Dani Love Quotes

Silver eyes met hers and locked. “I didn’t like Dani.” “At least you’re consistent,” she said coolly. His silver eyes were ice. “I loved her.

Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done.

What you get out of being loved, it’s supposed to be worth the compromise. When it’s good, it makes you want to compromise.

Let me be your anchor. I'll never let you be lost again.

She loves. And she doesn't know how to pull it back when you have to, because sometimes you sure as feck have to. Got to grab it up with both hands and pull it back before somebody turns into knives and uses it to cut you to pieces.

We spent our whole lives loving each other from a distance. We can do it for a little while longer.

I love you more eternal than pi.

If you weaken, I'll be strong. If you get lost, I'll be your way home. If you despair, I'll bring you joy. I will love you until the end of time.

Love is Chocolate The unprocessed kind. Dark. Bitter. But always with the promise of sweet perfection. All it takes is sugar- that certain someone's kiss, flavored with possibility. If Dani has taught me anything, it's that life is brimming with possibilities. Every single day brings choices.

He’s happy, Yi-yi.” I went very still. “He, who?” “The one who danced you into love.

Are you in love with me?" I asked, grinding my nails into my palms. "Yes," he said simply. "But not yet

To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man’s-land.

Then he slid one big, warm hand over the nape of her neck, squeezed, and said, “Don’t look so surprised. You know I love your brain.

I had one friend with same-sex orientation, and Dana hadn't spoken to me since I asked her to describe her honeymoon in graphic detail—and then made vibrator noises.

I love you, Dani Mega O’Malley,” Dancer said against my ear as he moved inside me. “More than the world is big. Deeper than the sky is blue. Truer than the universe is vast. I love you more eternal than pi.

It would be many years before I began to understand that all of life is practice: writing, driving, hiking, brushing teeth, packing lunch boxes, making beds, cooking dinner, making love, walking dogs, even sleeping. We are always practicing. Only practicing.

I love re-creating myself. Change means you get to choose again. Become something new. -Dani

Hurting a loved one was like running over someone’s foot; you rarely meant to do it, but the bones still broke.

There is in each of us a fundamental split between what we think we know and what we know but may never be able to think.

The people who are with us by either happenstance or design during life-altering events become woven into the fabric of those events.

Peter to Austin: “Here are the facts, Austin. You’ve been engaged four times. You’ve cheated on every single one of them. You’re cruel sometimes and superficial and spoiled and really fucked up emotionally. You talk about my being inscrutable, but you treat nothing as if it matters to you. Something terrible happens? You make a joke and shrug it off. You feel too much? You get angry and lash out at me. So no, I’m not in love with you. I’m fighting it every fucking step! I just wish I could stop it.

At fourteen, I’d vowed, one day, I’d be the woman making him laugh, making joy blaze from his face, so tangible it seemed I might catch it in my hands.

Sometimes I feel You were a plot twist In my story You were my serendipity.

Dani said this woman, with whom she’d lived for two years, had never known her. “I feel like people accept the first thing I show them,” she said, “and that’s all I ever am to them.

You’re ashamed of me. Because I’m fat. That’s why you don’t want them to see me.” She slit her eyes open just barely, lids heavy. “I’m not ashamed of you. And you’re not fat.” “Look at my belly,” he said tearfully, clutching it with both paws and jiggling. She smiled. “I like your belly. I think it’s a perfectly wonderful belly, all soft and round.

Love is funny. Even though you don't have that person anymore, you still have the feeling. You didn't lose your LOVE. You lost the tangible, tactile, sense-sational ability to experience the person or animal you lost.

Whiskey, glass, pour, toss back, glare. Repeat. “Cop out,” I slurred in retaliation, pointing the empty glass at Peter. “Don’t get drunk. Fuck. I need you sober,” he yelled, snatching the glass out of my hand. “There’s the problem right there. You need me sober. You need my help. You need something from me.” I laughed, tossing the bottle on the sofa, ignoring the glug glug glug as it emptied over my cushions. “And I just need you.” “Need me to what?” He asked with a huff, tipping the bottle right-side up. “Nothing. I just need you,” I whispered and flopped into a nearby recliner.

Fucking black was fucking exotic. And America loves to fuck exotic. Put black vengeance and white guilt together in the same bed and you had a night to remember!

You carry the pain and you also carry the reward.

When I asked him why he was dropping Ivy, he got this really serious look on his face and then said, Because she’s not the girl of my dreams. And I laughed and said, Okay, then who is?” “What did he say?” “He said the girl of his dreams loves daisies.” I smile in the darkness. “Said he’d loved her his entire life.

After listening to my entire story, he quietly said: "You can say, "This is impossible, terrible.' Or you can say, 'This is beautiful, wonderful.' You can imagine that you're in exile. Or you can imagine that you have more than one home.

Dani was starting to realize she'd treated the opinion of everyone who'd ever left her as an irrefutable truth: Danika Brown is not worthy of love. The trouble was, building a conclusion based on irrelevant or unreliable sources never worked. And when it came to Dani's worthiness, the only source she should really value was herself.

had not only saved her from her sins, but He loved her. Not based on how she measured up, but because she was His.

You don't grieve love; you celebrate that you had it.

Bessel van der Kolk: “The nature of trauma is that you have no recollection of it as a story.

Fortunately nothing is unexpected with God, and so if I am not with you, know I am with Him and I will see you again one day. Be blessed, my dear Bailey. Be loved. Be open to all God has in store for you. And don’t be afraid to enjoy His gifts.

When I was in eighth grade, I used a self-timing camera to take nude pictures of myself in various stages of erection. I then exchanged my biology teacher’s slides with the images. The teacher, in a state of panic, kept rapidly pressing the ‘next’ button. It was like a pornographic flip-book. That was the last straw in a very heavy pile of straws. I was expelled, and I ended up transferring mid-year from boarding school to a public school near home.

I was beginning to see the danger in adhering to a single narrative, hewing to a story. The peril wasn't only in getting it wrong. It was a kind of calcification, a narrowing, a perversion of reality that hardened and stilled the spirit.

God is love, and when we pray we are drawing near to love, and all our hatred must melt away like the snow melts when the sun shines on it in spring. Leave Lucien to God, Annette. He rewards both good and evil, but remember, He loves Lucien just the same as He loves Dani.

It wasn't getting easier because it isn't supposed to get easier. Midlife was a bitch, and my educated guess was that the climb only got steeper from here. Carl Jung put it perfectly: "Thoroughly unprepared we take the step into the afternoon of life," he wrote. "Worse still, we take this step with the false assumption that our truths and ideals will serve us as hitherto. But we cannot live the afternoon of life according to the program of life's morning; for what was great in the morning will be little at evening, and what in the morning was true will by evening have become a lie." ... I was writing a new program for the afternoon of life. The scales tipped away from suffering and toward openheartedness and love. [p. 182]

You know, sometimes life doesn’t give you what you want, but it gives you what you need.

It turns out that it is possible to live an entire life—even an examined life, to the degree that I had relentlessly examined mine—and still not know the truth of oneself.

It is the nature of trauma that, when left untreated, it deepens over time.

Do you know the three great spiritual questions?" he asked..."Who am I?...Why am I here?...And how shall I live?

Making love to a Negro isn't frightening; sleeping with him is. Sleep is complete surrender. It's more than nude; it's naked. Anything can happen during the night, when reason sleeps.

When God looks at you He sees His beloved child.” “Not me. You’re wrong.” “No. I’m not.” “How can you sound so certain?” “Because I know He loves you.” “How?” “Because He died for you.” Her lip quivered. “But I am so unworthy.” “We all are. That’s the beauty of God’s grace and the depth of Christ’s love. God loves you.

You say goodbye to the people you love thousands of times in a lifetime: every time they walk out of the front door; every time you hang up the phone; every waved farewell. You just never know which of those goodbyes is going to be the last one.

He couldn't leave if he wanted to. His heart belonged to her.

Always lists to be made, as if writing items in neat vertical rows might stave off randomness and chaos.

Throughout history, great philosophical minds have grappled with the nature of identity. What makes a person a person? What combination of memory, history, imagination, experience, subjectivity, genetic substance, and that ineffable thing called the soul makes us who we are? Is who we are the same as who we believe ourselves to be?

And how am I supposed to know what my limits are if I don’t test them out in a safe fashion with a partner who can get me medical treatment if I need it?” “Damn you and your logic.” Dani raised her arms in triumph. “Scientific method, bitch!

he proclaimed that he didn’t need to work for a living because “the universe would provide.” When Dani was twelve, she asked Gramma how she felt about being called “the universe.” Dani got grounded for the weekend.

I touched follow on my phone's screen. I saw it—a vision—two half sisters who had never known of one another's existence, sending the most modern version of a smoke signal, each from her own coast. I see you. I see you, too.

In the country, I stopped being a person who, in the words of Sylvia Boorstein, startles easily. I grew calmer, but beneath that calm was a deep well of loneliness I hadn't known was there. ... Anxiety was my fuel. When I stopped, it was all waiting for me: fear, anger, grief, despair, and that terrible, terrible loneliness. What was it about? I was hardly alone. I loved my husband and son. I had great friends, colleagues, students. In the quiet, in the extra hours, I was forced to ask the question, and to listen carefully to the answer: I was lonely for myself. [p. 123]

Miz Beauty does not speak. You've got to discover her erogenous zones, her favorite subjects of conversation, her sign, all on your own. Meanwhile, Miz Piggy's coming like an express train. She doesn't get it every day. And she's hell-bent to make the most of it. She wants more, more, more.

I want to know why you love me. Because I don't make sense without you. You're part of me.

You are the only person that you'll have for the rest of your life. Cherish yourself. Treat yourself with kindness. Love yourself. Be your own caretaker.

If you feel like you're drowning, don't forget that it is just a feeling; it will pass with love and care. If you're actually drowning, then how are you reading this?

You deserve a great love story, Dani,” she says to me.

I don't want to leave you," I repeat. "We spent our whole lives loving each other from a distance. We can do it for a little while longer

When Peter said he was romantic, it was in the way that I was romantic. A blow job and an “I love you” before rolling over and falling asleep.

That’s just their way, honey. His father was the same way with Dee. Axel the same with me. Greg and Melissa. Maddox and Emmy. Asher and Chelcie. My sweet Dani with Cohen. Heck, even Davey had his moment with Sway. These men, it’s just how they are. When they set their minds to something there is nothing and no one that will hold them back. And sweetheart, before you even let this thought take root in your mind, when they know, they know and they know in a way that sticks forever.

I don’t want to be a presentist,” the author was saying. Presentism: the anachronistic introduction of present-day ideas and perspectives into depictions or interpretations of the past.

What am I now that I was then? / May memory restore again and again / The smallest color of the smallest day; / Time is the school in which we learn, / Time is the fire in which we burn.

Home. I knew some truths about that word now. You weren’t always born into one. But if you were lucky, you found one somewhere along the way. It was a place where you fit and were accepted, where people helped you with your problems and you helped them with theirs. Where you made mistakes and so did they but the love never wavered. A place where erosions never turned into landslides because you dug one another out. And always would.

I get it' Dani said, suprising me. 'When you watch one of these old movies in a place like this, you're connected to everybody else who's ever watched it. You can practically feel them around you.'" Libba Bray

Dani had threatened to kill him. This must be the way she planned to do it. Her dark hair was down around her shoulders and she was wearing earrings that glittered in the sunlight. The purple dress she had on showed off her toned legs and hugged her curves. The supply of oxygen to his brain cut off, and he was pretty sure his heart had stopped a couple of beats ago.

I’m not sure how to sign off.  I almost wrote, ‘Love, Griffin,’ but I’m already afraid she will run scared from all the innuendo and other craziness she’s bringing out in me.  I hate being so far away.  I feel possessive of her.  I

I tell my students, who are concerned with the question of betrayal, that when it comes to memoir, there is no such thing as absolute truth—only the truth that is singularly their own. I say this not to release them from responsibility but to illuminate the subjectivity of our inner lives. One person's experience is not another's.

But gratitude and trauma weren’t mutually exclusive.

Being with him was going to be the most pain I would ever feel, but being with him was also going to be the most passion I would ever experience!

I think—I think Zaf loves me,” Dani wailed. There was a moment of silence before Sorcha piped up cautiously, “Oh . . . no?

Hadn’t since the day she’d walked in on her first love merrily boinking someone else, and never would.

Dani in front of me now is not the same person I'm dealing business with. Of course I'm different. I'm not working now. I'm flirting.

I'm not a slut, I just love, love...P!nk.

I love my job because it never demands more than I can give. But lately I think I’ve been offering too much. Like maybe I’ve forgotten . . . balance.

Christopher Bollas, writes: “There is in each of us a fundamental split between what we think we know and what we know but may never be able to think.

Is who we are the same as who we believe ourselves to be?

Dani sat back in her chair, a confused expression on her face. “Jillian, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but what the fuck is going on with your thumb?

It isn't misery that loves company - no, no. Happiness loves company, and misery - misery just wants to be left alone

Either all of us are accidents of history or none of us are.

big-shot capitalist. I hate those assholes.” I don’t love them, either.

I understand that you loved him," Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. "I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo's pyre. I will not watch you burn." "Is that what you fear?" Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead.

Dany "Bring me that book I was reading last night." She wanted to lose herself in the words, in other times and other places. The fat leather-bound volume was full of songs and stories from the Seven Kingdoms. Children's stories, if truth be told; too simple and fanciful to be true history. All the heroes were tall and handsome, and you could tell the traitors by their shifty eyes. Yet she loved reading them all the same. Last night she had been reading of the three princesses in the red tower, locked away by the king for the crime of being beautiful. When her handmaiden brought the book, dany had no trouble finding the page where she had left off, but is was no good. She found herself reading the same passage half a dozen times. "Ser Jorah gave me this book as a bride's gift, the day I we'd Khal Drogo" She played at at being a queen, yet sometimes she felt like a scared little girl.

I believe that whenever someone you love dies, a part of you goes with them. I also think that every time someone new is brought into your life, a part of you is reborn. The circle of life and death is a balancing act, God’s way of making things even.

God’s love is, and has always been, constant. How precious and forgiving is the God I turned my back on years ago. Even through my hurt, rejection, and anger at life, He was the Father I never had, who loved me, disciplined me, and welcomed me, His prodigal daughter, home.

One afternoon I opened an email from her that included a passage from the work of Pema Chodron, a Buddhist teacher and writer whom I had long admired. "To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man's-land.

I don't understand why everyone loves you and feels this need to protect me against you or warn me against you." It was insulting, to tell the truth. Everyone just assumed she'd roll over... "Everyone just automatically assumes that you're after me and that I'm going to fall for you. It's insulting.

We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing. Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment. Each member of a couple is separate; the two come together in double attention. Lovemaking is not a third thing but two-in-one. John Keats can be a third thing, or the Boston Symphony Orchestra, or Dutch interiors, or Monopoly. For many couples, children are a third thing.” —

But do you feel HELD by him, Dani? Does he feel like a HOME to you?

What in the peanut butter fuck was going on?

What you get out of being loved, it's supposed to be worth the compromise. When it's good, it makes you want to compromise.

I love my job because it never demands more than I can give it. But lately, I think I've been offering too much. Like maybe I've forgotten balance.

Take care of Katy, Dani. Keep her safe and love her forever. Make sure Brooks never takes her for granted.

Dude, you are one sick feck.” “Och, Dani, my love,” he says, gliding toward the bed, “you’ve really no idea.

High to low, roof to floor, wall to wall, and door to door; Basement deep to sky above, fill this home with light and love.

Remember, you have to plant a seed today if you want to promote growth tomorrow. Wishing you all a lovely summer full of reading.

I liked to pretend I was noble, to tell myself I wouldn’t draw someone into the fire, but threatened with the safety of the people I loved, I wouldn’t even hesitate.

I could never share the fate of a civilization that ostracizes rice. In no way could I trust people who believe yogurt is superior to rice.

I want to make you understand that I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I left because I do love you.

It doesn’t matter how you look or what they think of you. Your difference is your MAGIC and what makes you truly YOU!

It's wonderful to be loved but its profound to be understood.

You love or hate someone, only when you don't know them enough.

Love will always be among Ash and Ember,

My newfound awareness was both gauntlet and gift. The choice wasn't to see it as one or the other. It was to embrace both.

But I think that at the moment of my death, I’d like to be looking at those pictures of everyone I have ever loved.

There was nothing to fear from a ghost when they were someone you loved.

I want a stable man in my life. One who will be there, but will give me enough room to be free, to breathe, to live. And one I can love, but not sacrifice my soul for.

Let the young soul look back upon its life and ask itself: what until now have you truly loved, what has raised up your soul, what ruled it and at the same time made it

Donating sperm was not the same as, say, donating a kidney. Or a retina. It was the passing along of an essence that was inseparable from personhood itself.

She’s pert and smart, firmly rooted in her life here in Marietta,

I've loved you for ages, Dani. I've just been waiting for you to catch up.

It is a measure of true adulthood that we are able to imagine our parents as the people they may have been before us.

The hidden disaster was secrecy, the pretense and magical thinking, the certainty that no one ever needed to know.

grief—particularly the phenomenon known as complicated grief—runs its own course in its own time.

I clung to the only story I could tolerate.

of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man’s-land.

Dani pursed her lips. “Again, it’s weird that you know that.” Jillian nodded primly. “I accept your premise.

I’ve got three times the weight on her and there is not much she can do to physically hurt me.  Of course, she could tear my heart right out, and cause me pain that no one else can,

You take something that isn’t your own and you breathe life into it. You create it—and it becomes your creation. You are an agent to help my brother express the finest kind of love.

What makes a person a person? What combination of memory, history, imagination, experience, subjectivity, genetic substance, and that ineffable thing called the soul makes us who we are?

The nature of trauma,” van der Kolk had said, “is that you have no recollection of it as a story. The nature of traumatic experience is that the brain doesn’t allow a story to be created.

I have been writing all my life. Growing up, I wrote in soft-covered journals, in spiral-bound notebooks, in diaries with locks and keys. I wrote love letters and lies, stories and missives. When I wasn't writing, I was reading. And when I wasn't writing or reading, I was staring out the window, lost in thought. Life was elsewhere-I was sure of it-and writing was what took me there.

saying I am love; and regardless of what happens with Prince, with any more of my friends, I know that I am deserving of it and that true love will find me, because I am finding it within myself. Dani

A: “Nobody Knows It but Me” is by ad copywriter Patrick O’Leary. Many readers asked for the text. Here it is: “There’s a place I travel when I want to roam, and nobody knows it but me. / The roads don’t go there and the signs stay home, and nobody knows it but me. / It’s far, far away and way, way afar. It’s over the moon and the sea / and wherever you’re going that’s wherever you are. / And nobody knows it but me.

I don’t know how to do this.  The only word I need to hear from her is my name.  And it’s not Magnus.  It’s something even I don’t understand.  The word thrums in my brain like a dark primal drumbeat. It’s Daddy. 

If I dismiss the ordinary — waiting for the special, the extreme, the extraordinary to happen — I may just miss my life… To allow ourselves to spend afternoons watching dancers rehearse, or sit on a stone wall and watch the sunset, or spend the whole weekend rereading Chekhov stories—to know that we are doing what we’re supposed to be doing — is the deepest form of permission in our creative lives. The British author and psychologist Adam Phillips has noted, 'When we are inspired, rather like when we are in love, we can feel both unintelligible to ourselves and most truly ourselves.' This is the feeling I think we all yearn for, a kind of hyperreal dream state. We read Emily Dickinson. We watch the dancers. We research a little known piece of history obsessively. We fall in love. We don’t know why, and yet these moments form the source from which all our words will spring.

What never fail to draw me in, however, are secrets. Secrets within families. Secrets we keep out of shame, or self-protectiveness, or denial. Secrets and their corrosive power. Secrets we keep from one another in the name of love.

One person's experience is not another's. If five people in a family were to write the story of that family, we would end up with five very different stories. These are truths of a sort - the truth of adhering to what one remembers.

The way you are doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else. You are exactly how you’re supposed to be. YOU ARE PERFECT. And you might not have met them yet, but there are people who are going to love you BECAUSE of the way you are.

I'll be next to you when you are weak. I'll be behind you when you are strong. I'll be in front of you when you can't move. And I'll be on you when we need to be close. I'll stay away if you need distance, but I'll be near you - always!

But I was at the threshold of understanding what Shirley had meant about my not being an accident of history. Or rather: either all of us are accidents of history or none of us are. One sperm, one egg, one moment. An interruption—a ringing phone, a knock on the door, a flashlight through the car window—a single second one way or the other and the result would be an entirely different human being. Mine was just more complicated, an accident involving vials, syringes, contracts, and secrets.

Knowing what you know, you're more of a daughter to Paul than you can possibly imagine. You take something that isn't your own and you breathe life into it. You create it—and it becomes your creation. You are an agent to help my brother express the finest kind of love.

I want to bless that young couple as they cross Union Square. I want to deliver some kind of benediction upon them as—drunk on love—they meander the narrow streets of Alphabet City. I want to suggest that there will come a time when they will need something more than love.

The end of this short story could be a rather disturbing thing, if it came true. I hope you like it, and if you do, be sure to COMMENT and SHARE. Paradoxes of Destiny? Dani! My boy! Are you all right? Where are you? Have you hurt yourself? Are you all right? Daniiii! Why won’t you answer? It’s so cold and dark here. I can’t see a thing… It’s so silent. Dani? Can you hear me? I shouldn’t have looked at that text message while I was driving… I shouldn’t have done it! I'm so stupid sometimes! Son, are you all right?... We really wrecked the car when we rolled it! I can’t see or hear a thing… Am I in hospital? Am I dead…? Dani? Your silence is killing me… Are you all right?! I can see a glimmer of light. I feel trapped. Dani, are you there? I can’t move. It’s like I’m wrapped in this mossy green translucent plastic. I have to get out of here. The light is getting more and more intense. I think I can tear the wrapping that’s holding me in. I'm almost out. The light is blinding me. What a strange place. I've never seen anything like it. It doesn’t look like Earth. Am I dead? On another planet? Oh God, look at those hideous monsters! They’re so creepy and disgusting! They look like extraterrestrials. They’re aliens! I'm on another planet! I can’t believe it. I need to get the hell out here. Those monsters are going to devour me. I have to get away. I’m so scared. Am I floating? Am I flying? I’m going to go higher to try to escape. I can’t see the aliens anymore and the landscape looks less terrifying. I think I've made it. It’s very windy. Is that a highway? I think I can see some vehicles down there. Could they be the extraterrestrials’ transport? I’m going to go down a bit. I see people! Am I on Earth? Could this be a parallel universe? Where could Dani be? I shouldn’t have looked at that text message while I was driving. I shouldn’t… That tower down there looks a lot like the water tank in my town… It’s identical. But the water tank in my town doesn’t have that huge tower block next to it. It all looks very similar to my neighborhood, but it isn’t exactly the same: there are a lot of tower blocks here. There’s the river… and the factory. It’s definitely my neighborhood, but it looks kind of different. I must be in a parallel universe… It’s amazing that I can float. People don’t seem to notice my presence. Am I a ghost? I have to get back home and see if Dani’s there. God, I hope he’s safe and sound. Gabriela must be out of her mind with the crash. There’s my house! Home sweet home. And whose are those cars? The front of the house has been painted a different color… This is all so strange! There’s someone in the garden… Those trees I planted in the spring have really grown. Is… is that… Dani? Yes, yes! It’s Dani. But he looks so different… He looks older, he looks… like a big boy! What’s important is that he’s OK. I need to hug him tight and tell him how much I love him. Can he see me if I’m a ghost? I'll go up to him slowly so I don’t scare him. I need to hold him tight. He can’t see me, I won’t get any closer. He moved his head, I think he’s started to realize I’m here… Wow I’m so hungry all of a sudden! I can’t stop! How are you doing, son?! It’s me! Your dad! My dear boy? I can’t stop! I'm too hungry! Ahhhh, so delicious! What a pleasure! Nooo Daniii! Nooooo!.... I’m your daaaad!... Splat!... “Mum, bring the insect repellent, the garden’s full of mosquitoes,” grunted Daniel as he wiped the blood from the palm of his hand on his trousers. Gabriela was just coming out. She did an about turn and went back into her house, and shouted “Darling, bring the insect repellent, it’s on the fireplace…” Absolute cold and silence… THE END (1) This note is for those who have read EQUINOX—WHISPERS OF DESTINY. This story is a spin-off of the novel EQUINOX—WHISPERS OF DESTINY and revolves around Letus’s curious theories about the possibility of animal reincarnation.

Qu'est-ce qu'un chien, sinon une machine à aimer ? On lui présente un être humain, en lui donnant pour mission de l'aimer - et aussi disgracieux, pervers, déformé ou stupide soit-il, le chien l'aime. Cette caractéristique était si surprenante, si frappante pour les humains de l'ancienne race que la plupart - tous les témoignages concordent - en venaient à aimer leur chien en retour. le chien était donc une machine à aimer à effet d'entraînement - dont l'efficacité, cependant, restait limitée aux chiens, et ne s'étendait jamais aux autres hommes. (La possibilité d'une île, Danie l25,2)

When I asked him why he was dropping Ivy, he got this really serious look on his face and then said, Because she's not the girl of my dreams... He said the girl of his dreams loves daisies... Said he'd loved her his entire life. I thought he was just talking crazy... I think he meant you, Darlington.

Dani froze, craning her head to the right, where the noise had come from. She clicked off the flashlight. She bit down on the urge to call, “hello?” into the dark. That was how people died in horror movies. And if someone else was creeping around in the library, she didn’t want them to know where she was.

GUYS! Would you give it a rest?" Kevin shouted at them, "You're standing there feeding off each other! Dad – you're trying to prove to Ted why me and Dani are a Bad Thing – because you just can't bring yourself to admit that it isn't, even though you can SEE that it isn't! You know it! And Ted – you're pushing my dad's buttons on purpose because you're not so sure yourself how you really feel about us - her, me, any of it! So both of ya just SHUT THE HELL UP!" He turned back towards Dani, "Dani – you're beautiful and I love you – but this wasn't one of your best ideas. Now everyone just be quiet while I hit the stupid little white ball and make it go into the stupid little round hole! GAWD!" All three of them stared at Kevin while he swung. The stupid little white ball flew straight and high, and landed on the green. Apparently a little focus – no matter what it was directed towards – was just what Kevin needed.

Tyrion, Jon, Dany, Stannis and Melisandre, Davos Seaworth, and all the rest of the characters you love or love to hate will be along next year (I devoutly hope) in A Dance with Dragons, which will focus on events along the Wall and across the sea, just as the present book focused on King’s Landing. —George R. R. Martin June 2005

You have to judge things by the result," Shirley continued. "And the result in which you can exult is that the very best was combined in you: grace, brains, creativity, beauty. Whatever alien, mechanical, outside element was in the story—it was a story of success. You have such a rich endowment. You have been so recompensed. You carry the heightened sensitivity, to be sure. You carry the pain and you also carry the reward." Her voice—hoarse from speaking for hours—was a part of me. Her strong hands, her expressive forehead, her sweet smile—all a part of me, because she had always been a part of me. I had been so afraid that blood would be all that mattered.

I’m not giving you up,” she said. The thin shell holding me together cracked, and suddenly I was weeping with my whole body. “And you’d better not be giving me up,” she said. Every syllable, deliberate. “I’m not giving you up, Shirl,” I sobbed. “I was so afraid that—” “I have fewer years ahead of me than behind me,” she said. “And you are my brother’s daughter.

The sunlight is dancing along the whitecaps. It looks as if the sea were filled with thousands upon thousands of flickering stars. Perhaps each one is what remains of every soul who has ever lived; perhaps time is not a continuum, but rather, past, present, and future are always and forever unspooling. The young man standing beside him is the infant he placed on his mother’s belly; the husband and father whose salvation comes in opening his own heart; the elderly astrophysicist who devotes his life to the hunt for habitable exoplanets beyond our solar system. The whole crowd is here, invisible, surrounding them. The air shimmers with everyone he has ever loved. He is near the end of his life, and in another sphere, he is also just beginning. He would like to believe this. And why not? He will find out soon enough.

Technically, we can’t determine that you committed murder,” Dani told him. “I mean, we don’t know what’s on the other side of that rift. Sure, her very cells could have been ripped apart into nothing because people were not meant to be thrown through interdimensional tears. But it’s also possible that she’s stuck in a dimension where dinosaurs are in charge of the government or the only fruit available is kiwi.

you know the three great spiritual questions?” he asked. My eyes were closed, stinging from my disclosure, as they often did. “Who am I?” I whispered and paused. I couldn’t remember the other two. We were silent for a long moment. Outside his office, on the main street of Stockbridge, I could hear the whoosh of a passing car, the chirp of a lone bird. Finally, he continued. “Why am I here?” Tears ran down my temples and into my hair. He paused before offering me the last question. “And how shall I live?

Logan put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Better?” There was some emotion in his eyes, but it disappeared before she could decipher it. “I’m okay, but I’ll be better when all this is over. Thank you.” “For what?” “For coming here when I asked. It was probably an inconvenience to drop everything at a moment’s notice.” Again, something flittered in his eyes, and he glanced away. When his gaze returned to her, whatever she’d seen was gone. “Know this, Dani. Wherever you are and whenever you need me, I will always come to you.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

What do we inherit, and how, and why? The relatively new field of epigenetics studies the impact of environment and experience on genes themselves. How much had the gene pool of the Waldens - that apparently cheerful extended family I had seen singing on YouTube - formed me? I did not come from the line of small, wiry, dark-eyed people of the shtetl, the men swaying over crumbling tombstones, prayer books in their hands. The imprint of pogroms, of the difficulties and sorrows of immigrant life was not mine - at least not in the physical sense. But I had carried these things a long way in my heart. I was of that dusty and doomed Polish village - and I was not. What had I inherited psychologically? What was in my blood? I was made of three people: my mother, my father, Ben Walden. Disparate worlds had been floating and colliding within me all my life.

But through the ash and darkness I saw him. My dragon. Beautiful, terrible, fierce. The scars of his stories still evident, even in this form. I remembered the ones who'd come before me, those who had also pried open his shuttered heart. The ones who had left him. But I wasn't ready to go yet; I wouldn't leave my dragon in that dark place again to pick up the pieces of his fallen loved ones in isolation. And Ryker wouldn't let me go. "Ryker!" I screamed as I fell. He was enormous, beating his wings and trying to rise up to meet me. One of his wings was a tattered mess, but still he pushed up, his body beginning to shift and change. He shrank and shed his scales, turning back into the human shape I'd known him in but keeping the wings that helped push him to me in a desperate gust. My eyes were flooding, tears falling every which way in the wind as I fell. I stretched out my arms to him, and he reached up and grabbed me. "Dani!" he growled over the wind. I was pulled into his chest, my head tucked under his chin as my hot, wet tears soaked us both. "It's over, he's dead. I told you my fire would never hurt you.

Once he stared the car, I said, “I just want you to know I’m paying for my meal, because I know it’ll be full price, and I didn’t want you to think I was expecting you to pay for it, because this isn’t a date. It’s just the team and the host sisters, brothers, whatever, getting together to have some fun tonight since it’s raining…or was raining…it’s obviously not raining now. And you’re just giving me a ride, not a meal.” Shut me up! Shut me up! Shut me up! He shifted into reverse, then backed out of the driveway. “I’m buying your dinner.” “No, really--” “Dani.” It was the first time I could recall him actually saying my name. I loved the way it just rumbled, his voice so deep, so perfect. I wanted him to say it again, over and over. But he’d stopped in the middle of the street. I figured any minute Dad was going to come barreling out of the house to find out what was wrong. I looked over at Jason. “I’m buying your dinner, as my thanks to you for convincing your family to host me. Just accept it, okay?” I nodded. “Okay.” He drove, and I settled into my seat, wondering what other surprises the night might hold.

Mr. Townsend quirks a brow at the other man, and when our boss walks away he sticks his tongue out to his back. I push my hair over my shoulder and look this man over a bit closer. His dark hair reaches his shoulders and falls in soft waves around his face. He has a strong jaw lined with stubble and high cheekbones under his impossibly dark eyes. His perfect teeth are framed beautifully with full lips and a dark goatee, which only highlight the voluptuous color of his mouth. He’s wearing a dark blue button up shirt that fits loosely around his arms and chest, but the fitted dark jeans show off the chiseled lines of his thighs. He pushes his chair back slightly and stands, extending his large hand toward me. “I’m Reid. Reid Townsend.” He’s tall, about 6’0”, with a smile right out of a toothpaste commercial, and when I take his hand (surely with a stupid look on my face) it’s rough from heavy use. “Nice to meet you. I’m Danielle Delaney,” I reply. “You can call me Dani… Or anything you’d like except DD, um, in high school some people called me Double D’s because of that name and because I have big boobs—” I cut off abruptly with a slightly choked sound, feeling the blood rush over my chest, face and ears. I’ve never blurted something like that before in my life, and I especially have never blurted anything because I’m standing in front of a beautiful guy—I’m the player, not the played.

True Self Love is about releasing negative energy, forgiving the past and raising your vibration, so that you feel amazing from the inside.

What you think, you become. What you feel, you attract. What you imagine, you create ~Buddha

He needed certainty and routine, craving the sense of calm and organization it brought him. But loving Dani was akin to setting a bull loose in the china shop of his life. Sure, he could try to stop it, but it would be useless. Instead, he gave in to it, his anxiety soothed and repaired by the consistency of her affection. No matter the craziness they would have to deal with—and given the nature of their lives there would be a lot—he knew they'd get through it together. Because she'd earned his trust.

What do you want, Alex?” He didn’t even hesitate. “I want you, Dani. You. Us. All of it. I never stopped wanting you.

She’s everything. I love her beyond explanation. She’s my every breath, the light in the sky. The wind in the trees. Every place I look, it’s her I see.

Because you look like the type to fall in love easily, and I’m not interested in breaking your heart.

You need to start seeing yourself through God’s eyes.” But what He sees is the same. She was flawed and undeserving. “When God looks at you He sees His beloved child.” “Not me. You’re wrong.” “No. I’m not.” “How can you sound so certain?” “Because I know He loves you.” “How?” “Because He died for you.” Her lip quivered. “But I am so unworthy.” “We all are. That’s the beauty of God’s grace and the depth of Christ’s love. God loves you.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing against her cheek. “And so do I.” “But you

Maybe he’s a masochist who loves being tortured by your awkwardness,” Dani suggested.

All night—all night she just kept throwing digs at me. About every fucking thing. My cooking, my outfit, my career, my love life. It was nonstop. Dani even got in her ass about it, and you know she’s normally on some keep the peace shit with us. What did I do?

When Freud speculated about the reasons people rejected and avoided psychoanalysis, he said that Copernicus gave the first blow to humanity's naive self-love or narcissism, the cosmological blow, when humankind learned that it was not the centre of the universe. Darwin gave the second, the biological blow, when he said that humanity's supremacy over the animal kingdom is questionable. Freud claimed that he gave the third, the psychological blow, by showing that 'the ego is not [even] master in its own house' and that, indeed, we have limits to our consciousness. I believe that Nazi Germany gave humanity the fourth, the ethical blow, by shattering our naive belief that the world we live in is a just place, and that human life is of value. "The Aging Survivor of the Holocaust.

It only took one spark. One spark and now you get to watch everything you love burn.

His love for his son is a vast and forceful thing; whatsoever threatens Waldo must be destroyed. But given that it's Waldo who appears to be hurting himself, what can Shenkman d0? What can he do?

Dani, don't worry about me. I can't let you do this for me," he said as he began to cry. "My baby girl, don't worry about me. Fight him, escape him, and know I'll always love you. Don't worry about me." Sobbing, my vision blurred even as I stared at the arm around me covered in a large floral tattoo. Calendula, for Mom.

Funeral plans and last requests are often about helping the living feel some sense of closure—of giving them something arbitrary to do while they are reeling from grief, while they are still talking to their dead loved one in their head.

Samira and I first bonded over our love for Excel.

I didn’t know a woman could make a man feel this way. I’ve had a thousand dreams, and they’ve all starred you.

I’d let him do anything.

I’ve waited a lifetime for you to come along. Every moment you’ve been in my life when I couldn’t be with you in all the ways a man is supposed to love a woman has been a form of torture.

We were true equals. We’d both been waiting for each other, holding out hope that our souls would connect someday without knowing for sure if they ever would.

I’ve heard this hurts, but I’m going to try like hell to make it the best experience of your life, baby.

It felt so good to have someone to vent to, and then I messed it up by letting my dick do the thinking.

It’s powerful to feel wanted.

isn’t fine. I’m not fine, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be, but I won’t tell him that.

You can’t change people, unless they want to be changed.

That’s the constellation Vega. A goddess fell in love with a mortal. They were forbidden to see each other, and thus placed in the sky with an obstacle separating them, only to be reunited once a year. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to only see you in passing. I want you. All of you. Every day.

You say goodbye to the people you love thousands of times in a lifetime: every time they walk out of the front door; every time you hang up the phone; every waved farewell. You just never know which of those goodbyes is going to be the last one. You aren’t supposed to know.

Can you believe I’m pregnant, Lee?” “Honestly? I can’t say I’m shocked. I mean, it’s Cohen.” “What the hell does that mean?” I laugh. “The man wore a cape for, what . . . like, twenty years. He’s some super-secret black ops marine. I’m pretty sure he could kill me a million different ways—the man is just born to have super everything.” “We used a condom, Lee.” He gags. “I love you, Dani, but I don’t want to talk about that shit. Let’s just leave it at shit happens and his super sperm battered down the shield.” I slap his stomach. “God, you’re disgusting.” I settle back down for a second before I push up and spin to look at him. “Do you think Cohen will think the same thing my dad did?

C'est le destin de tout écrivain que d'être un traitre.

I felt as though I were in the desert, hallucinating a mirage. I couldn’t believe that something so devastatingly beautiful existed, yet I wasn’t allowed to touch. My eyes crawled up every dip and curve, imagining what they’d feel like when I finally could claim her. She owned me so completely. Her mind and her ambition and her innocent eyes drew me in.

What’s life supposed to be about?

Giving love, accepting love. If you don’t have those two things, nothing else matters.

This is what a kiss should be like. Hungry. Desperate. Primal.

I need his hands to touch me, his mouth to kiss me, and most of all I need to feel him inside me.

like she’s starring in every man’s school-girl fantasy.

How was I supposed to resist her when she pranced into the room looking like every man’s favorite school-girl fantasy come to life?

I want to hear all the filthy things you want me to do to you from that pretty little mouth of yours.

You have no idea how fucking sexy it is to corrupt my innocent girl,

There is a temptress somewhere inside me and she’s finally making herself known.

Male teachers under sixty and trips to Florida are on the permanent “over my dead body” list. One

For the first time in my life, I was obsessed with a woman.

I wanted her to feel the passion in my blood. I wanted her to taste euphoria and know that in my arms, she had found heaven. I knew in my very soul that I wanted this girl to know she was my everything and nothing ugly could ever touch her.

It’s definitely fucking you. You’re so fucking smart and sexy I can’t clear my head long enough to even hold a conversation with you.

He was part man, part god, his power over every woman undeniable.

I could see the intelligence and wit burning in her eyes. She asked real questions. She was thoughtful and so well-spoken. Everything about her made me want to be the man she deserved. I wanted to move her into my home, take care of her for a lifetime, and gorge myself on her body every night of forever. I could please her. I could make her happy.

I’d read her poetry at night, cook her breakfast in the morning, and listen to her during all the hours in between. No matter what it took, I would claim her heart. I imagined the way her body would arch and sing when I sank into her for the first time, filling her up with my cock and kissing her until she didn’t know where I ended and she began.

She was mine, no doubt about it. She was made for me, and I was made for her. I’d never really believed in soul mates, but she was the other half of my heart.

I had walked this world empty, not knowing what I was missing. I didn’t know what beauty was until I laid eyes on her, my beautiful, smart girl. My love.

Sure. Pussy is pussy, however you dress it up.

I’d never been ripped apart by a kiss, by fucking; woken, raised from the dead, killed and risen again.