Estelle Quotes

Estelle used to call these the restless days, when the warmer-blooded gods began to stir, and the cold ones began to settle. When dreamers were most prone to bad ideas, and wanderers were likely to get lost.

No te rindas.

I really wish you hadn't said sorry for it. Because apologizing means regretting.

Congratulations, man. What's her name?" "Estelle. It was my grandmother's name. Um, on my mom's side, obviously. Not Poseidon's." "I approve," Alex said. "Old-fashioned and elegant. Estelle Jackson." "Well, Estelle Blofis," Percy corrected. "My stepdad is Paul Blofis. Not much I can do about that surname, but my little sis is awesome. Five fingers. Five toes. Two eyes. She drools a lot." "Just like her brother," Annabeth said. Alex laughed.

When it comes to you, it's simple : As long as you don't give up, I won't either.

That's the thing about distance: It either gives you time to move on form someone, or it makes you realize just how much you need them.

Forgiveness shouldn't be expected : It should be earned.

She made me smile on days that laughter seemed impossible. She made me see hope in things I didn't know existed. That was when she truly became my Estelle. She just didn't know it. Hell, neither did I.

I already miss him and he hasn't even left yet.

sticks and stones might break your bones, but cement pays homage to tradition.

Estelle was thinking about another author now, one who almost a hundred years ago wrote that your children aren’t your children, they’re the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.

... you cow,' Estelle added. 'I heard that.' 'Give the woman the geriatric audiology medal,' Estelle said. 'I heard that, too', her mother said, from the other side of the door.

Music carries the weight of being human, takes it away so you don't have to think at all, you just have to listen. Music tells every story there is.

You've got nothing to be worried about," he whispers slowly, his breath hot against my cheek, "because, baby, I'm all yours.

INEZ: What's the matter? ESTELLE: I feel so queer. Don't you ever get taken that way? When I can't see myself I begin to wonder if I really and truly exist. I pat myself just to make sure, but it doesn't help much.

I don't know what being in love with someone is supposed to feel like," Tyler admits with a breathy laugh, "but if being in love means thinking about someone every second of every day... If being in love means your entire mood shifts when they're around... If being in love means you'd do anything and everything for them," he murmurs, "then I am endlessly in love with you.

Just because the crack doesn't show doesn't mean it's not there.

Is there a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone?

We have sneered at one another's weaknesses. Mine is insecurity. Tyler's is the truth. And beneath it all lies attraction.

That's something I've always fond odd, people smile when they're sad. There's no such thing as a sad smile.

me estoy muriendo por besarte.

Dark haired guys are so, so much better.

She remembered when she used to read bedtime stories to the children, and Peter Pan declaring: "To die will be an awfully big adventure." Maybe for the person doing it, Estelle thought, but not for the one who was left behind. All that awaited her were a thousand sunrises where life is a beautiful prison.

I need you because I'm in love with you, Eden, and I have no idea how I'll ever get over you.

Eyes on me", he calls. It's the easiest part of all this. Eyes on Tyler ? Ha. They hardly ever rest on anything else.

Explain to me what the point of living is if you aren't willing to fight for the truths in your heart, to risk getting hurt.

It's gonna take me a lot longer than a year without you to get over you.

He had underlined one sentence, several hundred pages in: We are asleep until we fall in love. Estelle gave him a book

Somewhere, in some sort of Heaven, Estelle will be listening to music with one man and talking about literature with another. She’s earned that.

Oh, little Eden from the forests of Portland, welcome to the real world.

INEZ: To forget about the others? How utterly absurd! I feel you there, in every pore.Your silence clamours in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out - but you can't prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I'm certain you hear mine. It's all very well skulking on your sofa, but you're everywhere, and every sound comes to me soiled because you've intercepted it on its way. Why, you've even stolen my face; you know it and I don't ! And what about her, about Estelle? You've stolen her from me, too; if she and I were alone do you suppose she'd treat me as she does? No, take your hands from your face, I won't leave you in peace - that would suit your book too well. You'd go on sitting there, in a sort of trance, like a yogi, and even if I didn't see her I'd feel it in my bones - that she was making every sound, even the rustle of her dress, for your benefit, throwing you smiles you didn't see... Well, I won't stand for that, I prefer to choose my hell; I prefer to look you in the eyes and fight it out face to face.

It was supposed to be us against the world, Tyler and me versus everyone else. Now it's just me.

later, that would end up with one of us winning. And no marriage can survive that.” “Did it work?” Julia asked. “I don’t know,” Estelle admitted. “No?” “We never got past the first flush of infatuation

We promised we'd all stay in touch. Even joked about a yearly reunion. These kinds of goodbyes are the scary goodbyes. The goodbyes where you know the chances of seeing each other again are very slim.

How do you manage to have such a long marriage?” she asked. “You fight for it,” Estelle replied honestly.

Don't you think bases are too slow ? First base, second base, third base... Satisfying to get to, but slow. I'm more of a home run kinda guy." And suddenly, the husky tone of his voice and the glint in his eyes and the way he's trying not to grin all suddenly click together. [...] "Are you really talking about baseball here ?" [...] "If only.

He lets the door fall shut on its own behind him, and when I hear that awful click, it hits me even harden at that exact moment that Tyler just gave up. And I still don't rally know why.

On nous exhorte: 'Soyez femmes, restez femmes, devenez femmes.' Tout être humain femelle n'est donc pas nécessairament une femme; il lui faut participer à cette réalité mystérieuse et menacée qu'est la féminité. (...) Celle-ci est-elle sécrétée par les ovoires? Suffit-il d'un jupon à frou-frou pour la faire descendre sur terre?

None of this was supposed to happen, [...] but all of it did. I can't feel bas about it and I can't fell sorry about it, because I'm not. It's just the way things have turned out, and honestly, it's not our fault.

Now, for example, people with freckles aren’t thought of as a minority by the nonfreckled. They aren’t a minority in the sense we’re talking about. And why aren’t they? Because a minority is only thought of as a minority when it constitutes some kind of a threat to the majority, real or imaginary. And no threat is ever quite imaginary. Anyone here disagree with that? If you do, just ask yourself, What would this particular minority do if it suddenly became the majority overnight? You see what I mean? Well, if you don’t – think it over! “All right. Now along come the liberals – including everybody in this room, I trust – and they say, ‘Minorities are just people, like us.’ Sure, minorities are people – people, not angels. Sure, they’re like us – but not exactly like us; that’s the all-too- familiar state of liberal hysteria in which you begin to kid yourself you honestly cannot see any difference between a Negro and a Swede….” (Why, oh why daren’t George say “between Estelle Oxford and Buddy Sorensen”? Maybe, if he did dare, there would be a great atomic blast of laughter, and everybody would embrace, and the kingdom of heaven would begin, right here in classroom. But then again, maybe it wouldn’t.) “So, let’s face it, minorities are people who probably look and act and – think differently from us and hay faults we don’t have. We may dislike the way they look and act, and we may hate their faults. And it’s better if we admit to disliking and hating them than if we try to smear our feelings over with pseudo liberal sentimentality. If we’re frank about our feelings, we have a safety valve; and if we have a safety valve, we’re actually less likely to start persecuting. I know that theory is unfashionable nowadays. We all keep trying to believe that if we ignore something long enough it’ll just vanish…. “Where was I? Oh yes. Well, now, suppose this minority does get persecuted, never mind why – political, economic, psychological reasons. There always is a reason, no matter how wrong it is – that’s my point. And, of course, persecution itself is always wrong; I’m sure we all agree there. But the worst of it is, we now run into another liberal heresy. Because the persecuting majority is vile, says the liberal, therefore the persecuted minority must be stainlessly pure. Can’t you see what nonsense that is? What’s to prevent the bad from being persecuted by the worse? Did all the Christian victims in the arena have to be saints? “And I’ll tell you something else. A minority has its own kind of aggression. It absolutely dares the majority to attack it. It hates the majority–not without a cause, I grant you. It even hates the other minorities, because all minorities are in competition: each one proclaims that its sufferings are the worst and its wrongs are the blackest. And the more they all hate, and the more they’re all persecuted, the nastier they become! Do you think it makes people nasty to be loved? You know it doesn’t! Then why should it make them nice to be loathed? While you’re being persecuted, you hate what’s happening to You, you hate the people who are making it happen; you’re in a world of hate. Why, you wouldn’t recognize love if you met it! You’d suspect love! You’d think there was something behind it – some motive – some trick…

Estelle grinned knowingly. “You have to listen to each other all the time. But not all the time. If you listen to each other all the time, there’s a risk that you can’t forgive each other afterward.

A pun is its own reword.

That's the thing about distance: It either gives you time to move on from someone, or it makes you realize just how much you need them.

Tyler has left me to deal with our mess all by myself. It was supposed to be us against the world, Tyler and me versus everyone else. Now it's just me.

When people don’t understand something, they are usually judgemental and unintentionally cruel.

When it comes to you, it's simple: As long as you don't give up, I won't either.

Evidently this was the kind of man that Estelle fell instantly in love with.

Human Rights directs my path" ~ ~ Minnie Estelle Miller 2011

When Knut was lying in his sickbed those last nights, she asked him: "Are you scared?" He replied: "Yes." Then his fingers ran through her hair and he added: "But it'll be quite nice to get a bit of peace and quiet. You can put that on the headstone." Estelle laughed hard at that. When he left her she wept so hard that she couldn't breathe. Her body was never really the same after that, she curled up and never quite unfurled again.

REVISITING THE LIST 1. Kiss Estelle Okay, at least I've met her. She thinks I'm a creep. And that's withought her knowing I've read her diaries. Unless we somehow fall over, exactly aligned, lip to lip, and gravity causes the pressure, or we find ourselves in a darkened room and through a series of Shakespearian ID muddles she thinks she's kissing someone else, I can't say how this is ever going to happen.

Books you've read are like old friends. You look up and you see a title that you've read and had pleasure from and it makes you feel very comfortable. ~Robert A.M. Stern, Architect

Often I had to explain my reasoning to others. Every time it was exhausting to simplify my logic enough to make it understandable.

Estelle smiled feebly. If you’ve lived with teenagers, you know they only exist for themselves, and their parents have their hands full dealing with the various horrors of life. Both the teenagers’ and their own. There was no place for Estelle there, she was mostly something of a nuisance. They were pleased that she answered the phone when they called on her birthday, but the rest of the time they assumed time stood still for her. She was a nice ornament that they only took out at Christmas and Midsummer.

He abruptly ended the call. Sometimes I was ecstatic that Manny had entered my life. That way I knew that I was not the person least skilled in social interaction and telephone etiquette.

Don't you get it? You're not my distraction. This is me, Eden. This. Right now. You're making me a goddamn mess, but I don't care, because it's me. I'm a mess. And the thing I love about you is that I'm allowed to be a mess around you, because I trust you. You're the only one who's cared enough to figure me out. I want to be your mess.

Denial is for losers. Face your crap and move on. Otherwise you’ll get old and depressed and turn into a scary pod person whose most pressing issue in life is when they get to trade in the can of Dr Pepper for the can of Bud.

Me estoy muriendo por besarte

Kissing Estelle felt like what I could only imagine kissing a cloud was like—light and sweet, and all consuming.

Here lies Estelle. She certainly liked her wine!

Yes of course I was in love with my own youth. Aunt Estelle? Not really. Who is one's first love?

Maybe for the person doing it, Estelle thought, but not for the one who was left behind. All that awaited her were a thousand sunrises where life is a beautiful prison.

People have died playing this?” gasped Riley. Zayne grinned and replied, “Uh huh.” “Only eight,” said Estelle. “One in the last decade.” Zayne said, “Hope you’re not the lucky one today.

I use “equal worth” rather than equality because the latter term often assumes that men’s historical experience—whether economic, political, or sexual—is the standard to which women should aspire.

I'm very aware of how well I am operating in situations that I would have been incapable of broaching even last summer. Chris, Sabin, Eric, and Estelle, have rescued me, and I can't fathom how I can ever begin to repay them.

...a minority is only thought of as a minority if it constitutes some kind of threat to the majority, real or imaginary. And no threat is ever quite imaginary...Just ask yourselves: what would this particular minority do if it suddenly became the majority, overnight? 'All right - now along come the liberals - including everybody in the room, I trust - and they say, 'minorities are just people, like us '. Sure, minorities are people, just like us'. Sure, minorities are people; people , not angels. Sure, they're like us - but not exactly like us; that's the all-too-familiar state of liberal hysteria, in which you begin to kid yourself you honestly cannot see a difference between a Negro and a Swede -' (Why, oh why daren't George say 'between Estelle Oxford and Buddy Sorensen'? Maybe, if he did dare, there would be a great atomic blast of laughter, and everybody would embrace, and the kingdom of heaven would begin, right here in the classroom 278. But then, again, maybe it wouldn't.) 'So,let's face it, minorities are people who probably look and act and think differently from us, and have faults we don't have. We may dislike the way they look and act, and we may hate their faults. And it's better if we admit to disliking and hating them, than if we try to smear out feelings over with pseudo-liberal sentimentality. If we're frank about our feelings, we have a safety-valve; and if we have a safety-valve, we're actually less likely to start persecuting...

I need you because you're one of the few people I trust. I need you because you saw me the way I used to be and you still stuck around. I need you because I'm in love with you, Eden, and I have no idea how I'll ever get over you.

All feeling has an equivalent in action or is useless" "Did you say that?" Of course not," she says. "Virginia Woolf

C'est le problème avec la distance : soit vous tournez la page, soit vous comprenez à quel point vous avez besoin de la personne.

When you’re young, everything seems like the end of the world. Looking back, it wasn’t.

Because Tyler might have told me his secrets, but now he has a new one.

What is it with you, Eden?" he asked quietly, but his back is turned and he's staring out the window at the ground below. "You're not supposed to figure me out. No one is.

I think I may have an addiction. A sex-maniac beast has awoken, and I am a horny mess nearly all the time. I almost feel suprised that I haven't yet grabbed Estelle and shoved my tongue down that beautiful girls throat. I'd probably get father with Estelle than with her brother. Oh my God. What is wrong with me?

I think parks like these are the best places to people-watch. The diversity of people here is really cool and, again I find myself wondering what they're doing and why they're here and who they're with. I'm far too curious for my own good.

I don't know what being in love with someone is supposed to feel like, but if being in love means thinking about someone every second of every day...If being in love means your entire mood shifts when they're around...If being in love means you'd do anything and everything for them, then I am endlessly in love with you

The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe." — Gustave Flaubert

when we arrived at the front door of my apartment building. I wouldn’t even get down from Colin’s back when we were in the elevator.

Dieu est-il le rêve de l’humanité? Ce serait trop beau. L’humanité est-elle le rêve de Dieu? Ce serait trop abominable.

Greed, one of man’s greatest weaknesses.” Humans disgusted me. Manny

Music carries the weight of being human, takes it away so you don’t have to think at all, you just have to listen. Music tells every story there is. This

The childhood trauma of constant tests and doctors trying to make me ‘normal’ had left me with a powerful aversion to hospitals.

Music carries the weight of being human, takes it away so you don’t have to think at all, you just have to listen. Music tells every story there is.

In real life, people’s behaviour disconcerted me far too much and far too often.

You're a warrior. Maybe we all lean on you a little too much, because we know you can take it. We shouldn't do that.

Memories slip, you know, if you don't take the time to find a way to make them stay.

I would never have normal in my life. I didn’t want normal in my life.

Is there any way that you can Mozart your way into the helicopter?” “How many times do I have to tell you not to use Mozart as a verb?

You really believe people lie so much?” “Of course. It is part of social interaction.

The human race and their silly romantic notions. I placed the blame completely at the door of fairy tales and Hollywood.

How do you manage to have such a long marriage?' she asked. 'You fight for it,' Estelle replied honestly. Julia didn't seem to like that quite as much. 'That doesn't sound very romantic.' Estelle grinned knowingly. 'You have to listen to each other all the time. But not all the time. If you listen to each other all the time, there's a risk that you can't forgive each other afterward.

One of the last times she met her neighbor in the elevator he gave her a very thick book, written by a man. He had underlined one sentence, several hundred pages in: We are asleep until we fall in love. Estelle gave him a book in exchange, one written by a woman, so it didn’t need hundreds of pages to say things. Close to the start Estelle had underlined: Love is wanting you to exist.

The sharpest image I hold from that day are the shiny nailheads in the wood, where someone overdone the hammering to shut the wood-slat crate they sent my brother home in. A note came attached, stiff with condolences from Mr. Mercer, the Estelle Mining owner. Other scrawled words said the company believed they’d recovered most of my brother from the explosion but warned us not to open the lid and check.

I need to be with you," he whispers. His fingers move from my knee to my hand, and he grasps it in his and presses his thumb down hard on mine so that I can't possibly shake him off. He interlocks our fingers. I have no choice but to glance back up, to meet his eyes as they well up, and I've never seen him look so...so torn apart. "Don't you get it? You're not my distraction. This is me, Eden. This. Right now. You're making me a goddamn mess, but I don't care, because it's me. I'm a mess. And the thing I love about you is that I'm allowed to be a mess around you, because I trust you. You're the only one who's cared enough to figure me out. I want to be your mess.

Sony-ils tous (...) criminels s'ils en avaient l'occasion, innocents seulement par impuisance, et prets a se servir du mal pour accomplir leur ambition? (...) La nature humaine est-elle si detestable, ou bien est-ce la royaute qui nous rend ainsi?

Le régime avait compris qu'une personne qui sortait de chez elle en se demandant: est-ce que mon pantalon est assez long? est-ce que mon foulard est à sa place? est-ce que mon maquillage se voir? est-ce qu'ils vont me fouetter? ne se demandait plus: où est ma liberté de pensée? où est ma liberté de parole? ma vie, est-elle vivable? que se passe-t-il dans les prisons politiques?

Elle aura donc menti jusqu'au bout! Où est-elle! Pas là... pas au ciel... pas anéantie...où? Oh! tu disais que tu n'avais pas souci de mes souffrances. Et moi, je fais une prière... je la répète jusqu'à ce que ma langue s'engourdisse : Catherine Earnshaw, puisses-tu ne pas trouver le repos tant que je vivrais! Tu dis que je t'ai tuée, hante-moi alors! Les victimes hantent leurs meurtrier, je crois. Je sais que des fantômes ont erré sur la terre. Sois toujours avec moi... prends n'importe quelle forme... rends-moi fou! mais ne me laisse pas dans cet abîme où je ne puis te trouver. Oh! Dieu! c'est indicible! je ne peux pas vivre sans ma vie! je ne peux pas vivre sans mon âme!

¿Qué dice el río? Historias que se tejen en la danza a la luz de la luna de un amor delicado de la inclinada palmera de la llama de la lámpara que alimenta la oscuridad. ماذا يقول النهرُ؟ أقصوصةٌ يَنْسجُها من رَقْص ضوءِ القَمرْ يَنْسجُها من غَزَلِ ناعم يُداعب النَخْلُ به المنحدَرْ من نور مصباح يُغدِّي الدجى De què parla el riu? D'històries que es teixen en la dansa a la llum de la lluna d'un amor delicat de la inclinada palmera de la flama que alimenta la foscor.

Com’è possibile che una persona si trasformi da un semplice accessorio di quella casa che è la tua vita – un bel tavolino, per esempio – nelle sue stesse fondamenta, nel suo impianto idraulico, in quella trave portante senza la quale l’intera struttura crollerebbe? Com’è possibile che una minuscola e anonima stella diventi il tuo Sole?

Mon rêve familier Je fais souvent ce rêve étrange et pénétrant D'une femme inconnue, et que j'aime, et qui m'aime Et qui n'est, chaque fois, ni tout à fait la même Ni tout à fait une autre, et m'aime et me comprend. Car elle me comprend, et mon coeur, transparent Pour elle seule, hélas ! cesse d'être un problème Pour elle seule, et les moiteurs de mon front blême, Elle seule les sait rafraîchir, en pleurant. Est-elle brune, blonde ou rousse ? - Je l'ignore. Son nom ? Je me souviens qu'il est doux et sonore Comme ceux des aimés que la Vie exila. Son regard est pareil au regard des statues, Et, pour sa voix, lointaine, et calme, et grave, elle a L'inflexion des voix chères qui se sont tues.

I think perhaps people have too limited a view of where they can put books. They believe they have to be in a room specified as 'the library.' I think books can be anywhere in a house. Piles of books in corners do not offend me. Putting books in the dining room is a wonderful idea. My idea of heaven would be to dine, as well as to sleep, surrounded by books. ~Robert A.M. Stern, Architect

The child was a boy – beautiful in the face, with a great mop of silky black hair. He was perfectly formed, but there was something attached to his back. Estelle gasped with horror when she discovered the baby had black, leathery wings, like those of a bat, neatly folded on his back. The Fae did not have wings! Somewhere she had heard that they used to have – long ago. Maybe her child was a throwback? But what would her father think of a baby with wings? She tried again to call Griff, to tell him his child was born. There was a terrible sharp pain in her head, then a fierce whisper that seemed to fill her mind. ‘Don't call HIM! I forbid you to call HIM ever!’ The child's eyes had opened. They were beautiful Faen eyes – an impossible colour of violet-black and much too intelligent for a new-born baby. Worse than that – they were evil!