life, you changed mine. You have that thing about you that changes other people.

While most people whittle their days chasing another buck, or a little bit more fame and attention, or a little bit more assurance that they're right or loved, death confronts all of us with a far more painful and important question: What is your legacy? How will the world be different and better when you're gone? What mark will you have made? What influence will you have caused? They say that a butterfly flapping its wings in Africa can cause a hurricane in Florida; well, what hurricanes will you leave in your wake?

Contrast is important in life. We understand what light is because we can compare it with what we know is dark. Sweet is made sweeter after we eat something bitter. It’s the very same with sadness. And it’s important to experience sadness, to embrace it in order to truly know happiness. I was just a flat line until he came along. And maybe now I’m hurting. But isn’t that what love is supposed to do? Make you feel, make you brave, make you look at yourself more carefully?

I think that the right girl can wipe away the memories of the wrong girl.” Wow. Okay. “Sure.” But I don’t think that. If that were true, there wouldn’t be so many humans pining for their long, lost love. We didn’t always want what was right. We wanted what we couldn’t have

Love is not supposed to be beautiful. It's supposed to be a raw, gritty struggle that forces you to face the most vulnerable parts of yourself, so that when the good times come, you can savor and enjoy them, fully appreciate what they're worth. Otherwise, you take it all for granted. — Lana Myers

Don’t be rude to the middle-agers,” he says. “They didn’t even have microwaves when they were young, and that’s really, really sad.” “Look, that’s not my fault,” I say, pointedly. “We lived without iPhone 6+. Sometimes life is hard.

Mickey cursed under his breath, letting his head fall back against the wall. His c*ck still beat angrily against his clothing. Once he would’ve simply sent for a whore. Now that thought was oddly unsatisfying. He could have a willing woman, a woman who would do anything he might request of her, even the most exotic acts of sex, but instead his flesh wanted just one woman. A woman who was as fierce in her maternal love as he had been as a boy in his will to survive.

Then you wanted to kill him. He’s too good to die. He’s everything opposite of us. His light still shines. I hope they have fun with you in hell. You sentenced yourself there the day you targeted the only thing that makes me feel as though there’s still a soul inside me left to be saved. The only thing I love more than revenge.

Don’t be upset that you can’t attain constant happiness. It’s the quickest way to feel like a failure in life. If each of our lives represented a page in a book, happiness would be the punctuation. It breaks up the parts that are too long. It closes off some things, divides others. But it’s brief—showing up when it’s needed and filling tired paragraphs with breaks. Being content is a more attainable constant state. To love your fate without being drunk on euphoria. Brave, determined acceptance removed of bitterness. Be gentle with yourself. Embrace the lows so that you can more effectively enjoy the highs. Love the fight. Love it so much, and let it save you when your emotional muscles have become soft.

They didn’t become great guys by choosing the easy road. So meeting a woman who has high standards only makes them more attracted to her. They love women who have strong personal boundaries and are confident enough to know what they want and demand it. High-quality men always respect women who do not tolerate manipulative games and have solid standards. Those standards need to be realistic, of course. Some women have impossible standards.   Both

The first time someone young and vibrant dies - someone you look up to, someone you relate to - it blows you back, right off your feet. Oh *#ck, we're all gonna die, nobody knows when, nobody knows how, you think. And in that moment, you realize how little control you have over your own destiny. From the time you're born, you have no control; you can't choose your parents, and, unless you're suicidal, you can't choose you're death. The only thing you can do is choose the person you love, be kind to others, and make your brutally short stint on earth as pleasant as possible.

What the hell was that action?"Syn asked him. "I think it´s something called ´paternal concern.´" Syn scowled at his bland explanation. "What...? You sure? I thought that crap was a myth." Nykyrian shrugged. "No, really. I watched it once in a documentary. It was fascinating. Belive it or not, there are people out there who actually have feelings for their progeny." "Get the f*ck out. No way. You´re screwing with my head again, aren´t you?" "No, I swear. You just saw it with your own eyes. I did not make this shit up." Syn shivered. "Yeah but it´s really messing with my concept of natural order of the universe. Paternal love? What´s next? Limp regrowth? Genetic splicing reversals?

Men love to work hard to get and help a woman they like (this final part being the crucial part). It’s been engrained in their instincts to want to take care of their woman. However, men hate it when a woman doesn’t hold her own, when she becomes dependent on him. Not financially, of course, but emotionally. He wants to know what you’re passionate about, what makes you tick, and what makes you love life. That’s why any man quickly gets bored of the nice girl who makes her life revolve around him.

The victim, if he really loved the saver, would say, “Look, this is my problem; you don’t have to fix it for me. Just support me while I fix it myself.” That would actually be a demonstration of love: taking responsibility for your own problems and not holding your partner responsible for them. If the saver really wanted to save the victim, the saver would say, “Look, you’re blaming others for your own problems; deal with this yourself.” And in a sick way, that would actually be a demonstration of love: helping someone solve their own problems. Instead,

Love is not supposed to be beautiful. It’s supposed to be a raw, gritty struggle that forces you to face the most vulnerable parts of yourself, so that when the good times come, you can savor and enjoy them, fully appreciate what they’re worth. Otherwise, you take it all for granted. —Lana Myers Fuck the list. It’s time for the endgame

I’ve never been in love, not until her, and I never want to be again—it hurts. Love hurts in the way a toothache hurts: you can’t ignore it, and it’s always there throbbing and aching, reminding you ... of what? I think desperately. What is it reminding you of? That you’re human. That you have weakness. That your weakness is another person.

not. Dr. Robert Glover, a psychologist, has studied the behaviors of Nice Guys for a very long time, and he concludes that Nice Guys are actually not that nice. They manipulate the women they are with. They try to get something from them (affection, sex, love) by being nice to them. They’re not just nice to be nice; they want something in return.   Have

You know that's not true. We have something, Helena. In another life, it would have been a beautiful something." That hurts. God, does it. I've seen that life. He doesn't even know what he's talking about. In his mind, I'm just some possibility that could have been, but in my mind, he's the only possibility. I step close to him, close enough to see the stubble on his cheeks. I reach up to touch it, and it scrapes against the tender side of my hand. Kit closes his eyes. "There's a house uptown on Washington ; we live there together in that life," I say softly. "Everything is green, green, green in our backyard. We have two children, a boy and a girl. She looks like you," I say. "But she acts like me." I carees his cheek because I know it's the last time I'm going to get to do it. Kit's eyes are open and storming. I run my teeth across my bottom lip before I continue. "In the summer, we make love outside, against the big wooden table that still holds our dinner dishes. And we talk about all the places we want to make love." I lick the tears from my lip where they are pooling. Running in a straight line down my cheeks, a leaky faucet. "And we're so happy, Kit. It's like a dream every day." I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him softly on the lips, letting him taste my tears. He's staring at me so hard I want to crack. "But, it's just a dream, isn't it?

Heart pounding, he collapsed on top of her, claiming her lips with his as he did so, making love to her mouth with his tongue as his spent c#ck continued to spasm inside her p#ssy. Wanting to give her pleasure even as the steel left his length. She wrapped her arms around his back, tangling her legs with his as she returned his kiss. The pulsing pressure of her fading orgasm on his dick was an unbearable caress he would willingly endure until the end of time. An affirmation of the pleasure he gave her. A confirmation of what his heart had been telling him since he’d first laid eyes on her: he was hers. Irrevocably and unquestionably.

Confronting the reality of our own mortality is important because it obliterates all the crappy, fragile, superficial values in life. While most people whittle their days chasing another buck, or a little bit more fame and attention, or a little bit more assurance that they’re right or loved, death confronts all of us with a far more painful and important question: What is your legacy? How

I am not just reading a book; I am invested in the book. If George, Denver, and Stephanie Brown don't get their shit together, I am never going to read another book again. Kit enjoys my commitment to their story, but we don't talk about it in front of Della. Della was a part of the Twilight mania, and after reading one chapter of Kit's untitled manuscript she asked if there were werewolves or vampires in the story. Kit shut her down real fast after that.

Neptune looked at a tree I did last week and made a weird sound in the back of his throat. I’m no grunting expert, but it sounded like impressed approval to me. I’ve imitated that sound twice since then—once at a restaurant with Neil who asked me if I had something lodged in my throat, and once on the phone with my mother who wanted to bring me soup for the cold I was coming down with. Some people aren’t good with expressive communication. It’s not their fault.

When you date as many women as I have, you learn that everyone has a construct they want to portray. Personalities become like outfits: carefully curated, a smokescreen for the brokenness inside. It’s hard to tell what’s underneath the layers everyone is wearing. Billie is the first woman I’ve met who comes at you naked. She admits when she’s wrong, isn’t afraid of telling you the terrible truth about what she’s done, and doesn’t have a secret agenda. She is what she is and that’s exactly what I fell in love with.

He entered the room, noticing three things at once. There was a fire beginning to build in the small brick fireplace on the wall to his left, the room smelt like its owner, clean and delicate and flowery, and Lauren lay stretched on the bed. Naked. His heart slammed harder against his chest and his c#ck twitched again. At this rate, it wouldn’t take long at all before he would be sliding into her. Jesus, just looking at her turned him on. Turned him on and left him at her mercy. No, that wasn’t right. Left him…absolute. Without her in his life, he’d been insubstantial.

Get in or you’ll miss the fun.” Fun? I slid into the seat. The engine purred to life. She floored the accelerator and the car jerked forward. She took a hard right and the tires screeched when she pulled out onto the main road. I gripped the armrest. “Who the f*ck gave you your license?” “Watch your language, Noah, and the state of Kentucky. Why did you miss your appointment?” I loved fast driving. Isaiah and I had drag raced all last summer. What I didn’t love was a middle-aged nut job who couldn’t steer straight. “You want to pull over and let me drive?” Mrs. Collins laughed and cut off a tractor trailer merging onto the freeway. “You’re a riot. Focus, Noah. The appointment.”

Remember, it’s your novel, your name, your hours of toil and trouble, so write the novel you want to write. Tell the story you want to tell. But also remember: you want someone to read it, so write a novel that people who do not love you or even know you will want to read. How? Be entertaining. Be true. Be smart. Be specific. Begin with a specific character in a specific kind of trouble in a specific place at a specific time. Get your characters to talk to each other, but not too much. Don’t have them say everything they mean. Have them say things they don’t mean, things that are not true, things that are only half-true. In other words, make them human. Have them do things they shouldn’t do. Have them make mistakes you never would. Have them fail and keep on trying.

In the past I was a vicious hunter. I would stalk my prey with pinpoint accuracy. Ever since Monica came into my life I’ve abstained from the game. It almost feels strange to stand here and look to the crowd knowing I could pick one and f*ck them into oblivion. I won’t though. I may love her, but that isn’t the reason. If I were to pick someone for the sake of revenge sex then I’m giving control to Monica and Dalton for betraying me. I’m strong enough to wait. A good hunter is always patient and never stalks in anger.' 'I always crack it until Tobias stops flinching at the sound. It’s never the same amount of times. I don’t want it to become obvious so I always do it a few more times to create a sense of surprise. I coil up the leather and with the flick of my wrist I set a perfect line against Monica’s back. She yelps in pain and surprise, and Tobias joins her. He thought he’d get the first blow. I breathe through the pounding in my cock. It beats in time with my rapidly beating heart. I flick my wrist again taking Monica across the shoulder. I see Tobias tense as she screams. Mustn’t allow the slaves to think they are taking even turns. The blow’s shock is what makes my cock burn for release. I palm my balls as they tighten, threatening to shoot my release up the stock of my dick. I inhale through my nose and breathe out my mouth until I regain my control. I flick my wrist again and hit Monica across her thighs. She screams bloody murder at the ceiling and I smile to myself. It hurts like a bitch, but the marks will fade. I never break skin. This is my passion- my gift.