Crazy Attracts Crazy Quotes

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Spider-Man: The Phoenix Force is a crazy powerful cosmic firebird entity that for some reason seems to be attracted to earthbound redheads (I can relate).
Jason Aaron (Astonishing Spider-Man & Wolverine)
I clench my teeth. “I’m not a virgin, Garrett.” “You’re not a puck bunny either.” “So that means I’m not allowed to sleep with a guy I’m attracted to?” He rakes both hands over his scalp now, looking equally aggravated. Then he takes a breath, exhales slowly, and meets my eyes. “Okay, here’s the deal. I believe you’re attracted to me. I mean—one, who isn’t? And two, you moan like crazy whenever my tongue’s in your mouth.” I bristle. “I do not.” “Agree to disagree.
Elle Kennedy (The Deal (Off-Campus, #1))
They watched as the Shaw brothers played tug of war with a crocodile over what Travis would guess was a nine-point buck. The buck was still kicking, too, but that didn’t stop the brothers or the croc. “I’m sensing the crazy gene, hoss,” Donnie mumbled. “Ya think?
Shelly Laurenston (The Mane Attraction (Pride, #3))
I see how it is,” I snapped. “You were all in favor of me breaking the tattoo and thinking on my own—but that’s only okay if it’s convenient for you, huh? Just like your ‘loving from afar’ only works if you don’t have an opportunity to get your hands all over me. And your lips. And . . . stuff.” Adrian rarely got mad, and I wouldn’t quite say he was now. But he was definitely exasperated. “Are you seriously in this much self-denial, Sydney? Like do you actually believe yourself when you say you don’t feel anything? Especially after what’s been happening between us?” “Nothing’s happening between us,” I said automatically. “Physical attraction isn’t the same as love. You of all people should know that.” “Ouch,” he said. His expression hadn’t changed, but I saw hurt in his eyes. I’d wounded him. “Is that what bothers you? My past? That maybe I’m an expert in an area you aren’t?” “One I’m sure you’d just love to educate me in. One more girl to add to your list of conquests.” He was speechless for a few moments and then held up one finger. “First, I don’t have a list.” Another finger, “Second, if I did have a list, I could find someone a hell of lot less frustrating to add to it.” For the third finger, he leaned toward me. “And finally, I know that you know you’re no conquest, so don’t act like you seriously think that. You and I have been through too much together. We’re too close, too connected. I wasn’t that crazy on spirit when I said you’re my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other. Our backgrounds don’t matter. What we have is bigger than that. I love you, and beneath all that logic, calculation, and superstition, I know you love me too. Running away and fleeing all your problems isn’t going to change that. You’re just going to end up scared and confused.” “I already feel that way,” I said quietly. Adrian moved back and leaned into his seat, looking tired. “Well, that’s the most accurate thing you’ve said so far.” I grabbed the basket and jerked open the car door. Without another word, I stormed off, refusing to look back in case he saw the tears that had inexplicably appeared in my eyes. Only, I wasn’t sure exactly which part of our conversation I was most upset about.
Richelle Mead (The Indigo Spell (Bloodlines, #3))
No matter what your wishes, they are not crazy so long as they are not crazy to you!
Stephen Richards
P.S. I love the way you smile like you don’t realize you’re doing it. I love your perpetual bed head. I love the way you hold eye contact a moment longer than you need to. And I love your moon-gray eyes. So if you think I’m not attracted to you, Simon, you’re crazy.
Becky Albertalli (Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (Simonverse, #1))
I came to grips at that moment that his dimples were huge weakness of mine which was crazy because holes in someone's face shouldn't be so bloody attractive!
L.A. Casey (Dominic (Slater Brothers, #1))
~~~ Wherever his team went, Dex seemed to pick up a fan following. Something about the guy fascinated Humans and Therians alike. Sloane was still trying to work out what it was. Especially since the guy was...well, kinda weird. Then again, crazy had a way of attracting crazy.
Charlie Cochet (Blood & Thunder (THIRDS, #2))
I'm frustrated with him, but I'm also frustrated with myself. That I can't find the words to explain it to him. I'm totally sure he's not doing it on purpose, but Seth is a guy, and he can't ever know what it feels like to walk down a hallway and know that you're getting judged for the size of your ass or how big your boobs are. He'll never understand what it's like to second guess everything you wear and how you sit and walk and stand in case it doesn't attract the right kind of attention, or worse, attracts the wrong kind. He'll never get how scary and crazy-making it is to feel like you belong to some big Boy Monster that decides it can grab you and touch you and rank you whenever and however it wants.
Jennifer Mathieu (Moxie)
That was the attraction of the sirens: not promises of power or riches, but bewildering, tantalizing prophecies that made men leap from their ships to go ask the crazy bitches what the fuck they were talking about.
Kevin Hearne (Hammered (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #3))
i was dead i came alive i was tears i became laughter all because of love when it arrived my temporal life from then on changed to eternal love said to me you are not crazy enough you don’t fit this house i went and became crazy crazy enough to be in chains love said you are not intoxicated enough you don’t fit the group i went and got drunk drunk enough to overflow with light-headedness love said you are still too clever filled with imagination and skepticism i went and became gullible and in fright pulled away from it all love said you are a candle attracting everyone gathering every one around you i am no more a candle spreading light i gather no more crowds and like smoke i am all scattered now love said you are a teacher you are a head and for everyone you are a leader i am no more not a teacher not a leader just a servant to your wishes love said you already have your own wings i will not give you more feathers and then my heart pulled itself apart and filled to the brim with a new light overflowed with fresh life now even the heavens are thankful that because of love i have become the giver of light
Rumi
Well,' said Can o' Beans, a bit hesitantly,' imprecise speech is one of the major causes of mental illness in human beings.' Huh?' Quite so. The inability to correctly perceive reality is often responsible for humans' insane behavior. And every time they substitute an all-purpose, sloppy slang word for the words that would accurately describe an emotion or a situation, it lowers their reality orientations, pushes them farther from shore, out onto the foggy waters of alienation and confusion.' The manner in which the other were regarding him/her made Can O' Beans feel compelled to continue. 'The word neat, for example, has precise connotations. Neat means tidy, orderly, well-groomed. It's a valuable tool for describing the appearance of a room, a hairdo, or a manuscript. When it's generically and inappropriately applied, though, as it is in the slang aspect, it only obscures the true nature of the thing or feeling that it's supposed to be representing. It's turned into a sponge word. You can wring meanings out of it by the bucketful--and never know which one is right. When a person says a movie is 'neat,' does he mean that it's funny or tragic or thrilling or romantic, does he mean that the cinematography is beautiful, the acting heartfelt, the script intelligent, the direction deft, or the leading lady has cleavage to die for? Slang possesses an economy, an immediacy that's attractive, all right, but it devalues experience by standardizing and fuzzing it. It hangs between humanity and the real world like a . . . a veil. Slang just makes people more stupid, that's all, and stupidity eventually makes them crazy. I'd hate to ever see that kind of craziness rub off onto objects.
Tom Robbins (Skinny Legs and All)
If you only attract Mr. Wrong or Ms. Crazy, evaluate the common thread in this diversity of people: YOU!
Valerie J. Lewis Coleman (The Forbidden Secrets of the Goody Box: Relationship Advice That Your Father Didn't Tell You and Your Mother Didn't Know)
I see every rejection simply as some form of incompatibility. Whether she thinks I’m a total creep, or she’s crazy about me but we live on different continents, or she’s in a horrible mood when I ask her out, or she thinks I’m cute but has different values and interests than me — whatever the reason, if a woman ever rejects me, it’s because she’s not compatible with me. It may be a permanent incompatibility. It may be a temporary incompatibility. But the point is that if she liked me enough, she’d be willing to work at making it happen with me. And if she doesn’t, then that just means it’s wrong person — or right person, wrong time. And that’s fine.
Mark Manson (Models: Attract Women Through Honesty)
While they waited, Ronan decided to finally take up the task of teaching Adam how to drive a stick shift. For several minutes, it seemed to be going well, as the BMW had an easy clutch, Ronan was brief and to the point with his instruction, and Adam was a quick study with no ego to get in the way. From a safe vantage point beside the building, Gansey and Noah huddled and watched as Adam began to make ever quicker circles around the parking lot. Every so often their hoots were audible through the open windows of the BMW. Then—it had to happen eventually—Adam stalled the car. It was a pretty magnificent beast, as far as stalls went, with lots of noise and death spasms on the part of the car. From the passenger seat, Ronan began to swear at Adam. It was a long, involved swear, using every forbidden word possible, often in compound-word form. As Adam stared at his lap, penitent, he mused that there was something musical about Ronan when he swore, a careful and loving precision to the way he fit the words together, a black-painted poetry. It was far less hateful sounding than when he didn’t swear. Ronan finished with, “For the love of . . . Parrish, take some care, this is not your mother’s 1971 Honda Civic.” Adam lifted his head and said, “They didn’t start making the Civic until ’73.” There was a flash of fangs from the passenger seat, but before Ronan truly had time to strike, they both heard Gansey call warmly, “Jane! I thought you’d never show up. Ronan is tutoring Adam in the ways of manual transmissions.” Blue, her hair pulled every which way by the wind, stuck her head in the driver’s side window. The scent of wildflowers accompanied her presence. As Adam catalogued the scent in the mental file of things that made Blue attractive, she said brightly, “Looks like it’s going well. Is that what that smell is?” Without replying, Ronan climbed out of the car and slammed the door. Noah appeared beside Blue. He looked joyful and adoring, like a Labrador retriever. Noah had decided almost immediately that he would do anything for Blue, a fact that would’ve needled Adam if it had been anyone other than Noah. Blue permitted Noah to pet the crazy tufts of her hair, something Adam would have also liked to do, but felt would mean something far different coming from him.
Maggie Stiefvater (The Raven Boys (The Raven Cycle, #1))
Georgette was a hip queer. She (he) didn't try to disguise or conceal it with marriage and mans talk, satisfying her homosexuality with the keeping of a secret scrapbook of pictures of favorite male actors or athletes or by supervising activities of young boys or visiting turkish baths or mens locker rooms, leering sidely while seeking protection behind a carefully guarded guise of virility (fearing that moment at a cocktail party or in a bar when this front may start crumbling from alcohol and be completely disintegrated with an attempted kiss or groping of an attractive young man and being repelled with a punch and - rotten fairy - followed with hysteria and incoherent apologies and excuses and running from the room) but, took a pride in being a homosexual by feeling intellectually and esthetically superior to those (especially women) who weren't gay (look at all the great artists who were fairies!); and with the wearing of womens panties, lipstick, eye makeup (this including occasionally gold and silver - stardust - on the lids),long marcelled hair, manicured and polished fingernails, the wearing of womens clothes complete with a padded bra, high heels and wig (one of her biggest thrills was going to BOP CITY dressed as a tall stately blond ( she was 6'4 in heels) in the company of a negro (he was a big beautiful black bastard and when he floated in all the cats in the place jumped and the squares bugged. We were at crazy pad before going and were blasting like crazy, and were up so high that I just didnt give ashit for anyone honey, let me tell you!); and the occasional wearing of menstrual napkin.
Hubert Selby Jr.
What a Crazy Woman Thinks About While Walking Down the Street She tries to walk not too fast and not too slow. She doesn’t want to attract any attention. She pretends she doesn’t hear the whistles and catcalls and lewd comments. Sometimes she forgets and leaves her house in a skirt or a tank top because it’s a warm day and she wants to feel warm air on her bare skin. Before long, she remembers. She keeps her keys in her hand, three of them held between her fingers, like a dull claw. She makes eye contact only when necessary and if a man should catch her eye, she juts her chin forward, makes sure the line of her jaw is strong. When she leaves work or the bar late, she calls a car service and when the car pulls up to her building, she quickly scans the street to make sure it’s safe to walk the short distance from the curb to the door. She once told a boyfriend about these considerations and he said, “You are completely out of your mind.” She told a new friend at work and she said, “Honey, you’re not crazy. You’re a woman.
Roxane Gay (Difficult Women)
I was dead I came alive I was tears I became laughter All because of love when it arrived my temporal life from then on changed to eternal Love said to me you are not crazy enough you don’t fit this house I went and became crazy crazy enough to be in chains Love said you are not intoxicated enough you don’t fit the group I went and got drunk drunk enough to overflow with light-headedness Love said you are still too clever filled with imagination and skepticism I went and became gullible and in fright pulled away from it all Love said you are a candle attracting everyone gathering every one around you I am no more a candle spreading light I gather no more crowds and like smoke I am all scattered now Love said you are a teacher you are a head and for everyone you are a leader I am no more not a teacher not a leader just a servant to your wishes Love said you already have your own wings I will not give you more feathers And then my heart pulled itself apart and filled to the brim with a new light overflowed with fresh life Now even the heavens are thankful that because of love I have become the giver of light
Rumi
Call me crazy, but I kind of like actually -- you know -- being attracted to the girl I'm making scream my name out loud." "Do you, Reeve? Do you make them scream your name out loud?" Reeve raised an eyebrow playfully. "Every. Single. Time.
Lauren Blakely (Pretending He's Mine (Caught Up in Love, #2))
Doctors know nothing. Well. That's kind of unfair. Let's just say the world is unpredictable. Science is unreliable. It can't tell you who you are or what you'll want or how you'll feel. All these researchers are going crazy in their labs, trying to fit us into these little boxes so they can justify their jobs, or their government funding, or their life's work. They can theorize and they can give you a mean, median and mode but it's all standardized guesswork, made official by arrogance. You have to be pretty into yourself to think you can play a part in defining the identity of a bunch of people you don't know, of human beings with complicated shit going on in their bodies. They still don't know what certain parts of our brains do, they still don't know how to cure a common cold, and they say they know about sexuality, about gender. Well, you're not a man because you like football and you're not a woman because you're attracted to men and you're not a chick because you like to be the one who gives and you're not a dude because you like to receive or because sometimes you cry at dumb movies.
Abigail Tarttelin (Golden Boy)
You keep saying words like crazy and insane and risky, but Vera, the best things in life are all of those things. You can't reap big rewards if you don't take big risks.
Rachel Higginson (The Opposite of You (Opposites Attract, #1))
I made a mistake. Men and women can’t be friends. Statistically, impossible. One of the friends is always a little in love with the other or at least sexually attracted to them, and sex ruins friendships.
Codi Gary (I Want Crazy (Loco, Texas, #3))
NINA Your life is beautiful. TRIGORIN I see nothing especially lovely about it. [He looks at his watch] Excuse me, I must go at once, and begin writing again. I am in a hurry. [He laughs] You have stepped on my pet corn, as they say, and I am getting excited, and a little cross. Let us discuss this bright and beautiful life of mine, though. [After a few moments' thought] Violent obsessions sometimes lay hold of a man: he may, for instance, think day and night of nothing but the moon. I have such a moon. Day and night I am held in the grip of one besetting thought, to write, write, write! Hardly have I finished one book than something urges me to write another, and then a third, and then a fourth--I write ceaselessly. I am, as it were, on a treadmill. I hurry for ever from one story to another, and can't help myself. Do you see anything bright and beautiful in that? Oh, it is a wild life! Even now, thrilled as I am by talking to you, I do not forget for an instant that an unfinished story is awaiting me. My eye falls on that cloud there, which has the shape of a grand piano; I instantly make a mental note that I must remember to mention in my story a cloud floating by that looked like a grand piano. I smell heliotrope; I mutter to myself: a sickly smell, the colour worn by widows; I must remember that in writing my next description of a summer evening. I catch an idea in every sentence of yours or of my own, and hasten to lock all these treasures in my literary store-room, thinking that some day they may be useful to me. As soon as I stop working I rush off to the theatre or go fishing, in the hope that I may find oblivion there, but no! Some new subject for a story is sure to come rolling through my brain like an iron cannonball. I hear my desk calling, and have to go back to it and begin to write, write, write, once more. And so it goes for everlasting. I cannot escape myself, though I feel that I am consuming my life. To prepare the honey I feed to unknown crowds, I am doomed to brush the bloom from my dearest flowers, to tear them from their stems, and trample the roots that bore them under foot. Am I not a madman? Should I not be treated by those who know me as one mentally diseased? Yet it is always the same, same old story, till I begin to think that all this praise and admiration must be a deception, that I am being hoodwinked because they know I am crazy, and I sometimes tremble lest I should be grabbed from behind and whisked off to a lunatic asylum. The best years of my youth were made one continual agony for me by my writing. A young author, especially if at first he does not make a success, feels clumsy, ill-at-ease, and superfluous in the world. His nerves are all on edge and stretched to the point of breaking; he is irresistibly attracted to literary and artistic people, and hovers about them unknown and unnoticed, fearing to look them bravely in the eye, like a man with a passion for gambling, whose money is all gone. I did not know my readers, but for some reason I imagined they were distrustful and unfriendly; I was mortally afraid of the public, and when my first play appeared, it seemed to me as if all the dark eyes in the audience were looking at it with enmity, and all the blue ones with cold indifference. Oh, how terrible it was! What agony!
Anton Chekhov (The Seagull)
HOW TO BREAK INTO BLACKTHORNE (A list by Operatives Morgan, Baxter, Sutton, and McHenry) Step 1. Become slightly crazy. Step 2. So crazy you actually volunteer to go over a fifty-foot waterfall. Step 3. Swallow a lot of very cold river water. Step 4. Cough and gag. Step 5. Repeat Step 4 until it feels like maybe your lungs aren’t inside your body anymore. Step 6. Remember that a really cute boy is beside you, so try to cough in a far more attractive manner. Step 7. Be grateful you’re still alive.
Ally Carter (Only the Good Spy Young (Gallagher Girls, #4))
Why do all the hot ones have to be so damn crazy?” she asks, sounding exasperated. “Why do you say that? I mean that he’s crazy?” Without looking at me, she answers.  “Because he definitely is.  He’s, like, talks-to-dead-people crazy.  One-flew-over-the-cuckoo’s-nest crazy.  Twelve-monkeys crazy.”  She stops in the middle of the road and looks me in the eye.  “Not that it makes him any less attractive.  I mean, God, what I wouldn’t give to get that man naked. I’d do him six ways from Sunday.
Michelle Leighton (Pocketful of Sand)
Transition and change - guaranteed to cause anxiety. That anxiety shows itself in physical and behavioral ways, but also with thoughts (sometimes really crazy ones). This is the (primitive/automatic) brain's way of keeping us safe from the danger of change. We end up getting so involved with the feeling and thoughts of anxiety, we get distracted from the "danger". If we trust the anxiety then our primitive brain has succeeded in "protecting" us from the danger. I suggest not believing, trusting, or taking direction from the anxiety and continue your pursuits forward. Then, you will be amazed at your ability to attract and reveal your true capabilities, your light, your magic.
Charles F. Glassman (Brain Drain The Breakthrough That Will Change Your Life)
Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not even the kind of female I’d be attracted to.” “Because she can construct and verbally repeat full and complete sentences?
G.A. Aiken (G.A. Aiken Dragon Bundle: The Dragon Who Loved Me, What a Dragon Should Know, Last Dragon Standing & How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (The Dragon Kin #3-6))
All of Moore’s emphasis on the psychology of super-heroes in Watchmen wasn’t about making Rorschach crazy for the sake of craziness, nor to inject new levels of violence into the super-hero.  (If only Zach Snyder, for all his fidelity, had understood that!)  It was about making the super-hero realistic, because the practice of taking to the streets in costume would, in the real world, attract people prone to psychopathology. 
Richard Bensam (Minutes to Midnight: Twelve Essays on Watchmen)
There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning, the only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. "Fear or revere me, but please think I'm special." We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The "hip, hip, hoo-fucking-rah." Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on, you crazy diamond. Cos we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.
Guy Ritchie
All Carolina folk are crazy for mayonnaise, mayonnaise is as ambrosia to them, the food of their tarheeled gods. Mayonnaise comforts them, causes the vowels to slide more musically along their slow tongues, appeasing their grease-conditioned taste buds while transporting those buds to a place higher than lard could ever hope to fly. Yellow as summer sunlight, soft as young thighs, smooth as a Baptist preacher's rant, falsely innocent as a magician's handkerchief, mayonnaise will cloak a lettuce leaf, some shreds of cabbage, a few hunks of cold potato in the simplest splendor, restyling their dull character, making them lively and attractive again, granting them the capacity to delight the gullet if not the heart. Fried oysters, leftover roast, peanut butter: rare are the rations that fail to become instantly more scintillating from contact with this inanimate seductress, this goopy glory-monger, this alchemist in a jar. The mystery of mayonnaise-and others besides Dickie Goldwire have surely puzzled over this_is how egg yolks, vegetable oil, vinegar (wine's angry brother), salt, sugar (earth's primal grain-energy), lemon juice, water, and, naturally, a pinch of the ol' calcium disodium EDTA could be combined in such a way as to produce a condiment so versatile, satisfying, and outright majestic that mustard, ketchup, and their ilk must bow down before it (though, a at two bucks a jar, mayonnaise certainly doesn't put on airs)or else slink away in disgrace. Who but the French could have wrought this gastronomic miracle? Mayonnaise is France's gift to the New World's muddled palate, a boon that combines humanity's ancient instinctive craving for the cellular warmth of pure fat with the modern, romantic fondness for complex flavors: mayo (as the lazy call it) may appear mild and prosaic, but behind its creamy veil it fairly seethes with tangy disposition. Cholesterol aside, it projects the luster that we astro-orphans have identified with well-being ever since we fell from the stars.
Tom Robbins (Villa Incognito)
Besides, Shawn was right, was he not? Brandt is quite–" "Crazy." "'Attractive' was what I was going for." "He made Carl scream." "I heard." "Carl. The very large assassin who could kill me with a button and a teapot." "Yes" "Made him scream like a little girl." "Sí, eso–" "Repeatedly." "Nikolaus!
Abigail Roux (The Archer)
And, most significantly for the libertarian movement, he read Murray Rothbard’s article in Ramparts magazine and discovered that he wasn’t crazy and he wasn’t alone—that there was a real link between the right-wing spirit of his old ideological home and the new left he was increasingly attracted to.166
Brian Doherty (Radicals for Capitalism: A Freewheeling History of the Modern American Libertarian Movement)
And, for whatever reason, identifying the root cause of my problem - like fear of abandonment or something - didn't change a goddamn thing. I could see quite clearly why I acted a certain way, but that wouldn't make me any different. I sought out craziness. I was attracted to it. No therapy could take that away.
Nic Sheff
She never looked away. What a Crazy Woman Thinks About While Walking Down the Street She tries to walk not too fast and not too slow. She doesn’t want to attract any attention. She pretends she doesn’t hear the whistles and catcalls and lewd comments. Sometimes she forgets and leaves her house in a skirt or a tank top because it’s a warm day and she wants to feel warm air on her bare skin. Before long, she remembers. She keeps her keys in her hand, three of them held between her fingers, like a dull claw. She makes eye contact only when necessary and if a man should catch her eye, she juts her chin forward, makes sure the line of her jaw is strong. When she leaves work or the bar late, she calls a car service and when the car pulls up to her building, she quickly scans the street to make sure it’s safe to walk the short distance from the curb to the door.
Roxane Gay (Difficult Women)
I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. “But then I just turned around; I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “Yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care; I had other things on my mind. “I’m crazy about you,” he said. By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I’d gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. “I’m crazy about you, too.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Still, for all the therapy I had, none of it ever really fixed that feeling of torn-apartness inside of me. I learned how to express myself, that was all. And, for whatever reason, identifying the root cause of my problem - like fear of abandonment or something - didn't change a goddamn thing. I could see quite clearly why I acted a certain way, but that wouldn't make me any different. I sought out craziness. I was attracted to it. No therapy could take that away.
Nic Sheff (Tweak: Growing Up On Methamphetamines)
Historically speaking, if I was in a room and there was someone in that room who could make my life an utter hell on earth, I would find that person, hope they would engage me in conversation, feel like I'd found the los piece to my puzzle, see pictures in my head of us waking up together, our children, our adjoining burial places fifty years down the line, and I'd truly believe that it was all for the best. For some reason, God made the women I'm attracted to crazy.
Mark Oliver Everett (Things The Grandchildren Should Know)
I don’t know why we women believe that sacrificing our desires makes us more attractive to men. What on earth are we thinking? That someone who goes without her wishes deserves to be loved more than she who follows her dreams? It’s exactly what I thought. The more I sacrificed, the happier I was. The longer I went without, the stronger was my hope that Lothar would give me what I needed. I believed that if I didn’t ask for anything, made no reproaches, didn’t demand my own room or my own money, didn’t cause any arguments, the miracle would come to pass. That he would say, Oh, how much you have sacrificed! How my love for you has grown, because you sacrificed yourself for me! How crazy that was. I was so proud of myself and my capacity for suffering: I wanted to be perfect at it. The more complete my uncomplaining acquiescence became, the greater his love would one day be. And my greatest abnegation - renouncing my own life - would have secured me his undying love. Does love have to be earned through suffering?
Nina George (The Little French Bistro)
I live on the other side of a pretty big ocean and that’s not a small problem. We should discuss what that means before we go any further.” “No.” “No?” “No. I want it so our hooks are so deep in each other it doesn’t matter what problems we face, we’ll do whatever we can to overcome them together.” “This is insane. We just met!” “Yeah, we did. And yeah, it’s crazy.” He leaned across the table again, his voice pitched low and sexy. “But tell me you don’t feel like you’ve known me forever. Tell me it’s not just about sex. You feel it, I know you do. This is more than just amazing sexual attraction. There’s a connection here, angel.” “How can that be? How do you know?” “I don’t know how I know. I just do. If people knew how this shit worked, someone would have written a formula for it by now so everybody got a piece of the good life.” “Oh my God.” My fingers trembled as I reached up to push my hair off my face. “We stumbled onto something special, Autumn. We would be fools to turn our backs on it when other folks aren’t so lucky.
Samantha Young (Hold On (Play On, #2.5; Big Sky, #4.6))
If two people who have been strangers, as all of us are, suddenly let the wall between them break down, and feel close, feel one, this moment of oneness is one of the most exhilarating, most exciting experiences in life. It is all the more wonderful and miraculous for persons who have been shut off, isolated, without love. This miracle of sudden intimacy is often facilitated if it is combined with, or initiated by, sexual attraction and consummation. However, this type of love is by its very nature not lasting. The two persons become well acquainted, their intimacy loses more and more its miraculous character, until their antagonism, their disappointments, their mutual boredom kill whatever is left of the initial excitement. Yet, in the beginning they do not know all this: in fact, they take the intensity of the infatuation, this being “crazy” about each other, for proof of the intensity of their love, while it may only prove the degree of their preceding loneliness. […] There is hardly any activity, any enterprise, which is started with such tremendous hopes and expectations, and yet, which fails so regularly, as love.
Erich Fromm
I had no sister, but I felt as if she were one." "A sister? You think of a woman that gorgeous as a sister, but you fell in love with me?" "You are more beautiful than Asha. I see this inside of you as well as outside." Mari shook her head. "Have I told you that you sound totally crazy sometimes? You expect me to believe that she never lit any fires in you, and I did?" "Yes," Alain replied, his tone faintly bewildered as he looked at her. "Asha never changed the way I saw things, as you have." That reminded her of something. "What did you tell her about me? That I define your world or something? I couldn't believe you said that." Alain nodded. "You define the world I see. Yes. I needed to explain what you mean to me in terms another Mage would understand." Mari could feel her lips quivering but tried to fight of laughter. "Alain, I 'define the world' for you? That's too much." "Too much?" "It's so sweet, it's nauseating." Alain pondered her words. "What is wrong with that statement? I see the false world through my own illusions. You are now my reference for those illusions. Why should that make you feel ill? You define the world I see.
Jack Campbell (The Hidden Masters of Marandur (The Pillars of Reality, #2))
The more subtle, and often less easily spottable, combination from hell is when partners of different tendencies date but can’t accommodate. Initial attraction may be strong – contrast makes for interest – and when we’re safely in love there may be no trigger for attachment wobbles. But fast forward a little: inject any kind of stress or insecurity and the dynamic will make both sides crazy. Anxious plus avoidant means one of us clings, the other pulls away. Avoidant plus attacking means one of us runs, the other pushes to engage. Attacking plus anxious means one fights, the other fears. The result can be a Tom and Jerry cartoon-type chase, with A emotionally pursuing B round the room of the relationship.
Susan Quilliam (How to Choose a Partner: The School of Life)
I’m frustrated with him, but I’m also frustrated with myself. That I can’t find the words to explain it to him. I’m totally sure he’s not doing it on purpose, but Seth is a guy, and he can’t ever know what it feels like to walk down a hallway and know that you’re getting judged for the size of your ass or how big your boobs are. He’ll never understand what it’s like to second guess everything you wear and how you sit and walk and stand in case it doesn’t attract the right kind of attention, or worse, attracts the wrong kind. He’ll never get how scary and crazy-making it is to feel like you belong to some big Boy Monster that decides it can grab you and touch you and rank you whenever and however it wants.
Jennifer Mathieu (Moxie)
Not futuristic enough? What about an interspecies Internet—one that links elephants, dolphins, and great apes for “the purposes of enrichment, research, and preservation”? Though it may sound crazy, it’s already here. In Australia, for example, there are over 300 sharks on Twitter (no, they did not sign up themselves). Researchers fitted 338 sharks, including many great whites, with acoustic tags that send an electronic signal to shore-based receivers when the animals come within half a mile of the beach. For a country that has suffered more fatal shark attacks than any other, this IoT development is saving human lives, and the sharks have attracted nearly forty thousand beach-going Twitter followers as a result.
Marc Goodman (Future Crimes)
Imagine you live on a planet where the dominant species is far more intellectually sophisticated than human beings but often keeps humans as companion animals. They are called the Gorns. They communicate with each other via a complex combination of telepathy, eye movements & high-pitched squeaks, all completely unintelligible & unlearnable by humans, whose brains are prepared for verbal language acquisition only. Humans sometimes learn the meaning of individual sounds by repeated association with things of relevance to them. The Gorns & humans bond strongly but there are many Gorn rules that humans must try to assimilate with limited information & usually high stakes. You are one of the lucky humans who lives with the Gorns in their dwelling. Many other humans are chained to small cabanas in the yard or kept in outdoor pens of varying size. They are so socially starved they cannot control their emotions when a Gorn goes near them. The Gorns agree that they could never be House-Humans. The dwelling you share with your Gorn family is filled with water-filled porcelain bowls.Every time you try to urinate in one,nearby Gorn attack you. You learn to only use the toilet when there are no Gorns present. Sometimes they come home & stuff your head down the toilet for no apparent reason. You hate this & start sucking up to the Gorns when they come home to try & stave this off but they view this as evidence of your guilt. You are also punished for watching videos, reading books, talking to other human beings, eating pizza or cheesecake, & writing letters. These are all considered behavior problems by the Gorns. To avoid going crazy, once again you wait until they are not around to try doing anything you wish to do. While they are around, you sit quietly, staring straight ahead. Because they witness this good behavior you are so obviously capable of, they attribute to “spite” the video watching & other transgressions that occur when you are alone. Obviously you resent being left alone, they figure. You are walked several times a day and left crossword puzzle books to do. You have never used them because you hate crosswords; the Gorns think you’re ignoring them out of revenge. Worst of all, you like them. They are, after all, often nice to you. But when you smile at them, they punish you, likewise for shaking hands. If you apologize they punish you again. You have not seen another human since you were a small child. When you see one you are curious, excited & afraid. You really don’t know how to act. So, the Gorn you live with keeps you away from other humans. Your social skills never develop. Finally, you are brought to “training” school. A large part of the training consists of having your air briefly cut off by a metal chain around your neck. They are sure you understand every squeak & telepathic communication they make because sometimes you get it right. You are guessing & hate the training. You feel pretty stressed out a lot of the time. One day, you see a Gorn approaching with the training collar in hand. You have PMS, a sore neck & you just don’t feel up to the baffling coercion about to ensue. You tell them in your sternest voice to please leave you alone & go away. The Gorns are shocked by this unprovoked aggressive behavior. They thought you had a good temperament. They put you in one of their vehicles & take you for a drive. You watch the attractive planetary landscape going by & wonder where you are going. You are led into a building filled with the smell of human sweat & excrement. Humans are everywhere in small cages. Some are nervous, some depressed, most watch the goings on on from their prisons. Your Gorns, with whom you have lived your entire life, hand you over to strangers who drag you to a small room. You are terrified & yell for your Gorn family to help you. They turn & walk away.You are held down & given a lethal injection. It is, after all, the humane way to do it.
Jean Donaldson (The Culture Clash)
What’s wrong with men and women indulging in self-delusion in the course of trying to impress each other? Nothing, I guess. Some illusions are harmless, and some are even beneficial. Far be it from me to try to talk you out of all your illusions. By and large, my philosophy is Live and let live: if you’re enjoying the Matrix, go crazy. Except, maybe, when your illusions harm other people in your life or contribute to larger problems in the world. And that can happen. Being in self-protection mode, for example, does more than just give us an attraction to crowds. In one study, men who watched part of a scary film (The Silence of the Lambs) and were then shown photos of men from a different ethnic group rated their facial expressions as much angrier than did men who hadn’t seen a scary film.
Robert Wright (Why Buddhism is True: The Science and Philosophy of Meditation and Enlightenment)
Codependents may: think and feel responsible for other people—for other people’s feelings, thoughts, actions, choices, wants, needs, well-being, lack of well-being, and ultimate destiny. feel anxiety, pity, and guilt when other people have a problem. feel compelled—almost forced—to help that person solve the problem, such as offering unwanted advice, giving a rapid-fire series of suggestions, or fixing feelings. feel angry when their help isn’t effective. anticipate other people’s needs. wonder why others don’t do the same for them. find themselves saying yes when they mean no, doing things they don’t really want to be doing, doing more than their fair share of the work, and doing things other people are capable of doing for themselves. not know what they want and need or, if they do, tell themselves what they want and need is not important. try to please others instead of themselves. find it easier to feel and express anger about injustices done to others, rather than injustices done to themselves. feel safest when giving. feel insecure and guilty when somebody gives to them. feel sad because they spend their whole lives giving to other people and nobody gives to them. find themselves attracted to needy people. find needy people attracted to them. feel bored, empty, and worthless if they don’t have a crisis in their lives, a problem to solve, or someone to help. abandon their routine to respond to or do something for somebody else. overcommit themselves. feel harried and pressured. believe deep inside other people are somehow responsible for them. blame others for the spot the codependents are in. say other people make the codependents feel the way they do. believe other people are making them crazy. feel angry, victimized, unappreciated, and used. find other people become impatient or angry with them for all the preceding characteristics. LOW
Melody Beattie (Codependent No More: How to Stop Controlling Others and Start Caring for Yourself)
We lived in a safe, family-friendly area, but parts of London were rough, as you’d expect from any large city. Mark had a knack for attracting muggers. One time, we were in a train station and a little kid--no more than about eight years old--came up to him: “Oi, mate, give me your phone.” We always carried the cool Nokia phones with the Snake game on them, and they were the hot item. It was like inviting trouble carrying one around, but we didn’t care. Mark thought the mini-mugger was crazy: “Are you kidding me? No way.” Then he looked over his shoulder and realized the kid wasn’t alone; he had a whole gang with him. So Mark handed over his phone and the kid ran off. I never let him live down the fact that an eight-year-old had mugged him. I had my own incident as well, but I handled it a little differently. I got off the train at Herne Hill station and noticed that two guys were following me. I could hear their footsteps getting closer and closer. “Give us your backpack,” they threatened me. “Why? All I have is my homework in here,” I tried to reason with them. They had seen me on the train with my minidisc player and they knew I was holding out on them. “Give it,” they threatened. My bag was covered with key chains and buttons, and as I took it off my shoulder, pretending to give it to them, I swung it hard in their faces. All that hardware knocked one of them to the ground and stunned the other. With my bag in my hand, I ran the mile home without ever looking back. Not bad for a skinny kid in a school uniform.
Derek Hough (Taking the Lead: Lessons from a Life in Motion)
You don’t have to decide anything now. If you will allow me to be near you for a time, then we can see.” He rested his head back, and they looked at each other, their faces inches apart. He always was so good at looking at her. And it occurred to her just then that she herself was more Darcy than Erstwhile, sitting there admiring his fine eyes, feeling dangerously close to falling in love against her will. “Just be near…” she repeated. He nodded. “And if I don’t make you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world every day of your life, then I don’t deserve to be near you.” Jane breathed in, taking those words inside her. She thought she might like to keep them for a while. She considered never giving them up. “Okay, I lied a little bit.” He rubbed his head with even more force. “I need to admit up front that I don’t know how to have a fling. I’m not good at playing around and then saying good-bye. I’m throwing myself at your feet because I’m hoping for a shot at forever. You don’t have to say anything now, no promises required. I just thought you should know.” He forced himself to lean back again, his face turned slightly away, as if he didn’t care to see her expression just then. It was probably for the best. She was staring straight ahead with wide, panicked eyes, then a grin slowly took over her face. In her mind was running the conversation she was going to have with Molly. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I found a man as crazy intense as I was.” The plane was moving, that scatty slow motion that seemed to go both forward and backward at once. Jane kept looking back and forth between the window and the man next to her, checking to see if he was really there. Was this a better ending than tallyho? “So,” he said, “is New York City our final destination?” “That’s home.” “Good. There’s bound to be work for an attractive British actor, wouldn’t you think?” “There are thousands of restaurants, and those waiter jobs have high turnover.” “Right.” “Loads of theaters, too. I think you’d be wonderful in a comedy.” “Because I’m laughable.” “It doesn’t hurt.
Shannon Hale (Austenland (Austenland, #1))
You’re…you’re what? Where?” I stood up and glimpsed myself in the mirror. I was a vision, having changed into satin pajama pants, a torn USC sweatshirt, and polka-dotted toe socks, and to top it off, my hair was fastened in a haphazard knot on the top of my head with a no. 2 Ticonderoga pencil. Who wouldn’t want me? “I’m outside,” he repeated, throwing in a trademark chuckle just to be extra mean. “Get out here.” “But…but…,” I stalled, hurriedly sliding the pencil out of my hair and running around the room, stripping off my pathetic house clothes and searching in vain for my favorite faded jeans. “But…but…I’m in my pajamas.” Another trademark chuckle. “So?” he asked. “You’d better get out here or I’m comin’ in…” “Okay, okay…,” I replied. “I’ll be right down.” Panting, I settled for my second-favorite jeans and my favorite sweater of all time, a faded light blue turtleneck I’d worn so much, it was almost part of my anatomy. Brushing my teeth in ten seconds flat, I scurried down the stairs and out the front door. Marlboro Man was standing outside his pickup, hands inside his pockets, his back resting against the driver-side door. He grinned, and as I walked toward him, he stood up and walked toward me, too. We met in the middle--in between his vehicle and the front door--and without a moment of hesitation, greeted each other with a long, emotional kiss. There was nothing funny or lighthearted about it. That kiss meant business. Our lips separated for a short moment. “I like your sweater,” he said, looking at the light blue cotton rib as if he’d seen it before. I’d hurriedly thrown it on the night we’d met a few months earlier. “I think I wore this to the J-bar that night…,” I said. “Do you remember?” “Ummm, yeah,” he said, pulling me even closer. “I remember.” Maybe the sweater had magical powers. I’d have to be sure to hold on to it. We kissed again, and I shivered in the cold night air. Wanting to get me out of the cold, he led me to his pickup and opened the door so we could both climb in. The pickup was still warm and toasty, like a campfire was burning in the backseat. I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. “But then I just turned around; I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “Yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care; I had other things on my mind. “I’m crazy about you,” he said. By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I’d gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. “I’m crazy about you, too.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
We kissed again, and I shivered in the cold night air. Wanting to get me out of the cold, he led me to his pickup and opened the door so we could both climb in. The pickup was still warm and toasty, like a campfire was burning in the backseat. I looked at him, giggled like a schoolgirl, and asked, “What have you been doing all this time?” “Oh, I was headed home,” he said, fiddling with my fingers. “But then I just turned around; I couldn’t help it.” His hand found my upper back and pulled me closer. The windows were getting foggy. I felt like I was seventeen. “I’ve got this problem,” he continued, in between kisses. “Yeah?” I asked, playing dumb. My hand rested on his left bicep. My attraction soared to the heavens. He caressed the back of my head, messing up my hair…but I didn’t care; I had other things on my mind. “I’m crazy about you,” he said. By now I was on his lap, right in the front seat of his Diesel Ford F250, making out with him as if I’d just discovered the concept. I had no idea how I’d gotten there--the diesel pickup or his lap. But I was there. And, burying my face in his neck, I quietly repeated his sentiments. “I’m crazy about you, too.” I’d been afflicted with acute boy-craziness for over half my life. But what I was feeling for Marlboro Man was indescribably powerful. It was a primal attraction--the almost uncontrollable urge to wrap my arms and legs around him every time I looked into his eyes. The increased heart rate and respiration every time I heard his voice. The urge to have twelve thousand of his babies…and I wasn’t even sure I wanted children. “So anyway,” he continued. That’s when we heard the loud knocking on the pickup window. I jumped through the roof--it was after 2:00 A.M. Who on earth could it be? The Son of Sam--it had to be! Marlboro Man rolled down the window, and a huge cloud of passion and steam escaped. It wasn’t the Son of Sam. Worse--it was my mother. And she was wearing her heather gray cashmere robe. “Reeee?” she sang. “Is that yoooou?” She leaned closer and peered through the window. I slid off of Marlboro Man’s lap and gave her a halfhearted wave. “Uh…hi, Mom. Yeah. It’s just me.” She laughed. “Oh, okay…whew! I just didn’t know who was out here. I didn’t recognize the car!” She looked at Marlboro Man, whom she’d met only one time before, when he picked me up for a date. “Well, hello again!” she exclaimed, extending her manicured hand. He took her hand and shook it gently. “Hello, ma’am,” he replied, his voice still thick with lust and emotion. I sank in my seat. I was an adult, and had just been caught parking at 2:00 A.M. in the driveway of my parents’ house by my robe-wearing mother. She’d seen the foggy windows. She’d seen me sitting on his lap. I felt like I’d just gotten grounded. “Well, okay, then,” my mom said, turning around. “Good night, you two!” And with that, she flitted back into the house. Marlboro Man and I looked at each other. I hid my face in my hands and shook my head. He chuckled, opened the door, and said, “C’mon…I’d better get you home before curfew.” My sweaty hands still hid my face. He walked me to the door, and we stood on the top step. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he kissed me on the nose and said, “I’m glad I came back.” God, he was sweet. “I’m glad you did, too,” I replied. “But…” I paused for a moment, gathering courage. “Did you have something you wanted to say?” It was forward, yes--gutsy. But I wasn’t going to let this moment pass. I didn’t have many more moments with him, after all; soon I’d be gone to Chicago. Sitting in coffee shops at eleven at night, if I wanted. Working. Eventually going back to school. I’d be danged if I was going to miss what he’d started to say a few minutes earlier, before my mom and her cashmere robe showed up and spoiled everything.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
Call When You Say You’re Going To Call. Sometimes being ambivalent about following up with someone (you kinda/sorta like him but you’re not crazy about him) will lead you to play deliberate phone tag. Maybe you call when you know he’ll be at work. Or you tell him to call when you know you won’t be available. Eventually, when nothing happens because of all the missed connections, you tell yourself, well, at least I tried. No you didn’t. Suck it up and call when you’re supposed to.
Mike Alvear (Gay Online Dating: How To Meet, Attract And Date The Hottest Guys On The Internet)
She leaned back in a little creaky wooden chair and gave him a bald stark gaze. He felt enveloped in the stare, which was not a stare but simply an act of the eyes remaining still, those eyes which seemed as large as eggs, so gray they were almost white, reflecting, almost absolutely still. His skin had prickled at first, he had thought she had no nose, it was so small and flat, stretched on her face as smooth as wax. Leaned back in the chair that way, her body, flat and square, seemed as complacent as stone, all filled with calm waiting; this was her whole attitude. She played listlessly with her hair, looking at him. It was impossible. That body so stubby and that face so flatly ugly—something undeniably fishlike about it—and still, still it exercised upon him immediately an attraction, the fascination he might have in watching a snake uncoil itself lazily and curl along the ground. He couldn’t believe it; maybe it was the crazy musky odor of the house, confusing all his impressions, his senses. He had to use his whole will to take his eyes off her.
Fred Chappell (Dagon)
Once I traveled far above the earth. This beloved planet we call home was covered with an elastic web of light. I watched in awe as it shimmered, stretched, dimmed, and shined, shaped by the collective effort of all life within it. Dissonance attracted more dissonance. Harmony attracted harmony. I saw revolutions, droughts, famines, and the births of new nations. The most humble kindnesses made the brightest lights. Nothing was wasted.
Joy Harjo (Crazy Brave)
The key is to install a system that: Attracts Educates Nurtures Gets prospects to act!
Sabri Suby (SELL LIKE CRAZY: How to Get As Many Clients, Customers and Sales As You Can Possibly Handle)
I think I was feeling bitter about the human experience. I never asked to be human. Nobody came to the womb and explained the situation to me, asking for my permission to go into the world and live and breathe and eat and feel joy and pain. I started thinking about how odd it was to be human, how we are stuck inside this skin, forced to be attracted to the opposite sex, forced to eat food and use the rest room and then stuck to the earth by gravity. I think maybe I was going crazy or something. I spent an entire week feeling bitter because I couldn’t breathe underwater. I told God I wanted to be a fish. I also felt a little bitter about sleep. Why do we have to sleep? I wanted to be able to stay awake for as long as I wanted, but God had put me in this body that had to sleep. Life no longer seemed like an experience of freedom.
Donald Miller (Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality)
Even more than being extremely loyal when it comes to relationships, you are crazy smart, which only makes your sexiness that much sexier. People tend to flock to you not only because your mind is just as sexy as your personality, but you also make being smart totally attractive. Your smarts make you great at remembering small details in a relationship, but you also remember what makes a guy want you even more and you use those details to up your sexiness.
sandy Khoury
The science of understanding how people respond to subtle changes in environment has grown rapidly over the past decade (see the postscript at the end of the chapter). Companies with outstanding chief incentives officers—experts who understand the complex psychology of cognitive biases, are skilled in using both tangible and intangible equity, and can spot perverse incentives—are likely to do a better job than their competitors in attracting, retaining, and motivating great people. In other words, they will create a strategic advantage.
Safi Bahcall (Loonshots: How to Nurture the Crazy Ideas That Win Wars, Cure Diseases, and Transform Industries)
Buck wondered how Blister Krill had survived to middle age in a place as ethnically diverse and gun-crazy as Florida. He was confronted with the possibility that Blister had been a different person before becoming obsessed with Bayou Brethren. It was one thing to market a television program to attract low-class shit-kickers; it was another thing to create them.
Carl Hiaasen (Razor Girl (Andrew Yancy, #2))
Endo had spent many months on experiments trying to understand why his drug didn’t behave as he expected. He already suspected what’s called a species difference (when a drug behaves very differently across animal species). He knew to act quickly when the opportunity appeared. Where others assumed Friendster was yet another example of a social network fad, Thiel and Howery investigated more deeply why users were leaving and found a contrarian answer, in which they had confidence. Contrarian answers, with confidence, create very attractive investments.
Safi Bahcall (Loonshots: How to Nurture the Crazy Ideas That Win Wars, Cure Diseases, and Transform Industries)
You see, I don’t have a personality. I’m so dull inside. Faded...” It’s no use fighting it, and it drives me mad with the unassailability of its tenets. “Take Ginger, for example...” That is, take someone for whom controlling her emotions is a daily losing battle, who bursts into fireworks at the slightest touch or even without it, jumps from laughter to tears and back with nothing in between, wears all her loves and hatreds on her sleeve: now that’s beautiful, that’s feminine, that’s attractive, like bright patterns of a butterfly’s wing, it’s a whirlwind, a torrent, a trap; but very few people can stand Ginger’s flamboyant personality for more than a couple of hours at a time, even when her feelings are directed not at them but elsewhere. Long live Noble, Noble’s patience and everything else that he has and I don’t, I guess this is something that he knows and understands, because he used to be that way too, until he went in for a stint where the real crazies live, and yes, they do look great together, this couple always at the point of combustion, firehaired Isolde and sapphire-eyed Tristan, both on the edge, both wide open, breathe in deeply and hide the breakables, but one thing I don’t understand in all of this is why should anyone envy it and agonize about it, I could never understand this and in my attempts to convince Mermaid rose almost to the Noble-Gingerish heights of passion, except it always ended up the same. “It’s nerves, simply nerves, and in this case they hang out like live wires, so anyone passing by trips them; it’s got nothing — nothing — to do with personality and its richness, you silly little girl!
Mariam Petrosyan (Дом, в котором...)
i was dead i came alive i was tears i became laughter all because of love when it arrived my temporal life from then on changed to eternal love said to me you are not crazy enough you don't fit this house i went and became crazy crazy enough to be in chains love said you are not intoxicated enough you don't fit the group i went and got drunk drunk enough to overflow with light-headedness love said you are still too clever filled with imagination and skepticism i went and became gullible and in fright pulled away from it all love said you are a candle attracting everyone gathering every one around you i am no more a candle spreading light i gather no more crowds and like smoke i am all scattered now love said you are a teacher you are a head and for everyone you are a leader i am no more not a teacher not a leader just a servant to your wishes love said you already have your own wings i will not give you more feathers and then my heart pulled itself apart and filled to the brim with a new light overflowed with fresh life now even the heavens are thankful that because of love i have become the giver of light.
Rumi
Date?” Paul glanced at Henry, who wore an equally puzzled expression.  “I heard Charlene talking about that once.  Sounds weird.” “Really?  You guys don’t date?”  I didn’t ask what they did to get to know a girl instead of dating. “No, we get invited to Introductions,” Paul said as if reading my mind. “What’s that?”  Sam hadn’t mentioned anything like that to me, and I wondered if I should add it to his list of omissions. “When a female comes of age, she’s brought to the Introduction room where she can meet werewolves she has never met before.  The Elders are there to make sure the girl is safe and to give the guys a few minutes to talk to her.  You know, to really get her scent.  When there’s a connection, a guy just knows and Claims her.  If not, the next group comes in for their chance.” I started to sweat as I sat there.  First, what did he mean by Claim?  Second, they kept a girl in a room while guys came in to look her over and smell her?  I reached for my water that sat on the coffee table in the center of our sitting arrangement.  My hands shook a little, and I tried really hard to calm down and not let my imagination run away. “Hey, Gabby, you okay?  Did Paul say something wrong?  Charlene said we could ask any questions we wanted...” They had no idea how foreign what they’d just said sounded to me. “Hey, Gabby, you don’t have to worry about Introductions if that’s what’s scaring you.”  Paul looked at me with concern.  “For you and Charlene, the attraction works different.  She explained it to us when she said that you were coming.  You guys have a level of appeal, or chemistry, with just about all werewolves.”  He is not helping, I thought while he continued.  “Because the level of attraction to you varies, it wouldn’t be safe to put you in an Introduction room.” “Yeah,” Henry agreed and, with a spark of excitement in his eyes, leaned forward in his chair.  “That’s when the mating duels happen.  It’s rare with a werewolf couple, but when Charlene was first brought here, I heard the guys went crazy because they didn’t know what was happening.  They fought over who had the strongest tie to her.  But you don’t have to worry about that with us.  Paul and I think you’re okay, and you smell good and everything, but we knew when we met you that you’re not right for either of us.  That’s why Charlene left you alone with us.” My stomach churned.  Werewolves were going to start fighting each other for me?  No thanks.  They both smiled at me encouragingly.  They probably thought their explanations helpful, but the information they threw at me stunned me. “What did you mean by ‘Claim’?”  My voice came out light and airy with anxiety, but I needed to know. “It’s when we bite our Mate.  The bite draws blood but doesn’t hurt,” Paul explained reassuringly. “What?” I nearly shouted.  My freak-o-meter bypassed meltdown. My head spun dizzily, and no doubt, all the color had drained from my face.  “Oh, not for you, Gabby,” Paul said, quickly leaning forward.  He made shushing motions with his hands.  “We can’t Claim humans like that.  When your Mate finds you, it’s up to you to Claim him.” So,
Melissa Haag (Hope(less) (Judgement of the Six #1))
It's as valid to repeat to ourselves what we need to believe, as it is to believe in the things others repeatedly told us but affect us negatively. It sounds crazy, but not as crazy as believing in the things that others said and damage us.
Robin Sacredfire
The promise that attracted me to move is the idea that you can come to New York and be surrounded by the people who are the best at what they do in many different fields. On that front, I think it delivers. Working your way around the city you really do run into a disproportionate number of really interesting people. That’s almost what you pay your taxes for, even if you think it’s a little crazy to pay that much to live here.
Nate Silver
Sorry if this text have any mistakes, i had some problems with translation, i just study english language. My new hot love poem for all black girls and mullato girls (light brown girls) Me pulls to you ..... so strongly attracted to you color of your skin so sexy, erotic, and very attractive and beautiful In my opinion you are the most beautiful in the all universe space, measurement, worlds My compliments, the truth, and no there is no flattery. In my opinion, this is how looks the most beautiful girl in the world. You are a very beautiful girl. You're a very sexy girl. You are perfect. You are a masterpiece. You phenomenon of beauty that can not be repeated. So juicy, so exotic. It seems to me that you have an amazing beauty. You are the most beautiful in the universe all the dimensions of all worlds, you are a supreme being supreme creation, the crown of evolution. You're beautiful melody of love. You are so beautiful, just magic. You to the point attractive sexy. What you want to do countless times having sex. I only dream if only one your kisses that blossom my soul. And from the touch of your hands on my body, and your lustful-touch for my private parts. I only dream to merge with you forever, body and soul, I only dream of an eternal, continuous sex only with you alone. I only know one thing, that I will forever love only you Only at your most beautiful, stripped the body, you want to watch and view forever. Every cell and molecule of my body and my soul is overwhelmed with love only for you. I long to be your beloved husband for all eternity and all lives, and even after death Do you desire, you are perfect. Soup-navel sexy genius. Do you like the sound of "the sound of a roaring engine sexual smart cars": VUM) VUM) vuuuuuuuuoooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmm) You paradise, you're mens happinesse. Easy, clean, gentle, heavenly delight. You dream of a lifetime. You're pretty unrealistic. On even to the extent to which she can be beautiful, it's just unbelievable. You are the best gift of fate. Before your powerful sexual charm simply irresistible. You're the most beautiful girl in the whole universe. It's a great, great. You luxurious gem. This delicate pearl skin, you sample the true human beauty and femininity. All the other girls compared to you quite simply uy) uy) uy) uy) uy), believe me you are very vip sexy girl. Most also come up on the throne of honor honored the goddess, the great pedestal. Majestic music sounds, so subtly and sensitively praising your beauty for you. In your arms a man feels in the higher realms of pleasure. Sexy regal lioness. Graceful affectionately snarling tigress. Puff) bang) bang) bang) bang) mega glue your beauty kills all competitors by felling. Amazingly beautiful. Sultry, cool and sexy-Mego. You are elite, you're a lux, you extra class Your beauty captivates the hearts of men. The queen of all men, divinely beautiful, majestic lady. Sexy kitten. Mens cumming myself in the pants, with excitement at the sight of you. My heart you certainly won. Imagine that you are on the sandy planet, and every speck of gold pure gold, these grains of sand, the golden thoughts about you and only about you. You stunned, and I from you noodle. You just incredible girl, unbelievable. You're a sex symbol. You is Brand, (dreaming about you) cool, greattbl, superebl. You're like a beautiful peacock, revealing to the people the infinite perfection of their external and internal beauty. Words gently kiss and hug. The outline playful. Queen of ardent passion, so a bit awe velvet body. You idol of femininity and nature ... anywhere in the world to find such a beautiful sight as yours, which is just crazy, captivating with their enchantments of love, and you can not escape from the past and it is impossible to pass, look pierces the tenderness of their feelings. you thermonuclear sex bomb you lux extra class. Your passionate gaze iceberg melt. A look of love, perfect beauty.
Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
As an adult, these people either consciously or unconsciously seek out partners who continue the patterns of dysfunction he or she was raised with if the wrong thinking is not recognized and changed. They are attracted to addicts, manipulators and abusive or emotionally unavailable people, all of whom continue to mistreat them in the way that seems normal because it is all they understand. They are known for being controlling, insecure people pleasers.
Jeanette Elisabeth Menter (You're Not Crazy - You're Codependent.)
How to Keep Your Toddler Off Your Back You need to keep your toddler busy to avoid going stir-crazy. What is stir-crazy? This is when parents leave adult reality and begin to enter their toddler’s world. Symptoms include: 1) identifying with cartoon characters, 2) becoming sexually attracted to members of The Wiggles, 3) forgetting what it’s like to have a conversation with someone who isn’t currently shitting her pants, and 4) eating Goldfish out of the couch cushions. To avoid this condition, you need to leave your home regularly to keep your child from talking to you too much.
Bunmi Laditan (Toddlers Are A**holes: It's Not Your Fault)
Where others assumed Friendster was yet another example of a social network fad, Thiel and Howery investigated more deeply why users were leaving and found a contrarian answer, in which they had confidence. Contrarian answers, with confidence, create very attractive investments
Safi Bahcall (Loonshots: How to Nurture the Crazy Ideas That Win Wars, Cure Diseases, and Transform Industries)
Our gazes met from across the room, and we stared at each other in surprise. Then his eyes dropped down to my—his—shirt, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a smirk. I stood, putting Stuntman on the chair as the guy set down his groceries and walked toward me. I held my breath, waiting to see how he was going to play this. Brandon laid his book over the arm of the recliner and got up. “Josh, this is Kristen Peterson, Sloan’s best friend. Kristen, Josh Copeland.” “Well, hello—it’s so nice to meet you,” he said, gripping my hand just a little too tightly. I narrowed my eyes. “Nice to meet you too.” Josh didn’t let go of my hand. “Hey, Brandon, didn’t you get a new truck this weekend?” he asked, talking to his friend but staring at me. I glared at him, and his brown eyes twinkled. “Yeah. Want to see it?” Brandon asked. “After breakfast. I love that new-car smell. Mine just smells like coffee.” I gave him crazy eyes and his smirk got bigger. Brandon didn’t seem to notice. “Got any more bags? Want help?” Brandon asked. Sloan had already dived in and was in the kitchen unbagging produce. “Just one more trip. I got it,” Josh said, his eyes giving me a wordless invitation to come outside. “I’ll walk out with you,” I announced. “Forgot something in the truck.” He held the door for me, and as soon as it was closed, I whirled on him. “You’d better not say shit.” I poked a finger at his chest. At this point it was less about the coffee spill and more about not wanting to reveal my brazen attempt at covering up my crime. I didn’t lie as a rule, and of course the one time I’d made an exception, I was immediately in a position to be blackmailed. Damn. Josh arched an eyebrow and leaned in. “You stole my shirt, shirt thief.” I crossed my arms. “If you ever want to see it again, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Remember, you rear-ended me. This won’t go over well for you either.” His lips curled back into a smile that was annoyingly attractive. He had dimples. Motherfucking dimples. “Did I rear-end you? Are you sure? Because there’s no evidence of that ever happening. No damage to his truck. No police report. In fact, my version of the event is I saw a hysterical woman in distress in the Vons parking lot and I gave her my shirt to help her out. Then she took off with it.” “Well, there’s your first mistake,” I said. “Nobody would ever believe I was hysterical. I don’t do hysterics.” “Good info.” He leaned forward. “I’ll adjust my story accordingly. A calm but rude woman asked for my help and then stole my favorite shirt. Better?” He was smiling so big he was almost laughing. Jerk. I pursed my lips and took another step closer to him. He looked amused as I encroached on his personal space. He didn’t back up and I glowered up at him. “You want the shirt. I want your silence. This isn’t a hard situation to work out.” He grinned at me. “Maybe I’ll let you keep the shirt. It doesn’t look half-bad on you.” Then he turned for his truck, laughing.
Abby Jimenez
Trippe’s strategy of nurturing P-type loonshots and betting on bigger, faster, more—with a dash of marketing glamour—worked brilliantly. Technology improvements lowered costs, providing more money to invest in more technology improvements. Larger planes flew more customers farther, faster. That virtuous cycle continuously grew his franchise, propelling Trippe far ahead of competitors, attracting fame and celebrity, just as a similar virtuous cycle would propel leading technology companies for the rest of the century, from Polaroid to IBM and Apple. P-type loonshots feed a growing franchise, which feeds more P-type loonshots. And as the momentum builds, so does the tunnel vision: keep turning the wheel, faster and faster.
Safi Bahcall (Loonshots: How to Nurture the Crazy Ideas That Win Wars, Cure Diseases, and Transform Industries)
Historically speaking, if I was in a room and there was someone in that room who could make my life an utter hell on earth, I would find that person, hope they would engage me in conversation, feel like I'd found the lost piece to my puzzle, see pictures in my head of us waking up together, our children, our adjoining burial places fifty years down the line, and I'd truly believe that it was all for the best. For some reason, God made the women I'm attracted to crazy.
Mark Oliver Everett (Things The Grandchildren Should Know)
Another thing that I think is genius about the program is that they realize you can’t preach sobriety or try to make converts out of alcoholics. What’s crucial is that you take care of yourself and in doing so become a program of attraction, rather than promotion. The minute you say “Hey, this is what you should be doing” to an alcoholic or a drug addict, nothing will come of it. If you just do your thing, then someone will see it and think, “That guy used to throw up on his trousers, but he looks like he’s enjoying himself now.” There’s no alcoholic in the world who wants to be told what to do. Alcoholics are sometimes described as egomaniacs with inferiority complexes. Or, to be cruder, a piece of shit that the universe revolves around. Which is okay, because there’s a way to deal with that. You’re feeling like shit? Go get out of yourself and do something for someone else, voilà, you don’t feel like shit anymore. You’re confused and you’re driving yourself crazy? Go call a guy who’s got three days sober and has no clue what to do. The minute you get out of your self-centered mind-set, you’re instantly freed of your own pain. The trick to staying sober is to constantly be of service to another alcoholic. It’s like perpetual motion. All these people freely gave you what was given to them, and now you get to give it to someone else. It’s a constant source of energy, like recharging a battery, only there’s no pollution or toxic runoff.
Anthony Kiedis (Scar Tissue)
3. In the 1990s the U.S. Air Force did research on creating a gay bomb, a non lethal bomb that contained intense pheromones that would make the enemy's forces attracted to each other.
Scott Matthews (Interesting, Fun and Crazy Facts of America - The Knowledge Encyclopedia To Win Trivia)
Hamilton Pool, which is located near Austin, is one of the most remarkable sights of nature to be observed in Texas. It’s a natural spring that’s situated in limestone bedrock. Its water comes from an underground river. There’s a deep overhang in one of the walls of the cavern that’s of much interest to visitors. Over 100 years ago, the Hamilton Pool was completely covered by a dome that later collapsed. The Hamilton Pool is one of Texas’s many tourist attractions.
Bill O'Neill (The Great Book of Texas: The Crazy History of Texas with Amazing Random Facts & Trivia (A Trivia Nerds Guide to the History of the United States 1))
The next time we saw each other was at a Teen People party for a cosmetics convention in Boca Raton. This was not what I’d pictured from reading Romeo and Juliet, but it would have to do. He brought his mom, and part of the fairy tale was that he said to her, “Mom, your mission for tonight is to get me in good with this girl.” He was wearing red overalls with the left strap off, and a cream turtleneck. He kept trying to catch my eye all night, and eventually just came over to me. We talked schedules—“It’s been crazy” was always the answer—and I wasn’t really listening because not only did I think he was so attractive, I loved his voice and the way he said “Jessica.” He got my number, and I swear I said to my mom, who was also at the party, “That’s the man I’m going to marry.” I immediately felt safe.
Jessica Simpson (Open Book)
God, you’re crazy beautiful. Why did you want to hide this?” “I’ve had some bad experiences…” She looked away, her golden lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes. Jax’s mind filled with the words she’d spoken shortly after she’d stepped into his hotel room. “The truth is that men are attracted to me for my… body.” God, it all clicked. Men wanted her for her beauty, not just her body. Men used her as window dressing, the same way women used Jax—for dressing, a reputation boost, favors.
Skye Jordan (Reckless (Renegades, #1))
I had been bracing for pain; the loss of my best friend, the loss of my first love, the loss of the family I wished I could’ve had, but I hadn’t prepared myself for another feeling: attraction. Crazy, intense, I-need-to-have-you-right-now attraction. I thought that had gone away, but clearly, it did not. Fuck me.
Sidney Halston (All In: Iggy's Story (Worth the Fight and Panic Crossover #1))
You think Romeo would’ve killed himself if he’d lived with Juliet long enough to realize she can’t clean up her fucking socks off the bathroom floor? Or that she gets crazy gassy after she eats Mexican? Come on. It’s
Penelope Bloom (His Package (Objects of Attraction, #4))
But my desire to follow God was just starting to take root when I saw the statue of Joan in Orléans. At that time, I was going to church more regularly and paying more attention to the Gospel stories. My life seemed a little nuts, and I felt a little like Joan—not hearing voices, of course, but feeling that my attraction to religion was a crazy thing that had to be trusted anyway. Faith was something that seemed sensible and nonsensical at the same time. Joan found her way to God by learning a language that no one else could hear, and so she is the perfect model for someone on the beginning of a faith journey. She had no idea what path to take to reach her destination, and neither did I. But, as my friend Peggy discovered, lost on the road to Chartres, the road that we seek is often the road we have already found.
James Martin (My Life with the Saints)