Cynthia Quotes

We take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.

What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.

Tucker: "But she gave me the perfect gift." Clara: "What?" Tucker: "You.

So often we only do what we think is expected of us, when we are capable of so much more.

Tucker," I say. "I'm so glad you're still here." I throw myself into his arms. He hugs me tightly. "I couldn't leave," he says. "I know." "I mean, literally. I don't have a ride.

I like to write when I feel spiteful. It is like having a good sneeze." (Letter to Cynthia Asquith, November 1913)

There's nothing more inspiring than the complexity and beauty of the human heart.

Are you any good at it?" "Pulling idiots out of the snow? I'm the best.

Believe in yourself and there will come a day when others will have no choice but to believe with you.

Insert the biggest, most awkward silence in the history of big awkward silences.

I feel like Cinderella sitting in the middle of the road with a pumpkin and a couple of mice, while Prince Charming charges off to rescue some other chick.

Tucker: Why would you tell me now if it's against the rules? Clara: Because I love you.

Hey, you feel like driving today?" he asks. "I don't want to walk to the bus stop. It's too cold." "You feel like dying today?" "Sure. I like risking my life. Keeps things in perspective.

What do you see in a guy like Christian Prescott?" he asked me that night when he dropped me off from prom. And what he was really saying then, what would have come through loud and clear if I hadn't been so blind was, why don't you see me?

Have you ever been to a place you're supposed to love, but all you can think about is home?

I'm looking at you. Why are you always trying to hide how pretty you are?

Tucker: "Today we ran into a mama grizzly with two cubs at the ridge off Colter Bay and Clara sang to it to make it go away." Mrs. Avery: You sang to it? Tucker: Her singing is that bad.

For a seed to achieve its greatest expression, it must come completely undone. The shell cracks, its insides come out and everything changes. To someone who doesn't understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.

Sam: "I always thought you were the most beautiful of all the Nephilim." Meg: "That's ironic because I always thought you were the ugliest of all the angels.

Hey, Carrots," he says.

Our purpose on this earth is not one single event, an accomplishment we can check off a list. There is no test. No passing or failing. There's only us, each moment shaping who we are, into what we will become.

This is the part where I kiss you.

Hi there," Tucker says brightly, like we're bumping into each other on the street. "Uh, hi." "Nice night for stalking," he observes. "No, I was---" "Get your butt in here, Carrots.

Silver Avalanche coming up the driveway," calls Jeffrey from upstairs. "What are you, security?" I call back.

Clara: My heart doesn't belong to me anymore. It belongs to Tucker.

I think he seriously believes that deflowering an angel could mean an eternity in fiery hell.

I won’t be that girl who lets the guy treat her like crap and still fawns all over him.

Tucker: Is it okay to kiss you? Clara: What? Tucker: I won't get struck by lightning? Clara: (laughs) No lightning.

What did you think I was?" "A rude Hick." "Geez, blunt much?

Time passes. That's the rule. No matter what happens, no matter how much it might feel like everything in your life has been frozen around one particular moment, time marches on.

She shrugs."Men" "Men." "If we can send one man to the moon, why can't we send them all there?

Dedication For everyone who knows there was enough room for Leonardo DiCaprio on that door. And for England. We’re really sorry for what we’re about to do to your history.

Tucker: I'm glad it happened. because then I got to know who you really are. Clara: Oh yeah? Who am I? Tucker: A really, really spiritual, spoiled California chick. Avery: Shut up. Tucker: It's cool though. My girlfriend is an angel.

No horse jokes," he said. "My lord, I apologize for the horse joke. If you put down the book---unharmed!---I will give you a carrot." He brandished the book at her. "Was that a horse joke?" "Neigh." "Was that a horse joke?

We think of happiness as something we can take. But usually it comes from being content with what we have, and accepting ourselves.

I'm in love with Tucker Avery.

I know I'm not inspiring much confidence at this point, but there's something else I thought I'd bring up.” She lifted her eyes to him. “I love you more than I love books.

Christian is staring at us. He’s an only child and could never understand the delicate joys of sibling abuse.

This is isn't going to become one of those creepy situations where you show up at all hours of the night to watch me sleep, is it?" he asks playfully.

Because if it's not her fault, it's God's, and I'm not ready to be pissed at the Almighty.

In fact, I've essentially given up on the idea of flight altogether and accepted that I'm going to be an angel-blood who stays earthbound, a flightless bird, like an ostrich. Maybe, or in this weather, a penguin.

Dude. Hot Bozo. Best nickname ever.

Tucker strokes my hair. There's something so tender about the gesture. It might as well have been him whispering I love you.

Fine.” He smirks at me. “Nice to meet you, Carrots,” he says, looking directly at my hair. “Oh, I mean Clara.” My face flames. “Same to you, Rusty,” I shoot back, but he’s already striding away.

Oh, come on. You eye-hump him all through British History.

Nice tree," he says. That boy has unexpected depth.

I sneaked out to his house a couple times in the middle of the night to watch over him while he slept, just in case, I don't know, his comic book collection decided to spontaneously combust. This was dumb and admittedly creepy in an Edward Cullen kind of way.

I think the birds in the area are dying laughing watching me try not to crash.

I love you," he murmurs. "Can you feel that? You. Not some destiny I think I'm called to. You. I'm with you. My strength. My soul. My heart. Feel it.

Think about a good memory, she whispers in my mind. Remember a moment when you loved him. And just like that, I do. "What did the fish say when it hit a concrete wall?" he asked me. We're sitting on the bank of a stream and he's tying a fly onto my fishing rod, wearing a cowboy hat and red lumberjack-style flannel shirt over a gray tee. So adorable. "What?" I say, he grins. Unbelievable of how gorgeous he is. And that he's mine. He loves me and I love him. "Dam!" he says.

She couldn’t get any farther away inside from her skin. She couldn’t get away.

Forgiveness is tricky, Alexis, because in the end it’s more about you than it’s about the person who’s being forgiven

I should have fought for you, Clara, even if I would have had to fight you to fight for you. I should have never let you go.

I wanted to tell you that wherever I am, whatever happens, I’ll always think of you, and the time we spent together, as my happiest time. I’d do it all over again, if I had the choice. No regrets.

You are going to love the sports here. Snow skiing and water-skiing and rock climbing and all kinds of extreme sports. I give you full permission to hurl yourself off stuff.

On everyone’s lap rested a book. Any book. In case the wedding got boring.

He wanted to tell her she'd have more room if she'd just get rid of her books, but he supposed that in her case, it would be like telling a mother she'd have more room if she threw out her children.

Brave isn't something you are. It's something you do.

My sister had taught me to look at the world that way, as a place that glitters, as a place where the calls of the crickets and the crows and the wind are everyday occurrences that also happen to be magic.

I’m flying!” Of course, I’m not flying so much as coasting over the treetops like a hand glider or a freakishly large flying squirrel.

Clara's mother: Yes, and what could possible be more important to your life right now than Christian? Clara: I'm going out with Tucker.

I'll never forget the way he tastes. It's not anything I can describe, a little sweet and a whole lot of spice, and it feels, in that moment, absolutely right.

How did you do that?” I shrug. “I click my heels three times and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’” “Uh-huh. So … you think this is your home? My barn? His tone is playful, but the look he’s giving me is dead serious. A question. “Haven’t you guessed by now?” I say, my heart hammering. “My home is you.

There's death all around us. Everywhere we look. 1.8 people kill themselves every second. We just don't pay attention. Until we do.

It's been nice knowing you, Clara.' Huh? My brain still a bit shell-shocked. 'Say a prayer for me, will you? He gives me a shaky grin. Because I'm pretty sure my parents are going to kill me

It is when we are most lost that we sometimes find our truest friends.

She delighted in the smell of the ink, the rough feel of the paper between her fingers, the rustle of sweet pages, the shapes of letters before her eyes.

Armies aren't very good about carrying libraries with them. I can't imagine why. We'd fight so much less if everyone would juste sit down and read.

You think I'm pretty?" I ask. "We need to stop talking," he says a little gruffly. "We're scaring the fish off." "Okay, okay." I bite my lip, then smile.

Because he was English and that's what the English do under stress: they drink tea.

Everything changes. That's the only constant.

This is going to sound trite, I suppose, but you never know when it’s going to be the last time. That you hug someone. That you kiss. That you say goodbye.

Your hair smells like wind, did you know that?" Yep, me and Tucker, smelling each other.

So I'm in love. That crazy, forget to eat, float around in a daze, talk on the phone all night and bounce out of bed every morning hoping to see him kind of love.

This moment was written in the stars, and it is everything he thought it would be.

And most of all, she loved the way books could transport her from her otherwise mundane and stifling life and offer the experiences of a hundred other lives.

I’ve learned that a storm isn’t always just bad weather, and a fire can be the start of something. I’ve found out that there are a lot more shades of gray in this world than I ever knew about. I’ve learned that sometimes, when you´re afraid but you keep on moving forward, that’s the biggest kind of courage there is. And finally, I’ve learned that life isn’t really about failure and success. It’s about being present, in the moment when big things happen, when everything changes, including yourself.

Love is a many-splendored thing," she says. "But it is also a pain in the ass.

She watched you wrestle Toby Jameson, who probably weighs two hundred pounds, without even working up a sweat. And she said to herself, wow, that's a good wrestler, he must be an angel.

Before I moved here, I never got the whole love-triangle thing. You know, in movies or romance novels or whatnot, where there’s one chick that all the guys are drooling over, even though you can’t see anything particularly special about her. But oh, no, they both must have her. And she’s like, oh dear, however will I choose? William is so sensitive, he understands me, he swept me off my feet, oh misery, blubber, blubber, but how can I go on living without Rafe and his devil-may-care ways and his dark and only-a-little-abusive love? Upchuck.

It’s such a cliché, the whole ‘time heals all wounds’ thing, but it’s true. Clichés are clichés for a reason,

And then I can feel what he feels. He’s waited such a long time for this moment. He loves how I feel in his arms. He loves the smell of my hair. He loves the way I looked at him just now, flushed and wanting more from him. He loves the color of my lips and now the taste of my mouth is making his knees feel weak and he doesn’t want to seem weak in front of me.

I can't leave you," he says hoarsely. "I can't leave you either," I say, shaking my head. "I can't." "Then don't," he says, and grabs me behind the neck and kisses me again, and the world is tilting, and everything goes black.

You have made my life into something so extraordinary, you can't even know.

It's funny how when people change, you forget the way they used to be.

I love how he sometimes gets embarrassed by the mushy stuff between us and then his voice gets all gruff and he tickles me or kisses me to shut us both up. Boy, do we ever kiss. We make out like champions.

The backcountry signs say stuff like BEYOND THIS POINT IS A HIGH RISK AREA, WHICH HAS MANY HAZARDS INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, AVALANCHES, CLIFFS, AND HIDDEN OBSTACLES, YOU MAY BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE COST OF YOUR RESCUE and I think, um, no thanks. I choose life.

What we have is divine. It's beautiful and good and right. I feel it..." He presses his his hand to his chest, over his heart. "I feel it all the time. You're in here, part of me. You're what I go to bed thinking about and what I wake up to in the morning.

It doesn't taste anything like the drink I had at the party with Tucker. And now, almost two years later, I realize why. Tucker never put any rum in my rum and Coke. That little stink. That overly protective, impossible, infuriating, and utterly sweet little stink. In that moment I miss him so much my stomach hurts.

Coward, says the nagging voice inside my head. You should talk to him. Find out what he has to say. What if he says we belong together? Well, then you'll have to deal with that. But at least you won't be running away. I think it's more of a brisk walk. Whatever. I'm having an argument with myself. And I'm losing. So not a good sign.

Have a care, Sir Tucker, lest you find yourself in the stockades." He scoffs and looks at Mr. Erikson. "She can't do that, can she? She's not the ruler of this class. Brady is." ... "You could strip him of his title," suggests Brady, apparently not minding at all that I have usurped his throne. "Make him a serf." "Yeah," says Christian. "Make him a serf. Being a serf blows." As a serf, poor Christian has already been killed several times in our class. Aside from dying of the Black Plague on the first day, he's starved to death, had his hands cut off for stealing a loaf of bread, and been run down by his master's horse just for kicks. He's like Christian the fifth now.

Just so you know, this is the last time I ever trust you," I say. "But you're so cute all covered in snow." "Shut up and help me find my ski." We search through the powder for a while, but don't locate my missing ski. After ten fruitless minutes I'm convinced that the mountain has eaten it.

He pretended to stretch his arms, in order to shift even closer to her. (This isn’t in the history books, of course, but we’d like to point out that this was the first time a young man had ever tried that particular arm-stretch move on a young woman. Edward was the inventor of the arm stretch, a tactic that teenage boys have been using for centuries.)

I'm messed up. I go through phases where I think everything's going to be okay and the sky is blue and stuff and I can feel the sun and the air going in and out of my lungs and I think, life is good. But then every time, I also know deep down that the darkness is coming. And it's going to keep coming. And when I'm in the darkness I'm going to screw up everything.

Because I love you.' There. I said it. I can't believe I actually said it. People cast around those words so carelessly. I always cringe whenever I hear kids say it while making out in the hall at school. I love you, babe. I love you, too. Here they're all of sixteen years old and convinced that they've found true love. I always thought I'd have more sense than that, a little more perspective. But here I am, saying it and meaning it.

What? I demand to know. "What is it now?" "You're not going to go." he says. "Watch me." "I've been having a vision of this place, too." This stops me from my wild, cowardly (how can he think I'm brave?) retreat back to the road ... "You're having a new vision, too?" I ask. "It's right here." He walks toward me, his strides long and purposeful across the grass. "Right now. I've been seeing it for weeks, and it's happening right now." He stops in front of me. "This is the part where I kiss you," he says.

What did the fish say when it hit a concrete wall?" he asks me. We're sitting on the bank of a stream and he's tying a fly onto my fishing rod, wearing a cowboy hat and a red lumberjack-style flannel shirt over a gray tee. So adorable. "What?" I say, wanting to laugh and he hasn't even told me the punch line. He grins. Unbelievable how gorgeous he is. And that he's mine. He loves me and I love him and how rare and beautiful is that? "Dam!" he says.

Tucker snorts. "Sage is a fighter, it spreads over the land like wildfire, sucking up all the water, the nutrients in the earth, until everything else dies. It's a hearty little plant, that I'll give it. But it's gray and ugly and ticks love to hide in it. You ever seen a tick?" He glances over at me. The look on my face must be pretty appalled because suddenly he gives and uncomfortable cough and says quietly, "Sage does have a nice smell.

So did you really mean all that stuff you said when I was a dead man?" "Every word." "Could you say it again?" he asks. "My memory's a little fuzzy." "Which part?" The part where I said I wanted to stay with you forever?" "Yeah," he murmurs, his face close to mine, his breath hot on my cheek. "When I said that I love you?" He pulls back a little, searches my eyes with his. "Yes. Say it." "I love you." He takes a deep, happy breath. "I love you," he says back. "I love you, Clara." Then his gaze drops to my lips again, and he leans in, and the rest of the world simply goes away.

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would not take the garbage out! She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans, Candy the yams and spice the hams, And though her daddy would scream and shout, She simply would not take the garbage out. And so it piled up to the ceilings: Coffee grounds, potato peelings, Brown bananas, rotten peas, Chunks of sour cottage cheese. It filled the can, it covered the floor, It cracked the window and blocked the door With bacon rinds and chicken bones, Drippy ends of ice cream cones, Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel, Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal, Pizza crusts and withered greens, Soggy beans and tangerines, Crusts of black burned buttered toast, Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . . The garbage rolled on down the hall, It raised the roof, it broke the wall. . . Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs, Globs of gooey bubble gum, Cellophane from green baloney, Rubbery blubbery macaroni, Peanut butter, caked and dry, Curdled milk and crusts of pie, Moldy melons, dried-up mustard, Eggshells mixed with lemon custard, Cold french fried and rancid meat, Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat. At last the garbage reached so high That it finally touched the sky. And all the neighbors moved away, And none of her friends would come to play. And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said, "OK, I'll take the garbage out!" But then, of course, it was too late. . . The garbage reached across the state, From New York to the Golden Gate. And there, in the garbage she did hate, Poor Sarah met an awful fate, That I cannot now relate Because the hour is much too late. But children, remember Sarah Stout And always take the garbage out!