Dawson Quotes

Dawson shifted, dropping his head into his hand. "Do you ever stop talking?" "When I'm sleeping," Blake replied. "And when you're dead," Daemon threw back. "You'll stop talking when you're dead." Blake's lips thinned. "Point taken.

What the hell, man?” Dawson exploded, hands flying up. “I was on level sixty-nine of Candy Crush, you bastard. Do you know how hard that—?

Did you think you could stop me?" Power shot from me, smacking into the door behind Dawson, blowing it off the hinges and into the house. "I'll burn the world down to save her.

Hey!” Dawson yelled from the front door. “I think Dee caught the microwave on fire. Again. And I tried popping some popcorn with my hands and it kind of went wrong. Like really, really wrong.” Daemon pressed his forehead against mine and growled. “Dammit.

how could he explain what happened? 'hey, honey, i'm an alien and apparently i just doused you with some radioactive loving! wanna catch a movie?' Yeah, not cool.

Daemon stomped past them, bumping into his brother's shoulder. "You make my head hurt", he said, scowling. "And you make me all warm and fuzzy inside".

What?" he demanded. "Did you just...clean a dish?" Dee backed away slowly, blinking. She glanced at Daemon. "The world is going to end. And I’m still a vir—" "No!" both the brothers yelled in unison. Daemon looked like he was actually going to vomit. "Jesus, don’t ever finish that statement. Actually, don’t ever change that. Thank you." Her mouth dropped open."You expect me to never have—" "This isn’t a conversation I want to start my morning with." Dawson grabbed his book bag off the kitchen table. "I’m so leaving for school before this gets more detailed." "And why aren’t you dressed yet?" Dee demanded, her full attention concentrated on Daemon. "You’re going to be late." "I’m always late." "Punctuality makes perfect.

Finish that sentence and i will stab you in the eye with the spork Bethany's about to pull out of her bag for her apple sauce. And she'd be very upset if i got her sprk all messed up. she's rather fond of the thing." - Dawson

But next time, we need to kind of...oh, I don't know, talk first and then throw people through windows later." Daemon crossed his arms. "Can we try that?

Ah, i just know. That's my talent, if you were wondering. I just know things." She rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. "What a unique talent" "I know. I amaze myself

I knew you loved me and that you'd do anything for me. And that was one of the reasons it hurt so much when you ended it, Dawson. Because I knew even then how rare that kind of love is. Only the luckiest people get to experience it at all.

She's not going anywhere anytime soon. Dawson knocked her into next week, I think.

Words are like people, I think. Put too many of them too close together and they cause trouble.

You know, my sister and I can’t understand what Dawson sees in you. You’re just a silly little human.” His arm shot out so fast it was a blur, picked up a strand of her hair. “And you’re really not even that pretty.” Oh…oh, that stung more than it should have. Tears burned her eyes as she fought to keep her voice level. “I guess it’s a good thing, then. A relationship between us would never work.” His eyes narrowed. “And why is that?” “Because I’m allergic to assholes.

You might not understand, but I gave you the best of me, and after you left, nothing was ever the same.

If you can get through middle school without hurting anyone’s feelings, that’s really cool beans. -Summer Dawson

It's like a bad joke over here: a black woman, a Filipino transvestite, and a Korean ex-stripper walk into a gay man‟s house. All that's missing is a priest and a talking dog.” - Bobby Dawson

Dawson, she knew, had saved Alan's life- but in the end, he'd saved Jared's as well. And for her that meant...everything. 'I gave you the best of me,' he'd told her once, and with every beat of her son's heart, she knew he'd done exactly that.

I would burn down the world for you," he whispered fiercely. "Your world or my own. I would rip down the entire city with my bare hands without a second thought. I don't need to taste anything else, I don't need a comparison.

I love you, Dawson. I love who you are, what you are. And I don’t think love recognizes differences. It just is. And we really aren’t that different.

The thing is, every Luxen feared Daemon's notorious temper. His brother was like a lit fuse, ready to explode at any minute, but what they didn't know was that it was another thing Dawson shared with Daemon. When push came to shove, and it involved someone he cared about, he could be just as mean.

I just don’t have the willpower to hit up the gym every day for two hours, and the idea of cutting candy out of my diet seems impossible.

I can be a dickhead and I do it on purpose. I tend to bully people into doing what I want. And I let everything that had happened with Dawson amplify those…uh, personality traits. But—” He removed his finger, and his grin spread into a smile. “But you…you make me want to be different. That’s why I didn’t kill Blake. It’s why I don’t want you making those decisions or for you to be around me if I am choosing those things.

Dawson sprang off the bed, but his feet never touched the floor beside it. He hovered, staring down at himself. He was glowing. Like in full motherfreaking alien mode up in her house, in her bedroom.

I'm going to H*ll.

Time to beat back the bunny hordes," he said gallantly,knowing that any blood-hungry animals in the area would be waiting outside for me. He threw open the door, shouting, "Bunnies, prepare to meet your doom!

All right, the alien testosterone right now is a little too much, and I really don’t want to have an alien brawl in my house on top of the broken window and the dead body that came through it.” I took a breath. “But if you two don’t knock it off, I’ll kick both of your asses.

It is as easy to find a lover as to keep a friend, but as hard to find a friend as to keep a lover.

Not even a repeat of Dawson’s Creek makes me feel better.

Finish that sentence and I will stab you in the eye with the spork Bethany’s about to pull out of her bag for her apple sauce.” He smiled gamely. “And she’d be very upset if I got her spork all messed up. She’s rather fond of the thing.” ... "A spork,” Dee said, grabbing her bag. “What is a spork?” Bethany’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve never seen one?” “Dee doesn’t get out much,” Dawson replied, grinning. “Shut up.” Dee pulled out the fork and spoon in one and smiled. “I’ve never seen one of these! Ha. This is so handy.” She looked over at Daemon, eyes dancing. “We could get rid of over half of our silverware and get like ten of these and we’d be set for life.

A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets. But now you know there was a man named Jack Dawson and that he saved me...in every way that a person can be saved. I don’t even have a picture of him. He exists now...only in my memory.

What are you going to do when you see Beth?" Awe crept across Dawson's features, and he shook his head slowly. "Oh, man, I don't know. Breathe - I'll finally be able to breathe.

You're brother is all excitable this morning," Daemon said. "For school. There's something inherently wrong with that." Dawson smirked. "There's something inherently wrong with the fact that Dee and I have to stand here and talk to you while you're in your boxers.

If you're passionate about something, give it your all, and you will find happiness.

Whatever happens, love that.

I've never been afraid of them. Not once. Because I had you.

Why, Criminy Stain," I said. "You're a romantic." "Oh, no," he said with a grin. "I'm fiendish and unscrupulous, a vicious killer and a thief and a bloodthirsty monster. And maybe a little romantic. But don't tell anyone, or my reputation's shot.

Dropped down the Rabbit Hole, with hot models gone wild..."- Riley Dawson

Dammit, woman! You're scent, your stupid bloody delicious scent lingering in every crevice of my body and my wardrobe, driving me nearly mad. Do you know what it's like to want something so badly, to have it so close, and still feel that it's out of your reach? Out of control?

I got words in me, Jess, fighting to find a way out. Sometimes there's so many words and they get so crowded in my skull I think my head is gonna explode. I want to write them down. I've tried, but most of the time my thoughts and my feelings are bigger than what I can get on paper.

Amanda: This weekend was wonderful, but it isn't real life. It was more like a honeymoon, and after a while the excitement will wear off. We can tell ourselves it won't happen, we can make all the promises we want, but it's inevitable, and after that you'll never look at me the way you do now. I won't be the woman you dream about, or the girl you used to love. And you won't be my long-lost love, my one true thing anymore, either. You'll be someone my kids despise because you ruined the family, and you'll see me for who I really am. In a few years, I'll simply be a woman pushing fifty with three kids who might or might not hate her, and who might end up hating herself because of all this. And in the end, you'll end up hating her, too. Dawson: That's not true. Amanda: But it is. Honeymoons always come to an end. Dawson: Being together isn't about a honeymoon. It's about the real you and me. I want to wake up with you beside me in the mornings, I want to spend my evenings looking at you across the dinner table. I want to share every mundane detail of my day with you and hear every detail of yours. I want to laugh with you and fall asleep with you in my arms. Because you aren't just someone I loved back then. You were my best friend, my best self, and I can't imagine giving that up again. You might not understand, but I gave you the best of me, and after you left, nothing was ever the same. I know you're afraid, and I'm afraid, too. But if we let this go, if we pretend none of this ever happened, then I'm not sure we'll ever get another chance. We're still young. We still have time to make this right. Amanda: We're not that young anymore- Dawson: But we are. We still have the rest of our lives. Amanda: I know. That's why I need you to do something for me. Dawson: Anything. Amanda: Please...don't ask me to go with you, because if you do, I'll go. Please don't ask me to tell Frank about us, because I'll do that, too. Please don't ask me to give up my responsibilities or break up my family. I love you, and if you love me, too, then you just can't ask me to do these things. Because I don't trust myself enough to say no.

This was it. And it was right. Perfect without the dinner, movies, and flowers, because how could you really plan something like this? You couldn't Daemon sat back- A fist pounded on the door, and Andrew's voice intruded. "Daemon, are you awake?" We stared at each other in disbelief. "If I ignore him," he whispered, "do you think he'll go away?" My hands dropped to my sides. "Maybe" The pounding came again. "Daemon, I really need you downstairs. Dawson is ready to go back to Mount Weather. Nothing Dee or I are saying to him is making a bit of difference. He's like a suicidal Energizer bunny." Daemon squeezed his eyes shut. "Son of a bitch..." "It's okay." I started to sit up. "He needs you." He let out a ragged sigh. "Stay here and get some rest. I'll talk-or beat some sense into him." He kissed me briefly and then gently pushed me back down. "I'll be back." Settling in, I smiled. "Try not to kill him." "No promises." He stood, pulled on his pajama bottoms, and headed for the door. Stopping short, he looked over his shoulder,his intense gaze melting my bones. "Dammit." A few seconds after he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, there was a fleshly smack and then Andrew yelling. "Ouch. What in the hell was that for?" "Your timing sucks on an epic level," Daemon shot back.

I know the old saying “Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels.” Well, nothing tastes as good as being alive either.

You're so stupid, Rose! - Jack Dawson

The snow lay thin and apologetic over the world. That wide grey sweep was the lawn, with the straggling trees of the orchard still dark beyond; the white squares were the roofs of the garage, the old barn, the rabbit hutches, the chicken coops. Further back there were only the flat fields of Dawson's farm, dimly white-striped. All the broad sky was grey, full of more snow that refused to fall. There was no colour anywhere.

Sweetheart, you couldn't conjure me if you tried.

Be careful who you call crazy. Some of us think it's a compliment.

Discipline imposed from the outside eventually defeats when it is not matched by desire from within.

Some people just shine a bit brighter than others and it's got nothing to do with what they look like.

it’s in the broken places where the light gets in.

If you can't laugh at yourself, then what the fuck is the point of living?

Well, yes, ma'am, I do... I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what's gonna happen or, who I'm gonna meet, where I'm gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life's a gift and I don't intend on wasting it. You don't know what hand you're gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you... to make each day count.

Dawson, like Tuck, was one of those rare people who could love only once, and if anything, separation had only made his feelings grow stronger. Two days ago, that realization had been disconcerting, but she now understood that, for Dawson, there had been no other choice. Love, after all, always said more about those who felt it than it did about the ones they loved.

Those who have witnessed executions say there is no sound worse than the weeping of mother watching her son being put to death. They're wrong. There is one sound that is worse. There is silence.

Life is so good, and it gets better every day.

Easy things aren't worth much. Your hand in mine is worth a great deal, Leticia." he said, helping to my feet. "That's what I'll be fighting for tomorrow.

He's confused. It's a classic love triangle... like Peyton, Lucas and Brooke on One Tree Hill. Or Joey, Dawson and Pacey on Dawson's Creek. Even Bella, Edward and Jacob in Twilight, although none of you is a vampire or a werewolf.

What you’re seeing is pain. And you’re the only one who sees it,” he said more softly. “You’re the only one who can cut me, and you wound me deep.

But when Bethany came into class, her dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off her graceful neck, he may have stopped breathing again. A thousand charming words strung together in his head in a nanosecond, but he averted his eyes to his empty notebook. Notes? Who really took notes in class? Dawson wanted to see if she would talk to him first. God, he was like a teenage girl. He was so screwed.

I dare to dream of a world where people can dress, speak and behave how they want, free from mockery, derision, judgement, harassment and danger. This is what I want. Who’s with me?

The process of secularisation arises not from the loss of faith but from the loss of social interest in the world of faith. It begins the moment men feel that religion is irrelevant to the common way of life and that society as such has nothing to do with the truths of faith.

You're never truly by yourself when you have a book in your bag.

Our breakup broke the record for the most mutual parting of ways in history. Here’s the text-message conversation: Me: Hey . . . should we break up? Canadian: Ya probably. Me: Ok. Canadian: Did you watch Hoarders last night? Me: Ya! I can’t believe that woman ate her dead dog thinking it was jerky. Canadian: I know! Crazy! Me: Well . . . goodbye I guess. Canadian: Do we have to unfollow each other on Twitter? I’d rather still follow you. You have funny tweets. Me: No way. I never unfollow anyone. That’s so tacky. Canadian: Agreed.

How do you know where a story begins?

Bobbie wondered if that's how long you truly live for - until the last person who remembers you, until the final bouquet on your grave.

This is what love is. Not the moments on the beach, or under the stars or the trees, or in the moonlight. Love is sitting together in the quiet, waiting for death to come. Knowing you’re not alone.

Jealous is ugly, it will betray you in a heartbeat.

The only person who had ever wanted to fuck me was a homeless lady who used to stand outside of Ralphs and tell me I had a “sad face that she wanted to sit on.

And to this day we are still kissing each other with the same amount of passion. It’s been more than three years, and I still feel like there’s more to unwrap. Every day I get a glimpse of what’s inside. I hope it never ends.

We must be so heavenly minded that we are compelled to be of earthly good!

He sighed. "Look, love, I know I seem like a tactical genius, but really, I'm just a magician who occasionally kills a bunny or drives a train.

Families are like fudge - mostly sweet, with a few nuts.

A thousand charming words string together in his head in a nanosecond, but he averted his eyes to his empty notebook. Notes? Who really took notes in class? Dawson wanted to see if she would talk to him first. God, he was like a teenage girl. He was so screwed. Bethany slid around in her chair, pulling one leg up against her chest. She twirled a pen in her right hand. "Hey, Dawson." She. Spoke. To. Him. First.

It's not my fault I have vampire swagger.

I need you, not it. And I’m done being used. If you’re going to take from me, you’re going to start giving back, and I’ll start with your heart.

Honestly," he said with a grin, "how would that have worked? Oh, hello dream lover. Would you drink some of my blud so I won't murder you in front of all these nice people?"

Happy is the people that is without history. And thrice is the people without sociology.

You're here," he said simply. "Do I know you?" I asked, which came out more haughtily than I had intended. "You will," he answered, kicking off the tree and walking toward me. "After all, you're wearing my locket. And I've been waiting for you.

Let me guess. You think we’re going to live happily ever after, like some stupid fairy tale?” “Why not?” His stare dared me to laugh or, worse, to argue. “Because the whole thing is ridiculous,” I said. I despised the bitterness in my own voice. I sounded so damaged. Good. If he thought I was his soul mate for some mysterious reason he wouldn’t let on, let him see the worst of me. “It’s not ridiculous to me. Perhaps that’s the difference between predators and prey, love. I’ll never stop hunting. But I expect that one day, you’ll stop running.” “Because I want to die?” “Because you want to live.

She rolled her eyes. "Then what happened?" Rubbing his temples, he glanced at the door. "Bethany and I were making out and something happened that never happened before." Dee leaned back. A look of supreme disgust clouded her pretty face. "Uh, yuck if this is about any kind of premat-" "Oh my God, shut and listen, okay?" He dragged a hand through his hair. "we were making out, and I lost my hold on my human form. I lit up like a freaking Christmas tree.

He was watching me, and he chuckled. "Do you know how a man tames a wolf?" he asked me. "No," I said. "You get some clothing that you've been wearing for a while, and you toss it in with her. In the cage or the cavern where she sleeps. That first one, she rips up, shreds it to nothing. The second one, she just mouths it a bit, gets a taste. Inhales, like you're doing there. The third but of clothing, she starts dragging it around, loving on it, sleeping with it. And then you've got her under your spell. She's got the scent of you, wants to keep it around. She'll follow you everywhere." "Are you calling me a wolf?" I asked. "Are you calling me a man?" he said.

I'm here to tell you that it gets worse. It really does. The problems you have as a kid will seem ridiculous when you get older because bigger and worse problems will come along. But you will learn to deal with them easier as you grow up, or, like me, you'll just stop giving a shit. So yes, it gets worse, but you know what gets better? Your tolerance for the bullshit.

Yes," he said, shrugging. "Maybe you didn't understand when I said I"d love you forever, but I meant I'd love you forever. There were no qualifiers or addendums to that vow, nothing that would void it out based on your actions." His smile lit up the night. "To make sure you're clear on this, let me repeat myself. I'll love you forever, Bryn Dawson, no matter how determined you might be to screw it up." "No conditions?" I asked. "Not even (spoiler omitted) He shook his head. "I think that's why they call it unconditional.

I'm a nurse," I said, feeling huffy. "I help sick people." "So you can stop the diseases?" he asked. "Not really. I mostly help the people who are already dying, trying to make their last days comfortable." "You help people die," he mused. "That sounds quite sinister, and that's coming from someone who drinks blood.

He was an animal. He was terrifying. And he was beautiful. I realized that I was biting my lip, that my hand was wound into the ruffled fabric at my chest. Something in me was drawn to the carnage. Like so many women before me, I was a slave to the caveman brain, that deep old part of my DNA that whispered that ferocity would keep me safe and fed and alive and that I should most definitely find the fiercest creature around and hump it.

Being together isn’t about a honeymoon. It’s about the real you and me. I want to wake up with you beside me in the mornings, I want to spend my evenings looking at you across the dinner table. I want to share every mundane detail of my day with you and hear every detail of yours. I want to laugh with you and fall asleep with you in my arms. Because you aren’t just someone I loved back then. You were my best friend, my best self, and I can’t imagine giving that up again.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “You might not understand, but I gave you the best of me, and after you left, nothing was ever the same.” Dawson could feel the dampness in his palms. “I know you’re afraid, and I’m afraid, too. But if we let this go, if we pretend none of this ever happened, then I’m not sure we’ll ever get another chance.” He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “We’re still young. We still have time to make this right.

I watched him playing with the long blades of grass, weaving them into patterns as he hummed an unfamiliar song, a waltz. "What are you doing?" I asked him. "I'm letting you get used to the idea of me," he said idly. "I'm pretending to be harmless. Is it working?" "Until you smile," (...)

Side note: What is that crotch pad for? Is it to protect the vagina from the impact of a big wave? Or maybe to have a stronger barrier between vagina and sand? I can imagine how uncomfortable a sandy vagina is. Almost as uncomfortable as when sand would get in my loose under-boob skin. See, women, I relate to you.

I don’t know,” I said, exasperated. “What else do you have in your wacked-out world? Heat sensors? Mine fields? Dirigibles? Booby traps? Machine guns? Shrink rays? What?” “Aside from dirigibles, which are rather expensive and rare outside of trade routes, most of what you just said made no sense whatsoever,” he said, as delighted as a child hearing a foreign language for the first time. “But it all sounds very dangerous. And fun. Especially the part about the boobies.

I said, "The children wanted to know what life was like." Junior said, “They [the children] don’t have any idea how rough it was.” (George responds)“Or how good it was either! People forget that a picture ain’t made from just one color. Life ain’t all good or all bad. It’s full of everything.

What if you could take everything you were looking for in a person and whisper it into someone’s ear, and they brought that person to you? And then, when you saw them for the first time, even if you didn’t know they were the one for you, you suddenly knew it anyway?” His finger traced my eyebrows, my cheekbones, as he thought a moment. “What if your heart stopped when you saw that person, and only after that did you realize that they truly were everything you ever wanted?

What's a soulmate? It's uh... Well, it's like a best friend but more. It's the one person in the world that knows you better than anyone else. It's someone who makes you a better person. Actually, they don't make you a better person, you do that yourself - because they inspire you. A soulmate is someone who you carry with you forever. It's the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed in you before anyone else did, or when no one else would. And no matter what happens, you will always love them. Nothing can ever change that.

I needed to take control of the dream. I held out a hand with fingers splayed and focused my will. “Zzzzzzzsssst! Pshew! Zzzzist!” I said. But nothing happened. “What in Sang are you doing, love?” he asked. My arm dropped to my side. “I was trying to shoot lightning bolts out of my fingertips,” I said. Then, quietly, “It usually works.” “Told you it wasn’t a dream. Do you want to try flying, too?” Sheepishly, I gave a little hop, but my feet came back down to the ground. “No,” I said, feeling sullen and embarrassed and on the verge of outright panic.

I've always said "Writer's Block" is a myth. There is no such thing as writer's block, only writers trying to force something that isn't ready yet. Sometimes I don't write for weeks. And then all of the sudden I'll get a rush of inspiration and you can't drag me away from my notebook. But I don't stress out if I don't hit some arbitrary word count each day or if I go a few days without writing something.

I don't think there's anything wrong with the way you are," I said shyly. "I just don't want to mess up, and you're much better at this sort of thing than I am." "Don't worry. You'll enjoy playing along. You'll have to be haughty, and I'll have to act beaten down, when we're in public." "That sounds kind of fun." I said. "Just don't forget that it's a ruse, love," he said. "Because once we're outside the walls again, you'll be entirely in my power. And I'd hate to have to spank you.

Yes?” Came the thin and reedy voice. I winced as I pushed the door open. Beth sounded terrible. And when I got an eyeful of her, she looked just as bad. Sitting up against the headboard with a mountain of blankets piled around her, she had dark circles under her eyes. Her pale, waiflike features were sharp, and her hair was an unwashed, tangled mess. I tried not to breathe too deeply, because the room smelled of vomit and sweat. I halted at the bed, shocked to my core. “Are you sick?” Her unfocused gaze drifted away from me, landing on the door to the adjoined bathroom, it didn’t make sense. Hybrids—we couldn’t get sick. Not the common cold or the most dangerous cancer. Like the Luxen, we were immune to everything out there in terms of disease, but Beth? Yeah, she wasn’t looking too good. A great sense of unease blossomed in my belly, stiffening my muscles. “Beth?” Her watery stare finally drifted to me. “Is Dawson back yet?” My heart turned over heavily, almost painfully. The two of them have been through so much, more than Daemon and I had, and this . . . God, this wasn’t fair. “No, he’s not back yet, but you? You look sick.” She raised a slim, pale hand to her throat. “I'm not feeling very well.” I didn’t know how bad this was, and I was almost afraid to find out. “What’s wrong?” One shoulder rose, and it looked like it had taken great effort. “You shouldn’t be worried,” she said, her voice low as she picked at the hem of a blanket. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll be okay once Dawson comes back.” Her gaze floated off again, and as she dropped the edge of the blanket, she reached down, put her hand over her blanket-covered belly, and said, “We’ll be okay once Dawson comes back.” “We’ll be . . . ?” I trailed off as my eyes widened. My jaw came unhinged and dropped as I gaped at her. I stared at where her hand was and watched in dawned horror as she rubbed her belly in slow, steady circles. Oh no. oh, hell to the no to the tenth power. I started forward and then stopped. “Beth, are you . . . are you pregnant?

Librarians are trained to be polite, patient, and helpful, no matter who stands across the reference desk.The most important thing is that we look them in the eye and take them seriously. Our work demands that we become dreamers, holding onto hope that our society can be better, that we affirm for our patrons that they are still part of this society, no matter how marginalized they have become. I was raised on the notion that the public library is a civilizing institution. And if our work calms someone's demons or teaches someone else how to treat the mentally ill with respect, then I am proud to be part of the process.

Children killing children. That's a terrible thing." "What do you think has gone wrong?" "It's not just the children. It's the grown-ups too. Some people are growing children, not raising children, and there's a big difference." "What do you mean?" "Well, people grow hogs. You give them a place to live, give them all the food they need to keep growing, and make sure that they don't get sick on you. With children you got to raise them. Of course, you feed and clothe them. But a parent has to take the time to teach them right and wrong. A parent has to discipline them. And a parent got to be there to listen to them, help them with their problems. I think most people do their best, but there are some parents these days that are growing children, not raising children. "It's a sad thing. These children have everything they need to grow up, but they are missing something inside. They must hurt awful bad and no one has shown them the way to live. Buying them their food or even fancy clothes or a car ain't going to help if a child is hurting inside. We all need the same things.

The whole tendency of modern life is towards scientific planning and organisation, central control, standardisation, and specialisation. If this tendency was left to work itself out to its extreme conclusion, one might expect to see the state transformed into an immense social machine, all the individual components of which are strictly limited to the performance of a definite and specialised function, where there could be no freedom because the machine could only work smoothly as long as every wheel and cog performed its task with unvarying regularity. Now the nearer modern society comes to the state of total organisation, the more difficult it is to find any place for spiritual freedom and personal responsibility. Education itself becomes an essential part of the machine, for the mind has to be as completely measured and controlled by the techniques of the scientific expert as the task which it is being trained to perform.

The great fault of modern democracy -- a fault that is common to the capitalist and the socialist -- is that it accepts economic wealth as the end of society and the standard of personal happiness.... The great curse of our modern society is not so much lack of money as the fact that the lack of money condemns a man to a squalid and incomplete existence. But even if he has money, and a great deal of it, he is still in danger of leading an incomplete and cramped life, because our whole social order is directed to economic instead of spiritual ends. The economic view of life regards money as equivalent to satisfaction. Get money, and if you get enough of it you will get everything else that is worth having. The Christian view of life, on the other hand, puts economic things in second place. First seek the kingdom of God, and everything else will be added to you. And this is not so absurd as it sounds, for we have only to think for a moment to realise that the ills of modern society do not spring from poverty in fact, society today is probably richer in material wealth than any society that has ever existed. What we are suffering from is lack of social adjustment and the failure to subordinate material and economic goods to human and spiritual ones.