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.

Cynthia said, “How are things going for you with this birth?

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

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

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?

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

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

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?

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?

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.

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.

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

Dude. Hot Bozo. Best nickname ever.

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.

It's not a problem. There are people out there with much worse problems than mine."-Cynthia "Doesn't make yours any more fun to bear."-Liza "No. But it does help with the self-pity."- Cynthia

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Did you ever find it?" Cyn asked. "What's that?" "Something he wouldn't give you?" "You know, Cynthia, I did. Very recently,in fact. "What was it?" "You

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

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

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.

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.

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

Everything changes. That's the only constant.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap.

Note to self: buy some nunchucks or something.

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?

Pity party over?" "Yeah, I think so." "Good. Not good to wallow for too long. It's bad for the complextion.

And sometimes time really does stop.

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.

When I was a kid my mom used to tell me that if i have sex before i was married, my... junk would turn black and fall off.

Sometimes the best goal you can set is just to get out of bed every day. If you can succeed at this, then other things become possible.

Some people think they know who you are, when really they don't.

Clara: "I won't hurt you." Be not afraid. His eyes flashed with anger like i've come right out and called him chicken.

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.

He seems relieved to hear me say that. I guess idiots love company.

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.

In November, the trees are standing all sticks and bones. Without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still.

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.

If we had to say what writing is, we would have to define it essentially as an act of courage.

Who on earth could feel comfortable enough to sleep in a room with no books? Edward

So who's lucky number three? No answer. I turn around to look at him again. No. He grins. Now I get it, I tell him. You're stalking me.

But now...it's like when part of you stops hurting and suddenly you're yourself again, healthy and whole, and only then do you understand that you've been in pain for a while.

I'm having an argument with myself. And I'm losing. So not good.

I think you must be some kind of a freak. Either that or you’re trying to convert me to your secret horse religion.” “Darn, you got me,” she says theatrically. “You thwarted my evil plan.

When the wicked want to bring down the innocent, they aim for a loving heart.

All the best things are like that, though, Lex, the most beautiful things. Part of the beauty comes from the fact that they’re short-lived.

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.

Stories let us see and hear and feel what someone else does,” she explained. “They build bridges to the other islands. That’s why stories are so important. They create true empathy.

I beat at him uselessly with my fists. I scream. My mind races. I'll pee on him. Puke, bite, scratch. Sure, I'll lose, but if he's going to mark me I am going to mark him, too, if such a thing is possible.

Hasta la vista, baby," he tells me, and I shake my head and smile at how adorably dorky he can be. His Spanish only comes from Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Through books she could see the world.

If you brave enough to live it, the least I can do is listen.

Ava's not my date. I came stag." "Stag. You. Why?" "So my date wouldn't get offended when I wanted to dance with you," he says.

Very funny, my lady. And that reminds me"---he pointed a finger at her---"no horse jokes." He was making it too easy. "Ah, my lord, why the long face?" "That's it!

First rule of Angel Club, you do not talk about Angel Club.

When you came after me at the tavern, you nearly died." He looked wrecked at the memory. "You nearly died, and then who would I have argued with?" "You'd have found someone." "No." He stepped toward her. "I only want to argue with you.

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.

You never know when it's going to be the last time.

I didn't figure things out, either, you know. So if you'e an idiot, I guess that makes two of us." He seems relieved to hear me say that. I guess idiots love company.

Crap. No one's ever called me dorkina before. Derivative of dork. Not good.

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.

I can't stop thinking about how much better she'd be for him than I am. But I also kind of want to tear her hair out.

Your majesty, please reconsider," Lord Dudley pleaded. "Your position will be much stronger with your husband as king. The people will see it as a sign of strength - " She took a deep breath. "They need signs of my strength, not my reliance on the men around me.

You don't know until you know.

Sir Tucker,” I say suddenly, interrupting Angela. “Yeah?” “I believe the correct response is, ‘yes, Your Majesty,

So with my luck, I'll never make it in time to save the boy in the forest because my hair will have snagged on a tree branch a mile back.

We are all connected, everything that lives and breathes in this world, and glory is what binds." Next thing he'll be talking about the Force, I know it.

My dear sweet girl. You take on so much. You feel things so deeply. But you will be happy, my darling. You will shine.

Not everything worth keeping has to be useful.

I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Oh. Sorry, G. Not you, of course.

In November, the earth is growing quiet. It is making its bed, a winter bed for flowers and small creatures. The bed is white and silent, and much life can hide beneath its blankets.

I just need to be mad for a little while, okay? I know it might not be the most mature thing, but there it is.

She was so much better at being alone; being alone came more naturally to her. She led a life of deliberate solitude, and if occasional loneliness crept in, she knew how to work her way out of that particular divot. Or even better, how to sink in and absorb its particular comforts.

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.)

It's funny how sometimes you don't see the obvious things coming. You think you know what life has in store for you. You think you're prepared. You think you can handle it. And then-boom, like a thunderclap-something comes at you out of nowhere and catches you off guard.

Sometimes you have to stop trying to control everything and let life happen the way it's supposed to, Tess. Even if it's not exactly the way you wanted. But what if it's not even a little like you wanted? Then you deal with it and keep going.

In November, the smell of food is different. It is an orange smell. A squash and pumpkin smell. It tastes like cinnamon and can fill up a house in the morning, can pull everyone from bed in a fog. Food is better in November than any other time of the year.

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.

Firstly, bears are always hungry. So when you encounter the bear, don’t act like food.” “Huh?” “I read it in a book last summer, called—” G held up a hand. “Don’t tell me the name! No time.” “Right. As I was saying, bears are always hungry. Try not to act like food.” “How does one act like food?

Oh right. What about Wendy?" I ask "What about her?" "It's her birthday, too. I'm the worst friend ever. I should have sent her something. Did you exchange gifts?" "Not yet." He turns toward me. "But she gave me the perfect gift." The way he's looking at me sends butterflies into my stomach. "What?" "You.

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.

He loves me. Inside his head, his every thought and reaction was born of love, love inside and out, crazy, irrational (and sure, a bit lustful) love. He loves me, and that's also what terrified him when he saw me all lit up like a Christmas tree. He doesn't know what I am, but he loves me.

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.

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.

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.

Great pals we've always been. In fact there was a time when I had an idea I was in love with Cynthia. However, it blew over. A dashed pretty and lively and attractive girl, mind you, but full of ideals and all that. I may be wronging her, but I have an idea that she's the sort of girl who would want a fellow to carve out a career and what not. I know I've heard her speak favourably of Napoleon. So what with one thing and another the jolly old frenzy sort of petered out, and now we're just pals. I think she's a topper, and she thinks me next door to a looney, so everything's nice and matey.

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.

Tuck," I breathe, and then he kisses me. I've been kissed before. But nothing like this. He kisses me with surprising tenderness, for all of his gusty talk. Still cupping my face, he gently brushes his lips against mine, slowly, like he's memorizing what I feel like. My eyes close. My head swims with his smell, grass and sunshine and musky cologne. He kisses me again, a litte more firmly, and then he pulls back to look down into my face.

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!

I'm sorry," I choke out. He's quiet. Tears drip off my chin. He lets out a slow, shaky breath. "Don't cry," he says. "That's not fair." I laugh and sob at the same time. "It's okay," he whispers. His fingers brush at the tears on my cheeks. "Don't cry." Then he puts his arms around me, wings and all. I curl my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest and breathe in the smell of the river on him. Somewhere in the woods a crow caws. A blackbird answers. And then we're kissing and everything goes away but Tucker.

You’re not . . . normal, Clara. You try to pretend you are. But you’re not. You talked to a grizzly bear, and it obeyed you. Birds follow you like a Disney cartoon, or haven’t you noticed? And for a while after you came back from Idaho Falls, Wendy thought you were on the run from someone or something. You’re good at everything you try. You ride a horse like you were born in the saddle, you ski perfect parallel turns your first time on the hill, you apparently speak fluent French and Korean and who knows what else. Yesterday I noticed that your eyebrows kind of glitter in the sun. And there’s something about the way you move, something that’s beyond graceful, something that’s beyond human, even. It’s like you’re . . . something else.

G took another gulp, and thought about the best way to break the equestrian news. My dear, you know those four-legged majestical beasts of the land? Well, you married one! No. That could not be the right approach. My sweet, have you ever had a difficult time deciding between man or beast? Well, now you don’t have to! Again, he thought better of this tactic. Sweet lady, there are those of us who sleep lying down, and those of us who sleep standing up. I can do both. No. You know how some men claim to have another, perhaps hairier side? Have you ever cursed the fact that your loved one has just the two legs?Did you know that horses have incredible balance? Hey! What’s that over there? And then he would gallop away.

Again," I whisper. The corner of his mouth lifts, and then I kiss him. Not so gently this time. His hands drop from my face and grab my waist and pull me to him. A small soft groan excapes him, and that noise makes me feel absolutely crazy. I lose it. I wind my hands around his neck and kiss him without holding anything back. I can feel his heart thundering like mine, his breath coming faster, his arms tightening around me. And then I can feel what he feels. He's waited 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. So i draw back, and his breath comes out in a rush. His arms drop away from me.

It wasn't you're fault," I whisper. And then out of self-protection more than anything else, I bring the glory. I don't warn him or anything. I don't damp it down. I bring it. The room fills with light. "This is what I am," I say, my hair ablaze around my head. He squints at me. his jaw juts out a little in pure stubbornness. He stands his ground "I know," he says. I take a step towards him, close the space between us, put my glowing hand against his cheek. He starts to tremble. "This is what I am," I say again and my wings are out now. His knees wobble, but he fights it. He puts his hand at my waist, turns me, pulls me closer, which surprises me. "I can accept that," he whispers, and holds his breath, and leans in to kiss me His lips brush mine for an instant, and an emotion like victory tears through him, but he pulls away and glances at the front door. Groans. Christian is standing in the doorway. "Wow," Tucker says, trying to grin. "You really know how to cramp a guy's style." His legs give out. He falls to his knees. My light blinks off.

But then I think about what I’ve learned here in the last year, and I don’t mean in my classes, but what I’ve learned from watching my friends face their futures and search for their purposes. I’ve learned that a storm isn’t always just bad weather, and a fire can be the start of something new. 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. So I would tell us, no matter how bright we think our futures are, it doesn’t matter. Whether we go off to some fancy university or stay home and work. That doesn’t define us. Our purpose on this earth is not a 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. So I say forget about the future. Pay attention to now. This moment right now. Let go of expectations. Just be. Then you are free to become something great.