Cute Strength Quotes

Baby, you’ve got enough strength and tenacity to take down drug dealers. You’ll be fine.

I gotta tell you that I love you, Calla,” he said, and I was surprised the heart monitor didn’t catch the fact it felt like my heart had stopped for a moment. “No bullshit. I do. I love the way you think, even if it’s annoying as fuck at times and even then it’s still cute. I love that there’s a shit ton of things you’ve never gotten to experience and that you’re going to get to experience them with me. That I have that honor. I love your strength and everything you’ve survived. I love your courage and I love that you make shit drinks, but no one cares, because you’re so damn nice.

And even though he doesn't mean it like I-want-to-leave-my-girlfriend-and-start-dating-you cute, something flickers inside of me. The "force of strength and destruction" Tita de la Garza knew so well.

When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.—

I gotta tell you that I love you, Calla,” he said, and I was surprised the heart monitor didn’t catch the fact it felt like my heart had stopped for a moment. “No bullshit. I do. I love the way you think, even if it’s annoying as fuck at times and even then it’s still cute. I love that there’s a shit ton of things you’ve never gotten to experience and that you’re going to get to experience them with me. That I have that honor. I love your strength and everything you’ve survived. I love your courage and I love that you make shit drinks, but no one cares, because you’re so damn nice.

So I started running through our weaponry to distract myself. I had my stun gun. Jonah had a pseudosword, and Aaron had a really cute butt. Not that his butt would be useful in de-botting Trey, but it's always good to have a full catalog of your strengths before going into battle.

The love that I believe in is something that goes beyond the physical aspects of this world. The love that I believe is one that extends its energy and power through the beautiful souls that I encounter along the way, a love that can be seen in the eyes of a little dog or in the confusion of a cute lost cat who wants to be worshiped like a Goddess. This kind of love goes through a divine crafting of a person's inner self, through personal experience and thousands of years of tears and strength, that can only be seen in the familiar eyes of old souls, the eyes that recognize each other even after long times of separation, the eyes that find themselves familiar with places they have probably been to before, but that nevertheless bring great memories with every visit. This kind of love sees hope in the eyes of new-born children that know way much more than they are capable of putting into words and that bring with their innocence a smile on each person's face who'd wish they could start again. The love that I see when I look at you is a love which has roots deep inside each of us, but that needs care and light to grow and unfold its branches so that they can reach outside of ourselves and even further beyond the skies.

I love being cute and deadly. It’s my strength.

Anna?" Someone knocks on my door, and it startles me out of my seat. No.Not someone. St. Clair. I'm wearing an old Mayfield Dairy T-shirt, complete with yellow-and-brown cow logo,and hot pink flannel pajama bottoms covered in giant strawberries. I am not even wearing a bra. "Anna,I know you're in there. I can see your light." "Hold on a sec!" I blurt. "I'll be right there." I grab my black hoodie and zip it up over the cow's face before wrenching open the door. "Hisorryaboutthat. Come in." I open the door wide but he stands there for a moment, just staring at me. I can't read the expression on his face. Then he breaks into a mischievous smile and brushes past me. "Nice strawberries." "Shut up." "No,I mean it. Cute." And even though he doesn't mean it like I-want-to-leave-my-girlfriend-and-start-dating-you cute,something flickers inside of me. The "force of strength and destruction" Tita de la Garza knew so well.St. Clair stands in the center of my room.He scratches his head, and his T-shirt lifts up on one side, exposing a slice of bare stomach. Foomp! My inner fire ignites. "It's really...er...clean," he says. Fizz. Flames extinguished.

Her dark brown eyes were staring straight at him. “Pretty teeth.” She had a light Texan accent. Not as hearty as the others he’d been hearing on his ride from California. “Long.” Her right index finger was in his mouth. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t yet retracted his canines. She smiled at him. “You’re pretty too.” Wow, she was REALLY drunk. With a sudden surge of strength, she slammed Zach against the far alley wall. Then she was leaning into him, “I’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you.” Zach had been called a lot of things in his lifetime, “pretty” had never been one of them. She growled as she smiled… uh, no… leered at him. She kissed him

Don’t be afraid to fixed your sister crown , With a #complement If she cute tell her If her car stop help her If she hurting hug her

Uh . . . you’ve seen how cute she is, right?” Keefe asked. Sophie flung a pillow at his head. Or, she tried to. Throwing with her left arm was much harder than she’d expected, and . . . She ended up nailing Magnate Leto in the face. Keefe doubled over, clutching his sides and gasping between choking laughs: “THAT . . . WAS . . . THE . . . GREATEST . . . THING . . . I’VE . . . EVER . . . SEEN!” “IT WAS!” Ro agreed, nearly collapsing to the floor in a fit of giggles. Fitz and Elwin were cracking up too—though they at least tried to cover it with coughs. Sophie slunk down under her covers. “Sorry.” “It’s all right, Miss Foster,” Magnate Leto said, handing her back her pillow. “It’s good to see you regaining some strength.” Keefe wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks. “You realize I’m going to call you Principal Pillowhead from now on, right?

Miss Nell,” Ashley said, pulling Miranda over. “This is Miranda.” Miranda felt the instant appraisal of those coal-black eyes. When Nell Boucher took her hand, Miranda sensed strength, survival, and a heart of immense kindness. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Boucher,” she answered shyly. “Nell,” the woman corrected, a dimple showing at each corner of her mouth. She cocked an eyebrow at Etienne. “Okay, I guess you win the bet. She’s just as cute as you said she was.” Blushing, Miranda was all too conscious of the others’ amused stares. As she had with the rest of them, Miss Nell put one hand to Miranda’s cheek and leaned in close. “I’m glad we’re finally meeting,” she murmured. “Because I’ve certainly heard a lot of wonderful things about you.

Members of highly reactive families, therefore, wind up constantly focused on the latest, most immediate crisis, and they remain almost totally incapable of gaining the distance that would enable them to see the emotional processes in which they are engulfed. The emotionally regressed family will stay fixed on its symptoms, and family thinking processes will become stuck on the content of specific issues rather than on the emotional processes that are driving those matters to become “issues.” The systemic anxiety thus locks everyone into a pessimistic focus on the pathology within the family, and it becomes almost impossible for such systems to reorient themselves to a focus on their inherent strengths. What also contributes to this loss of perspective is the disappearance of playfulness, an attribute that originally evolved with mammals and which is an ingredient in both intimacy and the ability to maintain distance. You can, after all, play with your pet cat, horse, or dog, but it is absolutely impossible to develop a playful relationship with a reptile, whether it is your pet salamander, no matter how cute, or your pet turtle, snake, or alligator. They are deadly serious (that is, purposive) creatures. Chronically anxious families (including institutions and whole societies) tend to mimic the reptilian response: Lacking the capacity to be playful, their perspective is narrow. Lacking perspective, their repertoire of responses is thin. Neither apology nor forgiveness is within their ken. When they try to work things out, their meetings wind up as brain-stem storming sessions. Indeed, in any family or organization, seriousness is so commonly an attribute of the most anxious (read “difficult”) members that they can quite appropriately be considered to be functioning out of a reptilian regression. Broadening the perspective, the relationship between anxiety and seriousness is so predictable that the absence of playfulness in any institution is almost always a clue to the degree of its emotional regression. In

The ego believes that in your resistance lies your strength. Whereas in truth, resistance cute you off from being - the only place of true power. Resistance is weakness and fear masquerading as strength. What the ego sees as weakness is your Being in its purity, innocence, and power. What it sees as strength is weakness.

Leaning in, I dropped a kiss to Liv’s cheek, relishing the sound of her gasp as I did so with witnesses. Close to her ear, I whispered, “Good morning, Olivia.” Reeling back like she’d been struck, she narrowed those beautiful green eyes at me. “Don’t be cute,” she seethed through the smile she held on her face, keeping up appearances for the congregation. Pursing my lips in a pout, I countered, “You don’t think I’m cute?” Rolling her eyes, she breathed out, “Lord, give me the strength.

As I morphed from from a fat, cute kid to a young man, the world began to see me differently. At Mount Saint Michael's, the Catholic private school to which I had transferred, I was surrounded and befriended by much tougher kids, mostly black like me, many of whom had grown up fending for themselves. Many of the teachers, however, were middle-aged or older white women, and they approached us 10 year olds like we were dangerous. They wielded their power like prison wardens and in their fear, I saw reflected back an image of myself I hadn't seen before. At the same time, I saw the power my friends possessed. How they could manipulate using fear. As our teachers reprimanded us, and when that didn't work suspended us, I saw how the kids around me dealt with this anger and frustration. They turned their faces to stone and dead in their eyes like those of statues. They became hard and menacing, and as I saw it then, that hardness meant strength.

As I morphed from from a fat, cute kid to a young man, the world began to see me differently. At Mount Saint Michael's, the Catholic private school to which I had transferred, I was surrounded and befriended by much tougher kids, mostly black like me, many of whom had grown up fending for themselves. Many of the teachers, however, were middle-aged or older white women, and they approached us 10 year olds like we were dangerous. They wielded their power like prison wardens and in their fear, I saw reflected back an image of myself I hadn't seen before. At the same time, I saw the power my friends possessed. How they could manipulate using fear. As our teachers reprimanded us, and when that didn't work suspended us, I saw how the kids around me dealt with this anger and frustration. They turned their faces to stone and dead in their eyes like those of statues. They became hard and menacing, and as I saw it then, that hardness meant strength.

Giving is the preferred medium of the soft. Yet what the soft gives up does not get lost in the yielding. The cushion is still a cushion. The dog's fluffy head remains cute. Hard's problem is that on contact, its hardness knows only erosion; a reluctant giving up. If strength consists of a survival of integrity, then soft is indeed strong

Even annoyed, as she was now, she vibrated the kind of barely restrained energy that made every part of him spark to life. Some parts more enthusiastically than others. He shifted his weight and sidestepped slightly in an effort to keep that reality as unnoticeable as possible. He’d become a master of that particular skill during the last few months she’d been on the station. He needn’t have worried. She didn’t so much as glance at him. Her irritation was focused solely on her big brother. “Did you really just perp walk Cooper down the harbor?” Logan’s eyebrows lifted along with his hands, which he held up at his sides, palms out. “Hold up, I didn’t--” “Save it,” Kerry said. She turned to Cooper. “I apologize. He forgets I’m an adult woman who can handle her own affairs.” She glared at her brother during that last part. “She’s right, you know.” This came from a little spitfire brunette who, given Kerry’s descriptions of her family, must be the middle McCrae sister, Fiona. Fists planted on her hips, managing to somehow look down her cute little nose at her much taller and much bigger brother, she added, “We’re trying to plan my wedding and grill her about Mr. Hot and Aussie here. I’d think by now you’d know that we’ve got this covered.” She made a brief gesture to the other women standing alongside her. “If we thought he was a danger to society, we would have called.” Cooper watched the ricocheting dialogue like a spectator at a cricket match, unable to squelch a grin. It was like watching his own sister, all grown up and in triplicate. As Kerry and Fiona closed in on a somehow now hapless-looking lumberjack of a police chief, Cooper stepped forward and stuck out his hand toward the taller, willowy young woman who stood just behind Fiona. Where Kerry was Amazonian and Fiona a little firebrand, their oldest sister was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. “Hannah Blue, I presume? I’m Cooper Jax. Sorry for the disruption of your sister’s wedding plans. I didn’t know.” This had Fiona turning his way. “And how could you, given Kerry couldn’t be bothered to so much as send you a postcard?” “Hey,” Kerry said, looking at her sister now. “Whose side are you on?” Fiona looked back at her. “The side that keeps this guy here and you looking all pent up and googly-eyed.” “Googly-eyed?” Kerry shot back. Cooper, grinning unrepentantly now, turned his attention back to Hannah and continued, as if her sisters weren’t getting all up in each other’s personal space. “I understand congratulations are in order on your recent nuptials as well.” Hannah gave him a swift, all-encompassing once-over as only a former defense attorney could. Then, in the face of his unrelenting goodwill, she took his hand, her mouth curving up in the barest hint of a smile as she gave it a firm, quick shake. “You’re a charmer, Mr. Jax, I’ll give you that.” “Go with your strength,” he replied.

Life would be easier if that was my only motivation. Bolstering strength and keeping up appearances. That shit I understand. It’s not, though. I want Jasmine to find her feet in a real way. She’s never had a chance before, and I can be the one to give it to her. Is there a whole lot of possessive pride wrapped up in that sentiment? Yes. I won’t deny it. I want her to fly and to know I was the one who gave her that chance. I want her to choose me

WENDIGO In Canadian folklore, a wendigo has animal-like ears, a horn protruding from its head, and has herculean strength.

Watch your mouth, Forzetta.” Forzetta? Forza means power. I know that much. But Forzetta sounds like a cute nonsense word paired with an infantilizing order. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I made it up to say strength in a small package.

If I were you, I would not bring up the fact that you forced me to take that spell-casting healer’s blood.” She twisted away from him, annoyed all over again. “How could you betray me that way?” With great male superiority he glanced down at her face. “Your health comes before your pride.” The truth was, he was ashamed he had forced such a choice on her, yet he was grateful it was over and she was not nearly as weak as she had been. “Says you. I hope he bled a long time before he closed that wound. And don’t talk to me anymore, because you’re being arrogant, and I can’t stand you when you’re arrogant.” She stumbled, her legs already tired. “If you had done as I said, you would be at full strength, your body healed from its ordeal,” he pointed out, smug male amusement deliberately in his mind to tease her. She stopped walking so abruptly, his arm jerked her forward. “Do you have any idea where we’re going? I’m lost out here. Everything is beginning to look the same to me. And stop with that cute little grin you always get in your mind. You think you can get around me with it, but you can’t.

If you had done as I said, you would be at full strength, your body healed from its ordeal,” he pointed out, smug male amusement deliberately in his mind to tease her. She stopped walking so abruptly, his arm jerked her forward. “Do you have any idea where we’re going? I’m lost out here. Everything is beginning to look the same to me. And stop with that cute little grin you always get in your mind. You think you can get around me with it, but you can’t.” He tugged at her arm, his black eyes restless, searching the forest around them. He could still feel the dark malevolence through Shea. “I can always get around you, little red hair,” he answered tenderly. “You are not capable of holding a grudge.” The feeling of hatred was oppressive. Jacques’ gentle teasing was comforting, and she was oddly grateful for it. She tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm. “Don’t count on my good nature, Jacques. You do remember what they say about people with red hair.” “That they are great lovers?” She laughed in spite of the waves of black malice washing over her continually. “You would think that.

I’m Ylfing. I care about people, and I’ve been afraid because caring got me hurt, made me miss things that were right in front of me. Easier to just draw away, easier to run from it. But I care. I care and care and care, whether or not the person I care for deserves it. Everyone deserves understanding, at the very least. My greatest strength has always been in looking at someone and finding an inherent spark of goodness in them. This is not to redeem them. Some people are beyond redemption. But even they yearn to be understood, just as everyone does, just as I do. So I look into their hearts and find the jewel among the slop. Except the slop too has value and weight and importance. It completes a person. People soften when they’re around me. At least, they used to when I was young and small and cute. Perhaps they still do—I’ll have to watch for it. I never did anything in particular to merit that softening, besides being soft myself, and kind, and loving. I just reached out to them with my heart and made a connection. And maybe that’s the key to all of it. Connections.