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.

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

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

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?

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

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.

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.

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

Because pancakes.” ****

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.

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

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 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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

I don’t kiss him back.

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One scorching hug stood out from all the others—Seth Clearwater had braved the throng of vampires to stand in for my lost werewolf friend.

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.

Samuel Clearwater, I promise I’ll never leave you,” I whispered, my voice as shaky as my limbs. “I love you.” Preppy closed his eyes. A lazy, satisfied smile appeared on his face. He dropped his head back onto my chest. “Love doesn’t even begin to cover it, Doc.

Because you are the light in all of my dark,” I said, reciting a line from the letter he’d written me. Preppy

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. The way back will be paved with blood.

You should know by now, Doc, that even death can’t keep a motherfucker down,” preppy said with a devilish smile.

but 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.

Jake looked at me as if I’d sprouted a dick on the middle of my forehead. “Long story. I’ll tell you all about it over a body sometime.

We all bloom to wilt.

Taming Preppy would be like trying to put a leash on the wind. However,

nice of him to offer.” I nod. “He says it’s no big deal because the shop’s on his way home.” Jodi’s mouth twitches at this, but she says nothing. I finish my breakfast and we head

One, she didn’t need to be saved. Two, I was in no fucking shape to be anyone’s knight.

The second I spotted him in the crows I knew this wasn't going to be some sort of warm and fuzzy reunion. No, it was a fucking relapse.

You should know by now, Doc, that even death can't keep a motherfucker down," Preppy said with a devilish smile.

You are as sexy as fuck and as your equally sexy as fuck husband, it’s my job as the alpha to make sure everyone knows you’re mine.

I’m a man who knows it’s time to stop running away and start running toward and I’m choosing to run to you, Doc. Forever.

Tucker Ingram

Stalking is such a strong word. I prefer tracking with interest

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.

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. Or

Ummm…what the hell is that?” Kevin asked, looking at the table in the trailer. “Manure,” I answered. “Really?” “No. Not really,” I sighed. “It’s a body-shaped plastic bag, Kevin. What the fuck do you think it is?

All right. It’s been decided.” I reached out and squeezed Bear’s hand like Grace had squeezed mine, and he retracted it like I’d given him a severe case of the cooties. “We are just gonna have to get gay-married.” “Shut

Preppy is capable of both cruelty and mercy, of both murder and salvation. He’s been the victim, the villain, and the hero. What I don’t think he’ll ever realize is that this gives him a power most men would dare not aspire to.

I may not have found Bo, but I did find someone else. An old friend of mine I didn’t even know I missed. And his name was Revenge. “Reunited and it feels so goooooood,” I sang out the open truck window as we flew over The Causeway.

That’s one of the reasons I’m here. In town. For closure. I’ve made so many mistakes. So freaking many.” “Did you find it?” Preppy asked. “Your closure?” I looked over to the dark corner and felt his eyes on me when I whispered, “Not even close.

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

Hear me when I say that you are more than one thing. A person can be both sensitive and heartless. Both selfish and selfless. Quiet and loud. Fearful and bold. Jealous and proud. A killer and a savior. Flawed, yet perfect. We can love and hate in equal measure. We can be crazy sometimes and sane in the next.

It should be illegal to want to fuck you so bad,” Preppy murmured, reaching over and brushing the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. I leaned into his touch. I gave his thumb a kiss. “And what if it were illegal?” I teased. “It wouldn’t matter.” He lowered his voice. “’Cause baby, I was born to break the law.

There is a place where light and dark meet in the sky when the sun's setting where it's not quite day and not quite night. A grayish mist among the black and yellow. I like to think of it as a place where right and wrong, black and white, life and death aren't finite. I call that place 'the in-between' and to me that's where you and I will always exist. Together.

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.

The grille of the Caddie plunged right into the middle of the bonfire, scattering smoke and flames and bones to the wind. The Cadillac finally bounced and jolted to a stop among a rain of burning human skulls. The voice of John Fogerty garbled and died. The driver's door opened and John flung himself out, clutching a sawed-off shotgun. He screamed, 'DID SOMEBODY ORDER SOME FUCKING PRISON BREAK WITH A SIDE OF SHOTGUN?

Every web began with a single thread that connected everything. He thought about the spider as patient and persistent, picking its way along delicate threads around the world. And he knew well what happened when you tried to forget about that connection or try to inflict your own will too much. You just got tangled in the spiderweb. He’d had his years of fighting the world, and that had landed him in juvie and back to drinking. You think you’re punching at the world but all you’re doing is knocking yourself out.

Dude, you’re creeping me out,” Kevin said, reaching for his shorts. Before he could pull them back on I dropped the hose and bee-lined toward him, wrapping him in a bear hug. “You really are my brother.” “Huh?” Kevin asked, standing still as a statue. “Shhh…just let me love you.” “What exactly is going on out here?” Dre asked from the porch, flipping on the light. I still didn’t let go. “He’s my brother. I’m sure of it now,” I informed her. “I Have no idea what’s going on,” Kevin said, wigging from my grip. “Oh yeah? … How are you so sure?” I stepped back and pointed down to Kevin’s massive cock. “Because of that!

With a crooked smile on his face, he leaned down so his lips brushed my ear. “No doesn’t mean shit to me, baby girl.” He followed his words with a sharp bite to my earlobe that sent a jolt of pleasure pulsing through my body, tightening my nipples which rubbed painfully against my shirt. A tightening sensation ripped through my lower stomach and I felt a flushing from my core. Preppy abruptly pulled his hand from inside my shorts, obviously aware and probably repulsed at whatever had just happened down there. My face reddened when he held up his glistening fingers and stared at it in wonderment, shocking me even further when he licked his palm slowly, from wrist to fingertip, closing his eyes and groaning. “That was the best NO I’ve ever fucking tasted,” he said, and without another word he was yanking down my shorts and underwear in one move, before climbing back up my body so we were again eye to eye, his hand back between my legs.

Either way, his argument resonates with me. “I agree with Owen.” He smiles at me as Mrs. Stanton announces

nails

The SUV’s engine revs, but it doesn’t turn over.

Don’t blame me. When you walk by the family dog and pat him behind the ears he’s going to lift his head for attention.

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Eu vou arriscar, se é isso o que eu preciso fazer pra ficar com você,

As the newest Creedence Clearwater Revival tune faded out,

Lexie has her tablet on her lap and the two of them had their eyes on the screen, but I don’t bother asking what they were doing.

THIS HAPPPENED, not in 312 A.D., but in August, 1971. A retired bank vice-president named Harry Breitfeller, who lived in a comfortable duplex in Santa Monica with his wife and other relatives, stepped out on the cement porch a little after nine one morning to pick up the mail. There were half a dozen envelopes, mostly bills, in the mailbox, and a whacking big cardboard carton on the porch under it. Breitfeller picked up the carton, thinking it must be something his wife had ordered, but saw that his own name was on the label. There was no return address. According to the postmark, the box had been mailed late the previous afternoon in Clear-water, which is about 34 miles northeast of Los Angeles.

I read from the Gospels, about the disciples.  They reminded me of us.  They had Jesus right there, like we have His words, and they still said and did stupid things.  But Jesus loved them.  After he was raised from the dead, one morning he made them breakfast, because they’d been out all night fishing.  That story amazed me.  You’d think dying on a Roman cross was enough,

It may never get easier, but it’s a good reminder of why you are here and why you can never go back.

WGHB started as a Clearwater, Florida radio station in 1925. By 1927, its call letters changed to WFLA and it moved to 590 AM. WFLA inaugurated its broadcasting in the Tampa area on February 14, 1955. During those early years WFLA had had several music formats including middle-of-the-road and adult contemporary music before switching to news/talk in 1986. The most popular music you heard in the Tampa Bay Area was referred to as “good music” by the retirees and although big bands were at their zenith during and right after World War II, by 1947 most music critics knew that their time had passed. Although, Benny Goodman was only 46 in 1955, Tommy Dorsey was 49 and Count Basie was 51, in many quarters they were still popular and perhaps their music always will be. I for one had my Hi-Fidelity 33 1/3 rpm multi stacked record player and a stash of vinyl long play recordings shipped to West Africa. For me time stood still as I listened and entertained my friends. Some years later I actually met Harry James at the Crystal Ballroom in Disneyland. Wow, those were the days….

I clung to the dream like a lifeline, the only thing worth keeping going for. That was why I had agreed to come here. I'd always said I would sell my soul for a pony of my own.

It’s the show jumpers that I find the most interesting to watch. Small kids being taken around low courses by calm, professional ponies. Teenage riders on fit ponies with their show jackets slung over the front of their saddles and their feet dangling out of their stirrups, who call out greetings to Tabby as they ride past. All different shapes and sizes of horses, because all that really matters in show jumping is their ability to clear a jump. Thoroughbreds with weedy necks and tight martingales, clunky Roman-nosed horses that look like they’ll never be able to lift themselves off the ground, big Warmbloods being held back in gag bits, their shoulders slick with sweat.

While their drive is to get a clear round, to jump the highest, turn the tightest, beat the clock and win the class, it’s their horses who are the real stars. They have to be quick and clever and able to get themselves out of trouble, so that if they come in on the wrong stride and scramble over a fence nearly unseated, or if their horse knocks the back rail and it bounces in the cups but doesn’t hit the ground, they can still win. The excitement, the gasping of the crowd, the exhilaration of knowing that anything can happen on the day because every horse is only as good as the round they’ve just jumped. There’s no biased judging here, they either jump clean or they don’t. And nothing beats the exhilaration of a clear round in the jump-off. Riding against the clock, turning as tight as they possibly can around the course without knocking a single fence, then racing for the flags, urging their horses on, nosing through the finish, knowing that every moment counts. They bring the horse slowly back to a walk, straining their ears to hear the announcer tell everyone that theirs is now the time to beat, and then wait through the impossibly long minutes as the rest of the class jumps. Friends become the opposition, and they watch them go, desperately hoping they will take out a rail or miss their striding, anything that will ensure that they take home the win today. I want to join their ranks, to become part of that world. I just need the pony to take me there.

Dad diagnoses me as having a stomach bug, claiming that there’s a nasty one going around, but I’m fairly certain it’s the chicken he cooked last night, which was a bit squishy and pink in places. I’d barely eaten any and Dad had scoffed a whole plate of it down, which is why he says it can’t have been the cause, but he has a cast iron stomach, probably from years of inadvertently poisoning himself.

He’s probably never ridden a horse in his life. He’s likely never experienced that moment of euphoria when you and an animal move completely as one, the indescribable sensation of grace and power running through your bones and settling forever in your heart. He probably won’t have felt a pony’s warm breath on his neck on a cold winter’s morning, or run his hand proudly across the soft sheen of a well-groomed coat. And he’s surely never rested his head against a pony’s warm neck, wrapped his arms around it and closed his eyes, and held on tightly to the one thing in his life that would stay solid and constant and true. So he couldn’t understand, not really, but I did.

Everything around me goes suddenly silent, even the cicadas in the trees pausing in their incessant whirring, momentarily stunned into stillness. For a long moment I hear nothing at all, but stand frozen in a silent grey world.