Didi Love Quotes

I should have known that from the moment I met you that there would be no going back. That I will never be the same. I know now that I’ll never recover from loving you, Diana Alexander.

To her it was like being alone in the ocean, holding a kite string in one hand and an anchor chain in the other and finding the balance so she wouldn't sink.

Why didi I think I could just have her in my bed, and not fall in love with her ? Why couldn't I keep my fucking hands off her? I stare at the hollow, broken man in the Mirror, knowing the answer already. Because Brynna Vincent is it for me. There will never be another woman who can make me feel safe, make me feel happy. Make me feel loved. And her daughters are two little beacons of light in this dark hell I call a life that I just can't resist.

I never trusted the women i was involved with to tell the truth,because the truth never changes,but as i knew so well,people did.I knew it wasn't everyone,some women did have staying power,but it was impossible to tell which ones they were.Women should have come labelled-it would have made life so much simpler.

But the truth is, when you love someone how we were in love, it didn’t matter what he’d do to me—he could have hit me with a bus, kind of he did—I innately still would have done everything I could to make him not feel what he was feeling.

I don’t want to go through it all again. All that time without you, always waiting, my foolish optimism that someday it would be different-“ “Your optimism was justified! Look at me. Look at us! This is different. I know it is, Daniel. I saw us in Helston and Tibet and Tahiti. We were in love, sure, but it was nothing like what we have now.” They’d dropped back farther, out of earshot of the others. They were just Luce and Daniel, two lovers talking in the sky. “I’m still here,” she said. “I’m here because you believed in us. You believed in me.” “I did-I do believe in you.” “I believe in you, too.” She heard a smile enter her voice. “I always have.” They were not going to fail.

Thrilled about my giveaway winners! Book will be mailed Tuesday (after the holiday! Hope you enjoy Libby's Journey and come back for more! Share with friends and I'd appreciate reviews!

I meant to resist your charms; I really did.I wasn't going to do this." Alan took her wrist, guiding her hand over so that he could press a kiss to the palm. "Make love with me?" "No." Shelby's gaze traveled from his mouth to his eyes. "Be in love with you." She felt his fingers tighten on her wrist, then loosen slowly as his eyes stayed dark and fixed on hers. Beneath her, she felt the change in his heartbeart. "And are you?" "Yes." The word, hardly audible, thundered in his head. Alan brought her to him, cradling her head against his chest, feeling her low slow expulsion of air as his arm came around her. He hadn't expected her to give him so much so soon. "When?" "When?" Shelby repeated, enjoying the solid feel of his chest under her cheek. "Sometime between when we first stepped out on the Write's terrace and when I opened a basket of strawberries." "It took you that long? All I had to do was look at you.

But the truth is, when you love someone how we were in love, it didn’t matter what he’d do to me—he could have hit me with a bus, kind of wish he did—I still would have done everything I could to make him not feel what he was feeling.

Dear Jessa, I’ve started this letter so many times and I’ve never been able to finish it. So here goes again . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry that Riley is dead. I’m sorry for ignoring your emails and for not being there for you. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish it had been me that died and not Riley. If I could go back in time and change everything I would. I’m sorry I left without a word. There’s no excuse for my behaviour but please know that it had nothing to do with you. I was a mess. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone for months. And I felt too guilty and didn’t know how to tell you the truth about what happened. I couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing. I got all your emails but I didn’t read them until last week. I couldn’t face it and I guess that makes me the biggest coward you’ll ever meet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never replied. You needed me and I wasn’t there for you. I don’t even know how to ask your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I’m just glad you’re doing better. I’m better too. I’ve started seeing a therapist – twice a week – you’d like her. She reminds me of Didi. I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who needed therapy, but they made it a condition of me keeping my job. She’s helped me a lot with getting the panic attacks under control. Working in a room the size of a janitor’s closet helps too – there aren’t too many surprises, only the occasional rogue paperclip. I asked for the posting. I have to thank your dad ironically. The demotion worked out. Kind of funny that I totally get where your father was coming from all those years. Looks like I’ll be spending the remainder of my marine career behind a desk, but I’m OK with that. I don’t know what else to say, Jessa. My therapist says I should just write down whatever comes into my head. So here goes. Here’s what’s in my head . . . I miss you. I love you. Even though I long ago gave up the right to any sort of claim over you, I can’t stop loving you. I won’t ever stop. You’re in my blood. You’re the only thing that got me through this, Jessa. Because even during the bad times, the worst times, the times I’d wake up in a cold sweat, my heart thumping, the times I’d think the only way out was by killing myself and just having it all go away, I’d think of you and it would pull me back out of whatever dark place I’d fallen into. You’re my light, Jessa. My north star. You asked me once to come back to you and I told you I always would. I’m working on it. It might take me a little while, and I know I have no right to ask you to wait for me after everything I’ve done, but I’m going to anyway because the truth is I don’t know how to live without you. I’ve tried and I can’t do it. So please, I’m asking you to wait for me. I’m going to come back to you. I promise. And I’m going to make things right. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll never stop trying for the rest of my life to make things right between us. I love you. Always. Kit

Nobody can be entirely protected from the mishaps of life. If anything should happen to Lee—and it would be the end of me if it did—I would still feel that I did the right thing for him. Success or failure, he is fulfilling his destiny. We all have only one life, some are short and some are long. He loves life and wants a little more out of it than to follow convention out of fear of what others may think, or to be just another face in the crowd that follows the herd.

When Radha and I were children, we used to play a game. She would ask, “What is the true color of the world, Didi?” And I would say, “Green.” “Why green?” “Because the trees are green. Grass is green. The new buds on the plants are green. Even the parrots are green. Green is the color of the world.” “But, Didi,” Radha would argue, “the wheat stalks are brown. My body is brown. The field mice are brown. No, the world is brown.” “What about blue?” I would say. “The sky is blue. And it covers the whole world, like a mother who loves and embraces all her children. Radha would fall silent, and I would remember that she had known our mother’s love for even fewer years than I did. So I would take her in my arms and hold her, to make her know what it feels like to be loved. Today I know the truth: The true color of the world is black. Anger is black. Shame and scandal are black. Betrayal is black. Hatred is black. And a roasted, smoking body is Black, Black, Black. The world, after witnessing such cruelty, goes black. The waking up to a changed world is black.

You know...give peace a chance, not shoot people for peace. All we need is love. I believe it. it's damned hard but I absolutely believe it. We're not the first to say 'Imagine no countries' or 'Give peace a chance' but we're carrying that torch, like the Olympic torch, passing it from hand to hand, to each other, to each country, to each generation. That's our job...I've never claimed divinity. I've never claimed purity of soul. I've never claimed to have the answer to life. I can only put out songs and answer questions as honestly as I can, but only as honestly as I can, no more, no less. "I used to think that the world was doing it to me and that the world owed me something, and that either the conservatives or the socialists or the fascists or the communists or the Christians or the Jews were doing something to me, and when you're a teenybopper that's what you think. I'm 40 now. I don't think that anymore, 'cause I found out it doesn't fucking work. The thing goes on anyway and all you're doing is jacking off and screaming about what your mommy or daddy or society did...I have found out personally...that I am responsible for it as well as them. I am part of them.

Who’s that hot piece of cowboy standing with Nathan?” She pointed toward one end of the barn by a stack of hay bales. A scowl tightened all the muscles in his face as he followed the length of her arm to the direction of her fingertip. Before he could answer, she was already pulling him again. This time toward his cousin. “Nate, who’s your friend?” she asked, not bothering with hellos. Letting go of Caleb’s hand and leaving him feeling empty, she shifted her weight to her toes when she stopped in front of Preston. “Your eyes remind me of those old Sprite bottles. I found one at a flea market once. I think it’s still lying around somewhere in my room.” Nathan’s chuckle caught her attention. “Diana Alexander, let me introduce you to Preston Grant. He’s a childhood friend of mine and Caleb’s. Pres, this is Didi.” “Can I paint you naked?” she asked, unabashed, looking up at him. Nathan’s chuckles became full-blown laughter. She hiked her thumb at Caleb. His scowl deepened. “This one’s too shy.” “It’s nice to meet you, Didi,” Preston said. He seemed unperturbed by her request. The bastard. She danced to Nathan’s side and leaned in conspiratorially, not taking her eyes away from Preston. “Between you and me,” she whispered loud enough for Caleb and the object of her fascination to hear, “just how far does his tan go?” That had done it. The words came out of his mouth without thinking. “If you’re going to paint someone naked, it will be me.” With impatience running through his veins, he laced their fingers together and tugged. “Come on.

It marked a turning point for me. It marked the point where I recognized that I must never - not even when he was 'well' again - expect from Didi what one normally expects from a friend. When he gave anything to other people - as he often did, as he had done earlier to me and was to do again - it was by the happy accident of their chancing to appreciate what he chanced to be 'giving off'. If he happened to be in a mood to charm, to find things amusing, to respond lovingly, to use his intuition (which could be sharp) on people's behaviour, to apply his intelligence, then whoever was around would benefit; but he was so hermetically walled up in himself that he was unablee to discover inother people any constant reason to attend to them, still less to be considerate of them, and he couldn't answer their demands.

She had a point,you know," Edward commented a few hours later. "Unnecessarily crude, perhaps, but apt. Our public personas frequently do not match our private ones. You, of all people, should know that." "This isn't about me," I said grumpily. "This is about needing to find more information about the private you.Something I don't already know." "I have terribly ugly feet." "Not what I had in mind.And probably untrue anyway." Edward glanced down at the empty space below his rib cage. "Probably. So, what did you have in mind?" "A letter,maybe.From Diana.Something that connected your love to your work." "I rather thought I did that through my paintings." "You did.I mean, that's what attracted me to you in the first place.Well, o, that was your smile, probably,but the paintings helped. It's just that I need to know more about your muse." "Ah, darling Ella, the artist's muse is Ego.Nothing more." "You don't mean that.You married Diana because she made you feel like no one else in the universe ever did or could." He nodded. "She was extraordinary." "But not everyone saw that.Your family went nuts.Half of your friends stopped inviting you over, at least for a while." "Their loss. She was a woman who comes along once in a lifetime.

The door slammed and the reverberating sound bounced back and forth down the hall. Edythe and Lily sat perfectly still and stared at each other, eyes wide open. For once,their thoughts were in accord. When Ranulf had first arrived and started banging on Bronwyn's door, both had awakened wondering if they should do something. When the racket ceased, Lily scurried into Edythe's room. "What's going on?" "I don't know," came Edythe's simple reply. "Why is Ranulf so angry with Bronwyn?" Again Edythe shrugged. "Well,should we go and see if Bronwyn needs help?" Edythe bit her bottom lip. The situation was foreign to her.She supposed they should go, but her gut was telling her to stay put. She was still debating the decision when voices rose again,and this time Bronwyn's was in the mix. And she never yelled. The door slammed and heavy footsteps retreated. "I think...I think I was just insulted," Lily mumbled. "By both of them." Seeing the stunned look in Lily's gray eyes,Edythe reached over to pacify her. "They also said some flattering things." Lily slipped out of the embrace and shook her head. "Edythe, what have I done?" "What do you mean?" Lily bounded off the bed and passionately stabbed her finger toward the wall seperating Edythe's and Bronwyn's room. "Them! Didn't you hear?" Edythe nodded her head in relief. "I did.I just wasn't sure you had." Slump-shouldered,Lily returned to the bed and collapsed on it. "Oh Lord, Edythe, I just announced to everyone that I was going to marry the man our sister loves." "It's my guess that he loves her,too.

April 26 The Supreme Climb Take now thy son, . . . and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of. Genesis 22:2 Character determines how a man interprets God’s will (cf. Psalm 18:25–26). Abraham interpreted God’s command to mean that he had to kill his son, and he could only leave this tradition behind by the pain of a tremendous ordeal. God could purify his faith in no other way. If we obey what God says according to our sincere belief, God will break us from those traditions that misrepresent Him. There are many such beliefs to be got rid of, e.g., that God removes a child because the mother loves him too much—a devil’s lie! and a travesty of the true nature of God. If the devil can hinder us from taking the supreme climb and getting rid of wrong traditions about God, he will do so; but if we keep true to God, God will take us through an ordeal which will bring us out into a better knowledge of Himself. The great point of Abraham’s faith in God was that he was prepared to do anything for God. He was there to obey God, no matter to what belief he went contrary. Abraham was not a devotee of his convictions, or he would have slain Isaac and said that the voice of the angel was the voice of the devil. That is the attitude of a fanatic. If you will remain true to God, God will lead you straight through every barrier into the inner chamber of the knowledge of Himself; but there is always this point of giving up convictions and traditional beliefs. Don’t ask God to test you. Never declare as Peter did—I will do anything, I will go to death with Thee. Abraham did not make any such declaration, he remained true to God, and God purified his faith.

Have a great week, DiDi. Remember, you’re a winner, and you’re winning every single day. Anything and everything you put your mind to, you can do. I love you.

person who just blew your whole heart open with a rifle. Carnage everywhere, men down, blood spilled. But the truth is, when you love someone how we were in love, it didn’t matter what he’d do to me—he could have hit me with a bus, kind of he did—I innately still would have done everything I could to make him not feel what he was feeling. For so many years, his pain was my pain. But that pain, the one he was crying about then, was mine. He was crying my tears, feeling what he had done to me, broken by his own actions. He cried into my neck and said sorry so many times, the word lost meaning…