Dade Quotes

Pitao jednom tako jednoga vrli pitac neki: A kto je ta sta je ta da prostis Gdje li je ta Odakle je Kuda je ta Bosna Rekti A zapitani odgovor njemu hitan tad dade: Bosna da prostis jedna zemlja imade I posna i bosa da prostis I hladna i gladna I k tomu jos Da prostis Prkosna Od Sna

Please tell me people who look like us can be loved. Please tell me people who look like us can be desired. Please tell me people who look like us can have happy endings.

But I'm not looking to be fixed. I want to be loved and liked and desired not because of my size, not despite my size, but because I'm ME

If you truly love me in return, accept me as I am. If you can't accept me as I am, maybe you need to rethink your definition of love.

Dade Kincaid is not afraid of the things of which the world is made.

I took pride in being the best dressed monster in Dade County.

Since approximately half the humans on this planet either have gotten or will get periods, I’ve always found that particular brand of squeamishness ridiculous.

Gay brothers and sisters,... You must come out. Come out... to your parents... I know that it is hard and will hurt them but think about how they will hurt you in the voting booth! Come out to your relatives... come out to your friends... if indeed they are your friends. Come out to your neighbors... to your fellow workers... to the people who work where you eat and shop... come out only to the people you know, and who know you. Not to anyone else. But once and for all, break down the myths, destroy the lies and distortions. For your sake. For their sake. For the sake of the youngsters who are becoming scared by the votes from Dade to Eugene.

Carry yourself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.

Your lack of anger does not reliably indicate a lack of wrong done to you.

This is the best day of my fucking life!” he shouted. “Only! One! Bed! My second-favorite trope!

Some scriptwriters believe death and misery and stagnation are more clever, more meaningful, and more authentic to reality than love and happiness and change. But life isn't all misery, and finding a path through hard, hard lives to joy is tough, clever, meaningful work.

Sometimes I want to burn down the fucking world for what it’s done to you.

she loved shiny things, always had. But he wasn't a diamond. Just fool's gold.

And since then, she’d spent decades giving away pieces of herself, because she didn’t matter. Not as much as everyone else.

Somewhere in her late thirties, her supply of fucks had become extremely limited.

Sometimes they blundered because their personal histories hadn’t taught them to be sensitive to certain issues. And sometimes they blundered because— Sometimes they blundered because they had trust issues. Major trust issues.

I am the only fucking person in this car and on this planet who can decide what my career is worth, he'd raged, offended fury in every syllable, and it's not worth my fucking soul.

Wren’s comfort was worth his discomfort.

I’m not sure posting pictures there is a great idea.” It was more or less the same advice April had received for more than thirty years: If people are cruel, make yourself smaller and smaller, until you’re so inconsequential no one can target you.

Male appreciation hardened his features from doubt to certainty. Boobs, the best negotiation strategy of them all. She thanked the Lord and her genetics for her great rack.

Love couldn't solve everything, but without love, there was nothing to solve.

His home was filled with valuables, even if he currently felt worthless.

Then she threw back her head and laughed. The joyful sound floated through the evening sky, rich and warm, bright as the smile transforming her features into near-beauty, and— And he couldn’t seem to look away. Fuck, he couldn’t seem to look away.

It wasn't a lack of attraction to her husband that caused her problems. It was life. It was traffic. It was the Miami Dade Water and Sewer bills, it was trying to get ahead, and trying to be on time. Petty little thing, but zillions of them fused together.

She'd almost forgotten how it felt to squeeze into a space too cramped to contain her comfortably. She'd almost forgotten the specific pain of attempting to make herself as small as possible, contorting her arms and legs in a way that hurt her joints and made relaxation impossible. She'd almost forgotten the reality of her life.

It's not right on a societal level or even a professional level, but it is fine on a personal level. It has to be, because otherwise I'd spend my life angry and sad, and I don't want that for myself.

The best thing the world offered an ugly little girl was indifference. Pity stung exactly as much as insults, if not more, so she tried to avoid either. She tried to avoid notice. Even as a child, she’d understood it was important to stay quiet. Unobtrusive. And above all, undemanding.

We both know you can’t always trust your thoughts when you’re depressed.” His voice was quiet and calm, each word selected with care. “I understand that everything you just said to me feels like the truth right now, but it’s not, sweetheart. It’s not. It’s the unkindest possible interpretation of your life, and it only makes sense if you ignore all context.

My duty as an American forces me to buy Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups wherever I may find them.

They were going to cuddle for warmth? Holy shit. All his fanfic and real-life dreams had come true. This really was the best day ever.

As always, fatness was a sin, most likely mortal rather than venial.

No education is ever wasted. No experience is ever wasted. Your degrees and your jobs helped make you the woman you are, and as far as we’re concerned, you’re absolutely wonderful.

Deset - petnaest godina kasnije čak će se i moj stari uvjeriti da svi postaju isti kad im se dade vlast i da je čovjek čovjek (odnosno govno), ma kojoj se ideologiji navodno priklanjao.

What do you think for dinner? I know it’s important I don’t show you up.” Something soft and red filled his lust-hazed vision. “With this first one, I can’t wear a bra because it’s backless…” She swapped it out for something dark. “…but this second one is a little low-cut. Bra or no bra?” Think, man, think. The fate of the universe depended on the answer to this question.

We’re getting you a dress. Time to Pretty Woman this shit.” He cracked his knuckles with relish. “I can’t wait until someone refuses to wait on you because you’re so obviously an unsophisticated oaf from Kansas or wherever–“ “North Hollywood. Basically just down this hill and over the next one.

I fucking love you, Wren, and you’re obviously my soulmate.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Of course it’s a goddamn soul mark. Have I taught you nothing, you obtuse harpy?” Delightful. Asshole.

There are moments like this when I allow myself to see the beauty I’d always foreclosed to myself. Part of me thinks that my ability to see it when I do is inseparable from the pain I feel, and when I think that, the pain suddenly isn’t so bad. The sun’s going to come up in the morning. I really don’t like myself a lot of the time, but sometimes I look back at the words I’ve written on my blog and elsewhere and I kind of smile at my own bullshit. I’ll grow up, and then I will come back to them again. It’s fine. I will be fine. There is a spastic firelight in everything. The trick is knowing where to find it.

Gripping her wrists, he pinned her tight to the vanity. “That sex as a weapon thing can only get you so far, Tess.” Wanna bet? “I’m not damaged, cowboy. I don’t have hang-ups about my body, I don’t use sex to mask my problems”—much—“and right now, if you don’t touch me in some very hot, very wet places, I might die.

She had shaved above the knee, packed her suitcase with her skimpiest lingerie, and the instructions on the Sexy Weekend Fun Box said, “Just Add Texan.” What she had not expected was Hunter putting her on a Tex-free diet.

I took pride in being the best-dressed monster in Dade County. Yes, certainly, he chopped up that nice Mr. Duarte, but he was so well dressed! Proper clothing for all occasions - by the way, what did one wear to attend an early morning decapitation? A day-old bowling shirt and slacks, naturally. I was à la mode. But aside from this morning's hasty costume, I really was careful. It was one of Harry's lessons: stay neat, dress nicely, avoid attention.

Staying level with Tess was going to require fast thinking, which was mighty difficult considering all the blood he needed for said thought processes was now hurtling south. “What would this job involve?” “Only one task. Make. Me. Believe.” “That I’m your fiancé?” Cue her smile, sly and sexy. First time she’d let him in on that action, too. “That you want me more than your next breath.” If she moved forward a couple of inches, his boner would make her believe.

some scriptwriters believe death and misery and stagnation are more clever, more meaningful, and more authentic to reality than love and happiness and change. But life isn’t all misery, and finding a path through hard, hard lives to joy is tough, clever, meaningful work.

But that kiss did more than turn her into a puddle of lust. It terrified her. Not because of how soul-searingly good it was, but because kisses like that don’t just happen. Kisses like that implied history and connection and bone-deep knowledge, and it made her question everything that had existed between them before.

I could just as easily have taken the train.” He shut his eyes, just long enough for a movie of a Tess-induced train riot to screen on the backs of his eyelids. Fists flying, teeth broken, friendships destroyed as men vied to get closer to her lush body barely covered in that incendiary French maid outfit. And now he was turning hard again.

Let me get this straight.” He braced his hands on the counter and leaned in closer to the clerk. “There’s only . . . one bed?” The young man blinked at him. “Yes, sir.” When Alex pumped his fists in triumph, punching the air, Lauren and the clerk both jumped. “This is the best day of my fucking life!” he shouted. “Only! One! Bed! My second-favorite trope!

Rain is the last thing you want when you're chasing someone in Miami. They drive shitty enough as it is, but on top of that, snow is a foreign concept, which means they never got the crash course in traction judgment for when pavement slickness turns less than ideal. And because of the land-sea temperature differential, Florida has regular afternoon rain showers. Nothing big, over in a jiff. But minutes later, all major intersections in Miami-Dade are clogged with debris from spectacular smash-ups. In Northern states, snow teaches drivers real fast about the Newtonian physics of large moving objects. I haven't seen snow either, but I drink coffee, so the calculus of tire-grip ratio is intuitive to my body.

Dieting? No fucking way. Taunting the Grim Reaper? No problem!

When he didn’t speak for a while, she laid her cheek on his head. “We can talk about that, if you want, or I can simply listen. Or we can stay like this, if silence would help.

But I’m not you, Peter. I need people I love around me every day to be happy.

But empathy requires imagination, and he didn’t have enough of either.

Why do you listen to closely to everything I say, and then remember it?" He frowned down at her, reaching over to rumple her hair with his free hand. "It's all very unfair.

He was almost entirely certain he’d shifted far enough, but maybe she had some sort of preternatural erection detection ability?

Für mich ist es keine Kleinigkeit. Für mich ist es die ganze Welt. Ihre Freundschaft. Die ganze Welt und noch ein bisschen mehr.

Is that another Pretty Woman reference?” It totally was. “I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation.

The synth speaks to my soul.

Just . . .” His fingers tightened on hers. “Just . . . hear me out until the end, and if I say something wrong, please let me explain myself.

Make like a dancing firefighter on a Vegas stage,” she said, “and strip.

The only way to save him was to leave him.

Lauren wasn’t really into frosting, he’d learned, which was preposterous. Possibly un-American.

I mean, if they didn’t love you, they probably wouldn’t flash their boobs at you quite so much.

We didn’t fail, just because the life we’d envisioned and thought would make us happy didn’t come to pass. We merely—” “Recalibrated,

But the universe wasn’t kind to anyone, in his admittedly non-comprehensive experience. At best, it was indifferent and chaotic, controlled by chance and forces still only dimly, incompletely understood by humankind. Which was why it required such careful, unceasing attention to stave off potential disaster. People were kind. Or they could be, anyway. That had to be enough.

My motto has always been: a hard man is good to find.” Tess gave Hunter’s unflinching bicep a gentle squeeze, claiming it and the man for her own. “And never let the bride stand in the way of me and my hard man.

Your virtue is in no danger." She shifted to her back and looked up at his handsome, craggy face. "Largely because it's already dead. I suspect you murdered it long ago." "There's always the possibility of zombie virtue.

The first time I walked into that library my jaw must have hit the marble floor. I had never seen such a place. So many books. And the smell. I had not realized that books had a smell. I stood with my eyes closed, taking in long, deep breaths. Mr. McDade, my English teacher, read my mind as he watched me that first day. "Smells like learning, doesn't it, Helen?" I smiled and nodded in agreement, sure that I could actually smell the words in the air.

If your personal history belonged to a friend, and they sat down and cried to you about it, we both know you wouldn’t think, ‘Wow, what a failure. What a waste her existence has been.’ So why can’t you be that kind to yourself?

But you knew about the rest of it. Unless you’re having amnesia issues. Which, incidentally, is another of my favorite fic tropes, so if you’re an amnesiac or want to pretend to be one, let me know, and we can have some fun with that.

Someone I know writes fanfic, and he— they want me to help proofread and give feedback on their stories. But I can’t give useful feedback unless I know what a good story looks like, so I’ve been reading fics about Cupid. The ones with the most kudos.

The Saroyan Stairs were special. Before leaving for Spain, he hadn’t anticipated sharing his late-night pilgrimages there with anyone. Not even Marcus, much as Alex loved his best friend. Lauren’s presence wasn’t an intrusion, though. It was a completion.

I love you. You can tell me it's too fast, too much, but that won't change anything. It's a fact. A scientific truth. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, the tides come and go, we'll eventually grown old and die, and Lucas Karlsson loves Tess Dunn.

Let me make sure I'm understanding you correctly." Lauren turned from the computer monitor to frown at Alex. "You're telling me you want us to buy"--a quick glance back at the screen--"the Mondo Deluxe. AKA the Super Spreader. AKA a dildo the size of my forearm.

He knocked politely and entered the principal’s office with his dad face in full effect. He put his hand on my shoulder in a way that came off as both stern and proud. He was dad-ing it up for the principal, which I was actually a little grateful for, but it also made me mad.

Sometimes, late at night, when I find myself clicking through photos of the alumni events I didn’t attend, I’ll pull out my old coffee-stained copy of Still Life with Woodpecker and blink at the last line: It’s never too late to have a happy childhood. And perhaps safer if it isn’t your own.

Majka Razmeđ' raskuć' raspuć' međ' ljude se skrio i unio nemir u dane sive Kad' li pod vrelim Suncem Pustinje puste i Pustoši grmne dječiji glas kao groban krik i pokrik – nerazumljivim glasom zove; kad' li s druge strane majka u naručje hitri k njemu i u plač se dade sretna što ga nađe „Vidite li milost ove majke prema djetetu svojemu“ – upita. „Vidimo milost ove majke Prema djetetu svojemu“ – rekoše. „E pa znajte“ – reče: „Gospodar vaš je milostiviji od ove majke prema djetetu svojemu i milostiviji je majci i milostiviji je djetetu i milostiviji je vama.“ Kad' li opet, oni u majku pogledaše

I thought . . . or maybe I hoped?” She hesitated. “Hoped is probably more accurate. Anyway, I kind of hoped you were, uh . . . past the point of wanting kids?” “Oh, thank fuck.” He exhaled in a rush, sagging with relief. “I don’t want kids either. I have zero desire to take on that responsibility, especially given how hectic and unpredictable our schedules can be.

And somewhere in that lazy stretch of time after the auction, she started laughing too. Not by accident. Not because the world became a significantly more amusing place over the course of a week or two. No, she started laughing because he’d formulated a new goal to define his days: He wanted to make her laugh as often as he frustrated her. Which was to say, frequently.

You want me to work out with you?” she asked. Before this moment, she’d thought— It didn’t matter. He was treading familiar ground now, digging the same poisoned well deeper and deeper yet, and she’d abandoned that particular spot long ago. She wasn’t going back. Not for anyone, and especially not for a man whose company already came fraught with endless complications and contradictions.

An inappropriate attraction to your friend’s fiancé was grounds for disbarment from the Woman Club. Neither did it make a lick of sense. He was uncouth, uneducated, uncivilized. All of their conversations back then had been unholy bicker fests where they charged from the opposite ends of the spectrum, determined not to meet in the middle but to rip pieces out of each other on the drive by.

If you ever decide to write your own scripts, a bit of advice to keep in mind: As we’re both aware—all too aware—some scriptwriters believe death and misery and stagnation are more clever, more meaningful, and more authentic to reality than love and happiness and change. But life isn’t all misery, and finding a path through hard, hard lives to joy is tough, clever, meaningful work. Yours sincerely, E. Wade.

One more.” Gently, he unwound his fingers from her hair. Then dropped to his knees. Oh, good. He’d read her mind. She laughed. “Peter, you knäppgök. You never need to ask if you can go down on me. The answer is always going to be yes. Always.” “I’m not—” Ducking his chin to his chest, he huffed out a laugh. “Only you, Maria. Only you would mistake a heartfelt declaration of love and proposal of marriage for an inquiry about licking your pussy. Shit.

Oni ti se ne mogu diviti zbog intelekta. Tomu je tako - no postoje brojne druge značajke, za koje ne možeš reći ''ali to nije način na koji sam stvoren''. Stoga pokazuj one vrline koje su ti potpuno podređene - vjerodostojnost, dostojanstvo, naporan rad, samoodricanje, zadovoljstvo, skromnost, blagost, neovisnost, jednostavnost, diskretnost, velikodušnost. Zar ne vidiš koliko vrlina možeš iskazati bez ijedne isprike zbog manjka nadarenosti ili sposobnosti? Unatoč tome i dalje se zadovoljavaš vući se na začelju. Ili te činjenica što ne posjeduješ nikakvu urođenu nadarenost obvezuje na nezadovoljstvo, škrtost, lasku, optuživanje vlastita nemoćnog tijela, ulizivanje, hvalu, na to da ti je um u tolikoj pomutnji? Ne, nebesa mu, ne obvezuje! Svega si se toga mogao još davno riješiti i nositi samo krivnju - ako to krivnja jest - što si pomalo spor i teže razumiješ. A čak se i na tome dade poraditi - osim ako ne zanemaruješ ili prihvaćaš vlastitu glupost.

Over the course of the 1970s conservatives made the endangered child into a kind of political and rhetorical abstraction, a way of thinking about the country and its citizens that could help advance a wide range of policy initiatives. They opposed the counterculture on the grounds that rock and roll caused adolescents to lose respect for family life. They promoted the War on Drugs with racially tinged morality tales about addicted inner-city mothers and, crucially, the “superpredator” “crack babies” to whom those mothers supposedly gave birth. (That particular epidemic was later shown to be a myth.)40 And when Anita Bryant led a campaign to allow Dade County to discriminate against homosexuals in hiring teachers for public schools, she named the effort “Save Our Children.” The fear that tied all of these campaigns together was of the ease with which children could be victimized or else corrupted and turned against the society that was supposed to nurture them.

Satni mehanizam, koji se metodično izokretao i nadimao, sada je sav u nježnim nijansama bijele i sive. I nije sastavljen od običnih dijelova, već od likova i predmeta, savršeno izrezbarenog cvijeća, planeta i sićušnih knjiga s pravim papirnatim stranicama koje se dade okretati. Tu su i srebrni zmaj, svijen oko jednog dijela sada vidljivog satnog mehanizma, sićušna kraljevna što uzrujano hoda po izrezbarenoj kuli čekajući kraljevića, koji nikako da stigne, i čajnici koji u šalice nalijevaju čaj iz kojega se odbijajući sekunde izdižu minijaturni pramenčići pare. Umotani se darovi odmataju. Maleni psi naganjaju malene mačke. Cijela šahovska partija. U središtu mehanizma, na mjestu na kojem bi u kakvom običnom kronometru obitavala kukavica, stoji žongler. Odjeven poput harlekina sa sivom maskom, žonglira svjetlucavim sivim lopticama čiji broj odgovara broju sati. Kako ura odbija sate, tako se lopticama kojima barata pridružuju nove, sve dok – u ponoć – po složenom obrascu ne počne žonglirati s njih dvanaest. Nakon ponoći sat se počinje sklapati. Površina posvjetljuje i oblaci se vraćaju. Sve je manje žonglerskih loptica, a ma kraju iščezava i sam žongler. Do podneva sat prestaje biti bajka i ponovo postaje običan sat.

I don’t have any interest in helping you keep your job,” I say, shifting my weight onto my heels, suddenly tired and resigned. “But I promise to do what I can to keep you from being fired over false pretenses. If you get thrown out of here, it’ll be your fault, not mine, and not Mr. Dade’s.” “You say that now—” “—and I’ll say it tomorrow.” I turn and pull open the door. “Good night, Asha. Go home and get some sleep.” “I’m not tired.” “Then go to the park and pull the wings off butterflies,” I say with a sardonic smile. “That seems like the kind of thing you would enjoy.” She smiles back, shakes her head. “Butterflies are too weak.” “Then shoot a coyote, whatever,” I suggest. “But your work day’s over. We all need our rest and if I’m going to be a dictator, I’m going to try to be a benevolent one.

But I’ve always accepted that pain as inevitable. I’ve always thought it was the price I needed to pay for my freedom to do what I want, when I want to do it. The price I needed to pay for joy in my life.

Brian Keyes slouched on a worn bench in the lobby of the Dade County jail, waiting to see the creep the cops just caught.

Still doing divorces?” Al Garcia asked. “Here and there.” Keyes hated to admit it, but that’s what covered the rent: he’d gotten damn good at staking out nooner motels with his three-hundred-millimeter Nikon. That was another reason for Al García’s affability. Last year he had hired Brian Keyes to get the goods on his new son-in-law. García despised the kid, and was on the verge of outright murdering him when he called Keyes for help. Keyes had done a hell of a job, too. Tracked the little stud to a VD clinic in Homestead. García’s daughter wasn’t thrilled by the news, but Al was. The divorce went through in four weeks, a new Dade County record. Now Brian Keyes had a friend for life.

Mike Bezos’s job took them to Miami—a city Mike had first encountered fifteen years before as a penniless immigrant. Now he was an executive at Exxon, and the family bought a four-bedroom house with a backyard pool in the affluent Palmetto neighborhood in unincorporated Dade County. Miami

Dr. Joe Allen had autopsied 3,712 murder victims during his long career as the Dade County coroner, so he had seen more indescribable carnage than perhaps any other human being in the whole United States. Throughout the years Joe Allen had charted South Florida's progress by what lay dead on his steel tables, and he was long past the point of ever being shocked or nauseated. He performed meticulous surgery, kept precise files, and compiled priceless morbidity data which earned him a national reputation. For example, it was Dr. Allen who had determined that Greater Miami had more mutilation-homicides per capita than any other American city, a fact he attributed to the terrific climate. In warm weather, Allen noted, there were no outdoor elements to deter a lunatic from spending six, seven, eight hours hacking away on a victim; try that in Buffalo, and you’d freeze your ass off. After Dr. Allen had presented his findings to a big pathologists' convention, several other Sun Belt coroners had conducted their own studies and confirmed what became known as the Allen Mutilation Theorem.

Haulin Assets Moving is a full-service moving company in Florida. We know that moving can be stressful, so it’s our goal to take the moving part of it off your plate. In Broward County, Coral Springs, Fort Lauderdale, Hollywood, Miami-Dade County, Palm Beach County, Wilton Manors and the surrounding areas, we offer our moving services.

Sometimes, two people come together and become less than what they were separately. They subtract from one another. One and one making zero.’ His mother and father. On their own, decent people. Decent parents. Together: nothing he wanted in his life. When she nodded in understanding, he continued. ‘Other times, two people in a relationship make nothing more than the sum of their parts. One plus one equals two.’ He rested his fists on his hips and made himself say it. ‘But if I’m going to risk a relationship, I want something more. Something transformative. Not just a sum.’ She was listening so carefully, with no attempt to fill in words for him or interrupt, and it was just one more reason he needed to kiss her. ‘I want a product. An exponent. I want one plus one to equal eighty, or a thousand, or infinity.

the

Black to disappear. Extra fabric to disguise. As always, fatness was a sin, most likely mortal rather than venial.

Smart, accomplished, passionate women were his undoing, always, even though he knew—he knew—he’d never be enough for them.

He cared about work above all else. As many Americans supposedly did, probably because they didn’t have much of a safety net if they lost their jobs.

I feel—like everything and nothing,” she whispered. “I feel so young.

It’s a different sort of belonging, a safer sort—and I’m now wondering why I ever feared that safety, and why I instead chose a belonging where I never really belonged.

I was hung on on Kennedy … I thought nothing could ever be as special as it had been, at least in my own experience … But it was years before I finally realized that I’d been miserable there. I’d done very well but—I never fit in. … It’s almost like I was too earnest for the place—and I don’t say that to congratulate myself or make myself feel better. Earnestness has its merits and its limits.” She looked thoughtfully at me. “Though I’d imagine I’m now guilty of something of an overcorrection.” I looked back at her, briefly silenced by the truth her words had carried, which left me with the discomfort of recognition. “But when you realized you’d been unhappy,” I said finally, “Did you become any less hung up on the place, or less infatuated with it?” She smiled as the bartender placed the wine in front of her. “Nah.

And once again, his eyes caught hers with that rare locking clutch—the one that engenders a mutual magnetism, the one that precedes a kiss.