Clearwater Quotes

Nudity was an inconvenient but unavoidable part of pack life. We’d all thought nothing of it before Leah came along. Then it got awkward.

Jesper shrugged again. He adjusted the buttons on his shirt, touched his thumbs to his revolvers. When he felt like this, mad and scattered, it was as if his hands had a life of their own. His whole body itched. He needed to get out of this room. Wylan laid his hand on Jesper’s shoulder. “Stop.” Jesper didn’t know if he wanted to jerk away or pull him closer. “Just stop,” Wylan said. “Breathe.” Wylan’s gaze was steady. Jesper couldn’t look away from that clear-water blue. He forced himself to still, inhaled, exhaled. “Again,” Wylan said, and when Jesper opened his mouth to take another breath, Wylan leaned forward and kissed him. Jesper’s mind emptied. He wasn’t thinking of what had happened before or what might happen next. There was only the reality of Wylan’s mouth, the press of his lips, then the fine bones of his neck, the silky feel of his curls as Jesper cupped his nape and drew him nearer. This was the kiss he’d been waiting for. It was a gunshot. It was prairie fire. It was the spin of Makker’s Wheel. Jesper felt the pounding of his heart—or was it Wylan’s?—like a stampede in his chest, and the only thought in his head was a happy, startled, Oh. Slowly, inevitably, they broke apart. “Wylan,” Jesper said, looking into the wide blue sky of his eyes, “I really hope we don’t die.

I never knew true fear until I met pure evil. He wore a smile and a bow tie.

Oh, that,' said Ginny, giggling. 'Well-Percy's got a girlfriend.' Fred dropped a stack of books on George's head. 'What?' 'It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,' said Ginny. 'That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was-you know-attacked. You won't tease him, will you?' she added anxiously. 'Wouldn't dream of it,' said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.

When you start walking on egg shells around people, that’s when you know that those are people you don’t need to be around. Life’s too short to pretend to be anyone else.

I may be a lot of things, Doc. A criminal. Sure. A very good dresser. Absolutely. A man with a huge cock. Fuck, yes.” His face grew serious. “But I’m no fucking liar.

Because my name is Samuel Clearwater, and I take orders from no one. Not even death.

Across the dying fire, Seth Clearwater - his eyes wide with adulation for the fraternity of tribal protectors- nodded his agreement.

This is making me sick, Jacob. Can you imagine what this feels like to me? I don’t even like Bella Swan. And you’ve got me grieving over this leech-lover like I’m in love with her, too. Can you see where that might be a little confusing? I dreamed about kissing her last night! What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Above all else, I felt his love. He’d said he couldn’t keep me. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t always be his.

I want to know, have you ever seen rain comin down on a sunny day?

She was the girl I was in love with. The girl I would always be in love with. Until my very last breath.

The funny thing about life is that even though something entirely earth-shattering rocks you to your core, something that shakes you off your axis, the world around you somehow doesn’t feel the impact.

Hey Doc?” he asked, searching my eyes. His laugh quieted and his smile fell. My stomach flipped. “Yeah?” “This time…I’m gonna keep you.

Because pancakes.” ****

Listen, life isn’t about what happened to you in your past, it’s about where you are now and where you’re going. Onward and upward and all that jazz.” “That’s

The saying that blood was thicker than water didn’t mean jack shit to me because I knew who my family was and blood was something we spilled for one another, not shared.

I wanted to see her sad. Taste her tears. I wanted to know what she sounded like when she cried. In pain, in pleasure, in both.

I have nightmares all the time. You know what’s the only thing that makes them go away?” He placed his hand over mine. “You. You silence the world when it’s too fucking loud. You make me feel less broken.

You want to be high? You can be high on me. You want to take the edge off? I’m gonna do just that, baby.

What if the stains are too great?” “No, you’ll see. It’s the stains that make us human,

He'd said he couldn't keep me. That didn't mean I wouldn't always be his .

There are times when a lie can’t be helped. Honesty is a fickle bitch like that. I don’t believe in filtering, though. When you start walking on egg shells around people, that’s when you know that those are people you don’t need to be around. Life’s too short to pretend to be anyone else. I’m just me. I say what I want to fucking say. I do what I want to do and I don’t fucking apologize for it.

You killed him." I held up my index finger and my thumb, slowly closing the gap between them, peering over at Dre through the tiny slit that remained. "Little bit." "I don't think you can kill someone a little bit." "Oh, well then, a lot bit. I killed him a lot bit.

Take me to unexplored paradise & one of your best islands, I want to cross the pacific ocean and make a great memory. Let's go to the eastern coast of the Philippines where the waves meet the sky. You know where it is!

The first stirring of any kind of desire in over a year comes courtesy of the devil in a bow tie. Man, I was really fucked up.

Challenge accepted. We were over well before we had a chance to get started, but we were about to go out with a bang.

We gotta seize the day. Carpe the diem while we still have diem’s to carpe and all that shit.

Why do you have a gun?” I asked, without thinking of how stupid my question really was. Maybe, if he ever put his god dammed shirt back on, my case of stupid would turn back off. “Why do I have a gun?” he repeated, like it was the ridiculous question that it was. “’Cause throwing bullets by hand isn’t exactly effective.

I don’t give two fucks what happens to me. I don’t even know who I am to care about so how the fuck am I supposed to take care of you?” “Samuel Clearwater, I might have needed you to take care of me once and you did. You saved my life. But I’m not that girl anymore. I can take care of myself. I can save myself if I need saving and if you need me to then I can save you too.

You look good, Clearwater. Been working out?' Danie teased. 'He does, doesn't he?'Janelle agreed. 'This will totally work.' James' eyes darted back and forth between the girls, his head spinning. 'Wait, what will work?

Us southern boys can pretty much make a grill out of anything,” Preppy said, plating the last burger. “I’m like a redneck MacGyver.

Oh, motherfucking holy shit of fucking fucks.

Life’s too short to pretend to be anyone else. I’m just me. I say what I want to fucking say. I do what I want to do and I don’t fucking apologize for it.

The best kind of people are the ones that come into your life and make you see the sun where you once saw clouds.   The people that believe in you so much, you start to believe in you too.   The people that love you simply for being you.   The once in a lifetime kind of people.

My strength had always been in my amazing ability to be completely and brutally honest. Of course, the gift of honesty was in addition to my sense of humor, wit, charm, character, striking good looks, phenomenal – yet classic – sense of style, and last but not least, the tribungus slab of man meat dangling between my legs. But I motherfucking digress.

Name’s Samuel Clearwater. What’s yours?” I stopped and turned to him. He extended his hand to me and I uncrossed my arms and shook it. For a gangly kid who was the same age as I was, he dressed and spoke like a foul-mouthed grandfather, someone too old to give a shit about filtering his words. And what eleven year old shook hands?

I'm serious, baby. The Doors are the only western rock band that really gets the heart and soul of Japan. A samurai knows that he can die at any time. That's what makes life precious. And don't even talk to me about lame hippie whiners like John Fogerty and Creedence Clearwater revival. Jim Morrison . . . samurai! John Fogerty . . . ham on rye!

Preppy leans back on the siding and hooks his thumbs under his suspenders, stretching and releasing them several times before he speaks. “Sooo…I hate to be the bearer of interesting news, but you’re looking at her like you want to eat her. Stalk much?” “No, I’m fucking not,” I snap defensively. Too defensively. Preppy releases his suspenders and holds up his hands like he’s on the receiving end of a hold-up. “Whoa, whoa. Don’t go getting your panties in a twist, little brother. I didn’t say stalking was a bad thing. In fact, if you need some pointers, I’d be happy to enrol you in Preppy’s How To Stalk Like a Mofo 101.

I don’t kiss him back.

This wasn’t going to be some sort of warm and fuzzy reunion. No, it was a fucking relapse.

Because, baby girl. If hurt is what you want, hurt is what I can do.” “What…what

I came to Logan’s Beach for closure. Instead, I was leaving the same way I left the first time. With a broken heart.

But I was saved by someone. I wouldn’t call him a guardian angel exactly. More like a devil with good timing.

Do you always talk this much?” he asks, his hard stare shifts gears to slightly amused. I swallow hard. “Yep. I have anxiety. The need to fill the silence with word vomit is one of the sexier side-effects. You don’t like it? I’ll be happy to be on my merry, babbling way.

There ain’t many people out there who have my respect. Respect needs to be earned. Preppy’s got mine. The man might have a case of verbal diarrhea there ain’t no cure for, but he’s been through hell and back. He’s been tortured and brutalized the likes of which most folks can’t begin to imagine. Most men, the strongest of men, in both body and spirit would’ve caved after that. Not Preppy. Not Samuel Motherfucking Clearwater.

There we stood, in the middle of the living room, hugging it out, each trying to hold back our tears until our need to cry outweighed our need to be the manly fucking men we were and we were no longer able to hold in the tears. “I’m not fucking crying,” Bear sobbed. “Me either, you fucking pussy,” I sobbed back as my old friend held me tighter and we hugged and punched each other hard on the backs until I was sure we were going to give each other bruises, and if it went on much longer, probably some broken ribs. When he finally let go of me we quickly wiped our eyes and noses on our t-shirts, because real men don’t fucking cry.

You’re never leaving me. Say it. You’re never fucking leaving me,” Preppy ground out. I wanted to say the words back, but I was literally being fucked senseless. I began to see stars. Brief flashes of white light as he fucked the words into my heart the same way he was fucking my pussy. Passionate. Relentless. Rough. Frenzied. We were all of that and more. So much more.

in such a rush that I tripped over Mirna’s pet pig in the hallway. Oscar grunted and oinked, and even in the darkness I saw the disapproving glare in his piggy eyes. “Fuck you, Oscar, don’t be all judgey,” I whispered. More grunting. “One more look like that and I’ll tell Mirna how you like to dry hump her teddy bear collection during her afternoon nap.” The oinking stopped and he backed away into the bathroom, where I’d set up the giant dog bed he slept on. I flashed him a smug winning look and flipped him off. I

That's bullshit, buddy. And you know it. The trouble was, he DIDN'T know it. He had come face to face with something Susannah had found out for herself after shooting the bear: he could TALK about how he didn't want to be a gunslinger, how he didn't want to be tramping around this crazy world where the three of them seemed to be the only human life, that what he really wanted more than anything else was to be standing on the corner of Broadway and Forty-second Street, popping his fingers, munching a chili-dog, and listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival blast out of his Walkman earphones as he watched the girls go by, those ultimately sexy New York girls with their pouty go-to-hell mouths and their long legs in short skirts. He could talk about those things until he was blue in the face, but his heart knew other things. It knew that he had ENJOYED blowing the electronic menagerie back to glory, at least while the game was on and Roland's gun was his own private handheld thunderstorm. He had ENJOYED kicking the robot rat, even though it had hurt his foot and even though he had been scared shitless. In some weird way, that part--the being scared part--actually seemed to add to the enjoyment. All that was bad enough, but his heart knew something even worse: that if a door leading back to New York appeared in front of him right now, he might not walk through it. Not, at least, until he had seen the Dark Tower for himself. He was beginning to believe that Roland's illness was a communicable disease.