Clayton Young Quotes

It breaks my heart the way young girls pick themselves over, never thinking they're good enough. You make sure you always remember, you're exactly the way you're supposed to be. Exactly. And anyone who says otherwise, well, poppycock.

The guy looks young enough to be your kid, Grace. Yes, but only if I’d really slutted it up in junior high…

His gaze grew wistful, and he looked so young. 'I don't want to put things off, even though we haven't been together a really long time. I don't want to wait--you never know what can...Look. I adore you, and I want a home. Again. With you.

I pulled out the small velvet box I had kept in my pocket all day and got down on one knee. And then she did the craziest thing. She fell down to her knees in front of me. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be on my knees here. You’re ruining the moment

But my parents were there when I needed them, always there. The idea that I would someday have to walk the earth without their anchor and misguided guidance made me wince....

C, it was like my breath was stolen. My heart seemed to merge with yours. When you came into my life, all I wanted was you. All I thought about was you. Your smile, your laugh, your lips, and your eyes seemed to hold me captive.” ~Tru~

My stomach knotted up as heat surged through me. Why did I feel like melting every time I saw him, or heard him talk? “Stop that right now.” I blushed. “I know what you’re doing, Jace, and it’s not going to work.” Jace and Charlie.

Her scream of utter horror and fright was a sound that no one in the chamber would ever forget. ~Crispin.~

Jace’s husky voice almost came out in a purr. He said, “You want to make a bet on that, Charlie.” Oh yeah, he can sell that stuff alright. “No worries,” Jace was saying. “I only have eyes for you.” He touched the tip of my nose with his finger. I swatted him away. Jace laughed. ~Jace~

Hell, yes. I love you; that’s not going to change. I want this, I want you, and I think . . . Oh hell, here comes the Dawson’s Creek.” He grimaced and I chuckled in spite of the moment. His gaze grew wistful, and he looked so young. “I don’t want to put things off, even though we haven’t been together a really long time. I don’t want to wait—you never know what can . . . Look. I adore you, and I want a home. Again. With you.

The fight against yourself is such a fearful war.

I’m a reasonably attractive young gal, great rack, nice legs, and never had any complaints in the sack. But I’d never been—cue sad music—in love before. And no one had ever been—cue sadder music—in love with me.

Oh. C’mon, pretty girl. I like it when ya scream.” The leader breathed into my ear. I spat as good as I could on his hand. He jumped back glaring. I said, “Funny. You like it when I scream? Yet you cover my mouth!” I laughed then winced.

I do not yet understand whether my life is worth that. Whether it is worth all that pain and suffering. Whether it is worth anything at all.

Why can’t I take you? Why is it so hard? You have the other half of my soul; with you I will be complete! So. Then. Why?” Crispin murmured clenching his fists. Oh, he pitied the fool who would be in his way once he returned to his domain. “Oh, what suffering will befall them in her place,” he smiled wickedly. ~Crispin~

One of the most common versions of this mistake that high-potential young professionals make is believing that investments in life can be sequenced.

Life doesn't make any sense." "It's not supposed to.

For everyone who has been turned away for not being 'ill' enough, or given a list of phone numbers instead of the help they needed, or told "it gets better" even though a promise of tomorrow doesn't help today. You deserved so much more.

King established a Pan-African frame for what was to follow. He harkened back to a night in West Africa in 1957 when he stood with Ralph Bunche and the black congressmen Adam Clayton Powell and Charles Diggs and witnessed Kwame Nkrumah’s installation as the first president of the new nation of Ghana. Being there had called up the most primal associations, linking him, present-day Africans, and his own slave forebears in an intimate embrace. He had strolled the streets of Accra and wept with joy as he heard both young and old Ghanaians calling out “free-doom!

Tallis had persevered through and unshakable feeling of not truly belonging... She understood the responsibility her family constraints put upon her, and while Lana knew Tallis's heart trembled and raged at the perceived indignity of it all, she had grown up into a charming, beautiful woman with shoulders that refused to bow to a world that demanded they should.

The Khawla historian says the people of this planet were like a virus—multiplying endlessly, consuming every resource they could wrench from land and sky, acting as if all they could survey was theirs for the taking and the ruining. Every time their planet cried out, they ignored its pleas. Instead of curbing their wasteful desires—their fossil fuels and their petroleum-fueled lives—they simply expanded their settlements, moved to new places, plundered more ground, until their land could bear it no longer and erupted in fire. There were many among the young who had spoken the truth, who gave warning of what their future could hold, but on this planet, old men didn’t plan for futures they knew they wouldn’t be there to enjoy. They couldn’t see past themselves.

In the car ahead, Jane was thinking fast and furiously. She had felt the purpose for which Tarzan had asked a few words with her, and she knew that she must be prepared to give him an answer in the very near future. He was not the sort of person one could put off, and somehow that very thought made her wonder if she did not really fear him. And could she love where she feared? She realized the spell that had been upon her in the depths of that far-off jungle, but there was no spell of enchantment now in prosaic Wisconsin. Nor did the immaculate young Frenchman appeal to the primal woman in her, as had the stalwart forest god. Did she love him? She did not know—now. She glanced at Clayton out of the corner of her eye. Was not here a man trained in the same school of environment in which she had been trained—a man with social position and culture such as she had been taught to consider as the prime essentials to congenial association? Did not her best judgment point to this young English nobleman, whose love she knew to be of the sort a civilized woman should crave, as the logical mate for such as herself? Could she love Clayton? She could see no reason why she could not. Jane was not coldly calculating by nature, but training, environment and heredity had all combined to teach her to reason even in matters of the heart. That she had been carried off her feet by the strength of the young giant when his great arms were about her in the distant African forest, and again today, in the Wisconsin woods, seemed to her only attributable to a temporary mental reversion to type on her part—to the psychological appeal of the primeval man to the primeval woman in her nature. If he should never touch her again, she reasoned, she would never feel attracted toward him. She had not loved him, then. It had been nothing more than a passing hallucination, super-induced by excitement and by personal contact. Excitement would not always mark their future relations, should she marry him, and the power of personal contact eventually would be dulled by familiarity. Again she glanced at Clayton. He was very handsome and every inch a gentleman. She should be very proud of such a husband.

What are they really trying to accomplish and why isn’t what they’re doing now working? What is causing their desire for something new? One simple way to think about these questions is through storyboarding. Talk to consumers as if you’re capturing their struggle in order to storyboard it later. Pixar has this down to a science: as you piece together your customers’ struggle, you can literally sketch out their story: Once upon a time . . . Every day . . . One day . . . Because of that, we did this . . . Because of this, we did that . . . Finally I did . . . You’re building their story, because through that you can begin to understand how the competing forces and context of the job play out for them. Airbnb’s founders clearly understood this. Before launching, the company meticulously identified and then storyboarded forty-five different emotional moments for Airbnb hosts (people willing to rent out their spare room or entire home) and guests. Together, those storyboards almost make up a minidocumentary of the jobs people are hiring Airbnb to do. “When you storyboard something, the more realistic it is, the more decisions you have to make,” CEO Brian Chesky told Fast Company. “Are these hosts men or women? Are they young, are they old? Where do they live? The city or the countryside? Why are they hosting? Are they nervous? It’s not that they [the guests] show up to the house. They show up to the house, how many bags do they have? How are they feeling? Are they tired? At that point you start designing for stuff for a very particular use case.

Lamar, Sr. began coaching his son at a young age, throwing the football with him and helping him get faster. By the age of eight, Lamar could outrun many high school track athletes.

[April 23, 1852. Friday.]...Arrived at Provo at noon...This town looks dirty. The houses look miserable, and many young men idling in the Streets. It seems there is not much energy here, and there seems to be little spirit of accommodation or friendship among people.

Clayton reported Brigham Young saying that “the man must love his God and the woman must love her husband,” adding that “woman will never get back, unless she follows the man back.

Carter-Williams was born into an athletic family on October 10, 1991, in Hamilton, Massachusetts to Mandy Carter and Earl Williams.

She was extremely gentle, very shy, and she was someone that as a young girl you thought was everything a princess should be. Very beautiful, very young, very calm – and yet there was a kind of nervousness about her. But the feeling inside the cathedral was just enormous. It’s a very hollow place but it was filled with so much warmth and excitement. . 

Where is he?” “Gabby.  Before you do anything else, I’d like two minutes of your time.  You need to hear what I have to say.” My anger at Sam still lay in a dark, dormant pool inside me.  I didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say.  Some of my anger and frustration collapsed in on itself as I acknowledged the truth.  Sam’s dishonesty bothered me, but my brush with freedom, to have it so close and then ripped away in the last few seconds, hurt more.  Besides, if I didn’t hear him out, I’d wonder what he had wanted to tell me.  Defeated, I agreed. “Fine, but please hurry.” Sam turned and walked back to his bed.  I followed. “His name is Clay,” Sam said, sitting on the lumpy mattress.  “Clayton Michael Lawe.”  He looked up at me as I moved closer and eyed me from head to toe. In the brighter light of the living area, I really did look like I’d been dragged, or at least rolled, in mud.  How had I slept through someone carrying me for miles? “He’s twenty-five and completely alone.  His mother died when he was young.  An accident.  Shot by a hunter while she was in her fur.  His dad took him to the woods.” That meant he’d been raised more wolf than boy.  Sam had explained much of the recent pack history to me when we’d first started coming to the Compound.  They’d only maintained enough of the original buildings to keep up appearances and used the 360 acres that came with it to live as wolves.  Charlene’s arrival had brought about huge changes, mostly in the social aspect of the pack.  Afterward, most pack members started acclimating to their skin.  Only a few of the old school werewolves still preferred their fur. “His father died a few years back,” Sam continued, pulling me from my own thoughts.  “Clay’s been on his own ever since, still choosing to live in his fur more than his skin.  He’s quiet and has never been trouble.  He comes when an Elder calls for him but still claims no pack as his own.  So, by pack law, he’s considered Forlorn.” Forlorn.

I looked at her dress and I thought, Oh no, it’s awful. Because it was all scrunched up, it looked terrible. I just remember thinking, It doesn’t look like it’s been ironed. The Emanuels reacted the same way and dashed to the rescue. Once the train was properly spread out on the carpeted steps, it looked as dazzling as the young woman who was wearing it.

Indigenous Lives Holding Our World Together, by Brenda J. Child American Indian Stories, by Zitkala-Sa A History of My Brief Body, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Falling Sky: Words of a Yanomami Shaman, by Davi Kopenawa and Bruce Albert Apple: Skin to the Core, by Eric Gansworth Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot The Blue Sky, by Galsan Tschinag Crazy Brave, by Joy Harjo Standoff, by Jacqueline Keeler Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me, by Sherman Alexie Spirit Car, by Diane Wilson Two Old Women, by Velma Wallis Pipestone: My Life in an Indian Boarding School, by Adam Fortunate Eagle Split Tooth, by Tanya Tagaq Walking the Rez Road, by Jim Northrup Mamaskatch, by Darrel J. McLeod Indigenous Poetry Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings, by Joy Harjo Ghost River (Wakpá Wanági), by Trevino L. Brings Plenty The Book of Medicines, by Linda Hogan The Smoke That Settled, by Jay Thomas Bad Heart Bull The Crooked Beak of Love, by Duane Niatum Whereas, by Layli Long Soldier Little Big Bully, by Heid E. Erdrich A Half-Life of Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation, by Eric Gansworth NDN Coping Mechanisms, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Invisible Musician, by Ray A. Young Bear When the Light of the World Was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through, edited by Joy Harjo New Poets of Native Nations, edited by Heid E. Erdrich The Failure of Certain Charms, by Gordon Henry Jr. Indigenous History and Nonfiction Everything You Know About Indians Is Wrong, by Paul Chaat Smith Decolonizing Methodologies, by Linda Tuhiwai Smith Through Dakota Eyes: Narrative Accounts of the Minnesota Indian War of 1862, edited by Gary Clayton Anderson and Alan R. Woodworth Being Dakota, by Amos E. Oneroad and Alanson B. Skinner Boarding School Blues, edited by Clifford E. Trafzer, Jean A. Keller, and Lorene Sisquoc Masters of Empire, by Michael A. McDonnell Like a Hurricane: The Indian Movement from Alcatraz to Wounded Knee, by Paul Chaat Smith and Robert Allen Warrior Boarding School Seasons, by Brenda J. Child They Called It Prairie Light, by K. Tsianina Lomawaima To Be a Water Protector, by Winona LaDuke Minneapolis: An Urban Biography, by Tom Weber

Plus, one could have young organs, but still be sick. Illness cares nothing of age.

A promise is a promise. A contract is a contract.' Mama B scowled and snatched the money. 'Mark my words. You've swallowed a storm of misfortune. I will drown you before long. You thought your family was bad luck before...

I do not yet understand whether my life is worth that. Whether it is worth all that pain and suffering. Whether it is worth anything at all.

His physical gifts might have been what initially brought him to the NBA, but what truly got Giannis Antetokounmpo to the dance from a skinny and raw foreign player to a leading MVP contender was his hard work. After all, many different players in the past have had similar physical tools but did not have the desire to be great that Giannis has. This desire and hunger for greatness were born from the fact that he needed to work for the things that he wanted when he was still very young because of how poor he and his family were. The tools were already there but it was his hunger for greatness that ultimately allowed him to have one of the greatest work ethics the game has seen since the time of the late great Kobe Bryant.

TOM CLARE A young man sauntered down the lane leading to the park. He shook his head to-and-fro and walked in a curiously disjointed way, punching the air with his right fist and stamping his feet, raising little clouds of dust as he went.

Tallis wasn't sure what love was, but she was beginning to understand what it could be. It seemed only fitting that as soon as she thought she had found it, that she would be forced to give it up in order to save Selkirk from the sins of its past.

​Yes, we were the Claytons from Dayton. Quaint and cheerful. Well, I was beginning to learn, at quite a young age, that our family was far from quaint and cheerful. As I confronted my father on this late summer dawn, I could sense his desire to dash out the door without any further questions from me.                                                                                          “I felt hurt and I didn't know why. ‘Daddy, are you leaving us?’ “My father made a face that I can only describe as a grimace. He glanced up the stairs towards the bedrooms where everyone else was sound asleep and then set his suitcase down at the door. Creeping over to me, he avoided that pesky loose floorboard. ‘No, no. I'm just going on a little vacation’ ‘Why aren't you taking us on vacation?’ I demanded, trying not to sound wounded and whiny.  ‘Well because, Katie, this is a trip for work.

Even at that young age, the saying “the sky is the limit” did not apply to VC. There were simply no limitations to how much more his athleticism would develop when Vince was still a growing teenager.

The Risk of Sequencing Life Investments One of the most common versions of this mistake that high-potential young professionals make is believing that investments in life can be sequenced. The logic is, for example, “I can invest in my career during the early years when our children are small and parenting isn’t as critical. When our children are a bit older and begin to be interested in things that adults are interested in, then I can lift my foot off my career accelerator. That’s when I’ll focus on my family.