Friendship Pact Quotes

If I wasn’t mated, and wasn’t straight, and you were a Mage, and we hadn’t made that pact for friendship’s sake, I would totally screw you.

Sometimes you gotta fail in order to succeed

In a deliberate dominant action, he bent his head over mine, placing his lips against my ear. “Look at me like that again, sweetheart, and I can’t promise I’ll remain a gentleman any longer, friendship pact be damned.” He pressed his hard cock more firmly against me. “Don’t tempt me.” A definite promise laced his seductive tone.

Early on in our friendship we'd explored the possibility that we were in love, but those feelings had soon subsided and made space for something much more enduring, a multiyear conversation that went round and round, a true love without claim to ownership, a bracing pact in the face of every new circumstance in our respective lives.

There isno feeling sadder or more hopeless than the coolingof a friendship between two men. Between a man anda woman a delicate web of terms and conditions is always negotiated. Between men, on the other hand, the deep sense of friendship rests on its selflessness: we expect no sacrifices, no tenderness from each other, all we want is to preserve a pact wordlessly made between us. Perhaps I was really the guilty one, because I did not know you well

The plan is, by a combination of fighting, bargaining and well-timed strokes of treachery, to acquire a ring of bases completely encircling one or other of the rival states, and then to sign a pact of friendship with that rival and remain on peaceful terms for so many years as to lull suspicion to sleep. During this time rockets loaded with atomic bombs can be assembled at all the strategic spots;

Tell me everything!" she'd cry, salivating. Poor Reva. She might actually have thought I was capable of sharing things. "Friends forever?" She'd want us to make some sacred pact. She always wanted to make pacts. "Let's make a pact to have brunch at least twice a month. Let's promise to go for a walk through Central Park every Saturday. Let's have a daily call-time. Will you swear to take a ski trip this year? It burns so many calories.

It was the weekend. She was watching a film on TV. It was about four teenage girls, friends who’d been devastated to find that they were all going to have to spend their summer holidays in different parts of the world. So they made a pact that they’d share a pair of jeans, meaning they’d send the jeans by post from one to the next to the next and so on as a sign of their undying friendship. What happened next was that the pair of jeans acted as a magic catalyst to their lives and saw them through lots of learning curves and self-esteem-getting and being in love, parents’ breaking up, someone dying etc. When it got to the part where a child was dying of cancer and the jeans helped one of the girls to cope with this, George, sitting on the floor in the front room, howled out loud like a wolf at its crapness.

What’s going on, chick?” she asks, taking a drink. She knows that when Johnnie comes out, something bad has happened. I suck on my teeth and shake my head. She cringes at the burn of whiskey, waiting for me to say more. I glance down at my bracelet. “My past caught up with me.” She slides the bottle back my way. “Need me to hurt someone?” she asks, dead serious. She and I are as close as friends come, and we have been since senior year of high school. And at the core of our friendship is a pact of sorts: nothing’s going to drag her towards the future she doesn’t want, and nothing’s going drag me back into the past I’ve worked to forget. Nothing. I huff out a laugh. “Eli’s already beaten you to it.” “Eli?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Girl, I’m hurt. Hoes before bros, remember?” “I didn’t ask him to get involved. I broke up with him, and then he got involve—” “What!” She grabs the table. “You broke up with him? When were you going to tell me?” “Today. I was going to tell you today.” She’s shaking her head. “Bitch, you should’ve called me.” “I was busy ending a relationship.” She falls back into her seat. “Shit girl, Eli’s going to stop giving us a discount.” “That’s what your most upset by?” I say, taking another swig of whiskey. “No,” she says. “I’m happy you grew a vagina and broke up with him. He deserves better.” “I’m going to throw this bottle of whiskey at you.” She holds her hands up to placate me. “I’m kidding. But seriously, are you okay?” I barely stop myself from looking at my computer screen again. I exhale. “Honestly? I have no fucking clue.

We all know the elementary form of politeness, that of the empty symbolic gesture, a gesture-an offer-which is meant to be rejected. In John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany, after the little boy Owen accidentally kills John's-his best friend's, the narrator's-mother, he is, of course, terribly upset, so, to show how sorry he is, he discreetly delivers to John a gift of the complete collection of color photos of baseball stars, his most precious possession; however, Dan, John's delicate stepfather, tells him that the proper thing to do is to return the gift. What we have here is symbolic exchange at its purest: a gesture made to be rejected; the point, the "magic" of symbolic exchange, is that, although at the end we are where we were at the beginning, the overall result of the operation is not zero but a distinct gain for both parties, the pact of solidarity. And is not something similar part of our everyday mores? When, after being engaged in a fierce competition for a job promotion with my closest friend, I win, the proper thing to do is to offer to withdraw, so that he will get the promotion, and the proper thing for him to do is to reject my offer-in this way, perhaps, our friendship can be saved.... Milly's offer is the very opposite of such an elementary gesture of politeness: although it also is an offer that is meant to be rejected, what makes hers different from the symbolic empty offer is the cruel alternative it imposes on its addressee: I offer you wealth as the supreme proof of my saintly kindness, but if you accept my offer, you will be marked by an indelible stain of guilt and moral corruption; if you do the right thing and reject it, however, you will also not be simply righteous-your very rejection will function as a retroactive admission of your guilt, so whatever Kate and Densher do, the very choice Milly's bequest confronts them with makes them guilty.

They had no need of one of those pacts of the kind that are in common among boys of their age, who swear friendship with comical solemn rituals and the sort of portentous intensity invoked by people when for the first time they experience, in unconscious and distorted form, the need to remove another human being from the world, body and soul, and make him uniquely theirs. For that is the hidden force within both friendship and love. Their friendship was deep and wordless, as are all the emotions that will last a lifetime. And like all great emotions, this one contained within itself both shame and a sense of guilt, for no one may isolate one of his fellows from the rest of humanity with impunity.

You were so great with everyone, making them feel right at home." He had to laugh. "What did you expect me to do? Be a brooding asshole?" "Well, if the shoe fits…" she said demurely.

You put your heart and soul into whatever you do. I'd bet my last dollar on you any day of the week, Rebel." With that shocking statement, he turned and walked off. And Tae absolutely did not watch his ass as he did.

We were the last two people in the world who believed he would come back. […] We knew that Armin was alive. That knowledge connected us much more than a shared desk did, it was important to stay together until the end, until your brother showed up again. If we fought, if we split up, that fragile conviction would come undone too. As if his whole life had been woven into the fabric of our friendship. He was to be found nowhere else but there.]

We both made some questionable decisions,” he said. “Decisions that might’ve been different if we’d been older and smarter. Or had anyone in our lives given enough of a shit to guide us.

sometimes we try so hard to protect those we care about, we end up hurting them. But that doesn’t make that love any less real.

You don’t need protecting. You actually don’t need anything. That’s what makes you so attractive to me. You want someone to stand at your side, not at your back.

Seriously, why are you here? To drive me crazy?" "Well, that does seem fair since you drove me there a long time ago.

So I've got just one question for you," she said softly. "Hit me." "Do friends sleep together?" "If the female half of our duo wants to." "Why the female half?" He laughed. "Because the male half always wants to.

Every time they so much as looked at each other, the air crackled. He hadn't yet decided if that was good or bad, but he was definitely leaning towards bad.

Problem?" Riggs asked. "You mean other than my life sucks and I'm wearing a unicorn onesie?

The last guy who told me what I can't do is still walking funny." That gave him a smile. He was a sick, sick man, but damn, he loved her sass.

Comfort food. That was the only thing on Tae's mind as she loaded up her arms in the convenience store. Comfort food and…Riggs Copeland. Big, strong, protective, annoyingly sexy Riggs Copeland.

The pint of cookies 'n' cream ice cream in the freezer is for you. Do not kill the spider in my bathroom. Her name is Queen and she's guarding the plant you gave me for Mother's Day. Love, Mom

Riggs looked at the cut on her face again. "Still fine," she said. "Is there someone I should call for you?" he asked. "Let them know you're okay?" "Nope" "Someone's got to be worried about you." "Nope" "No one?" She slid him a look. "Are you fishing to see if I'm in a relationship?" He almost smiled. "Are you?

Those who say love should be unconditional are fools. Love must come with conditions; the condition it is returned, is real, and comes hand in hand with respect and friendship. Love unconditionally and you become a fawning hound who comes running to this master’s heel even after being kicked in the face. Love is a contract, promising support, friendship, respect and affection. It is knowing someone is on your side, someone is there. Unconditional love is as false as unrequited love. Love is a pact, sealed by time and emotion.

You were so great with everyone, making them feel right at home.” He had to laugh. “What did you expect me to do? Be a brooding asshole?” “Well, if the shoe fits…” she said demurely.

Seriously,” he murmured, still taking her in. “Wow.” One more “wow” and she was going to start her own drinking game.

Comfort food. That was the only thing on Tae’s mind as she loaded up her arms in the convenience store. Comfort food and… Riggs Copeland. Big, strong, protective, annoyingly sexy Riggs Copeland She tried really hard to not repeat mistakes, but she wasn’t sure she could resist this particular one.

Tae was no damsel in distress. She was resilient, tenacious, and brave as hell, and … damn. That was attractive.

The pint of cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream in the freezer is for you. Do not kill the spider in my bathroom. Her name is Queen and she’s guarding the plant you gave me for Mother’s Day. Love, Mom

So I’ve got just one question for you,” she said softly. “Hit me.” “Do friends sleep together?” “If the female half of our duo wants to.” “Why the female half?” He laughed. “Because the male half always wants to.

Every time they so much as looked at each other, the air crackled. He hadn’t yet decided if that was good or bad, but he was definitely leaning towards bad.

Problem?” Riggs asked. “You mean other than my life sucks and I’m wearing a unicorn onesie?

Once upon a time, walking away was the only thing I knew how to do.

Seriously, why are you here? To drive me crazy?” “Well, that does seem fair, since you drove me there a long time ago.

Riggs looked at the cut on her face again. “Still fine,” she said. “Is there someone I should call for you?” he asked. “Let them know you’re okay?” “Nope” “Someone’s got to be worried about you.” “Nope” “No one?” She slid him a look. “Are you fishing to see if I’m in a relationship?” He almost smiled. “Are you?

You put your heart and soul into whatever you do. I’d bet my last dollar on you any day of the week, Rebel.” With that shocking statement, he turned and walked off. And Tae absolutely did not watch his ass as he did.

The last guy who told me what I can’t do is still walking funny.” That gave him a smile. He was a sick, sick man, but damn, he loved her sass.

She wanted...stability. Riggs was never going to be that guy. She just needed to remember that. Shaking her head, she locked up and went down the hall. She needed a hot shower, an orgasm, and sleep, and she didn’t need a man for any of it.

After high school, he’d purposefully gone for the sweet, girl-next-door type, because it would never last. Not when deep deep down he craved the edgy, tough, would-take-on-the-world-if-she-had-to type.

She was close, almost there. I could tell by her frenzied movements and erratic breathing. Her pussy pulsated, aching, throbbing against my fingers and I didn’t let up until she couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t wait any longer. Within seconds, her legs started to shake, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Her hands immediately gripped onto my hair, and I grunted in pleasure. “Hmm … ah … mmm…” she exhaled, coming hard. Fast. All the way down my face and neck. “And she’s a squirter. That’s a nice unexpected surprise. I’m just learning all these new things about my girl.” “That’s never happened before.” I smiled, feeling damn proud of myself. Tugging off my shirt over my head, I wiped my face and neck and tossed it on the floor next to her clothes. Unbuckling my belt and jeans next, I slid them off, along with my boxer briefs. She opened her eyes and glanced down my body. “Huh, imagine that.” I crawled my way back up to her face. “Imagine what?” “You weren’t lying about your big main man.” “My cock?” “You just want to hear me say it.” I scoffed out a chuckle, now hovering above her. “Fuck.” “What?” “I need to get a condom and I’m honestly terrified what will happen if I go down that ladder with how hard I am right now.” She kissed my lips. “I’m on the pill.” “I’ve never gone bareback before.” “Me either.” For the first time in my life, I turned into a wild animal. Growling like I was a fucking lion and king of the jungle, I claimed her mouth, aggressively kissing her. Positioning my cock at her entrance, I held it there. In between kissing her, I muttered, “If I thrust balls deep inside of you, Mila, everything will change, and I don’t want to fuck up our friendship. It’s too important to me.” “Are you saying that you don’t want to do this with me?

Ioften wonder what makes our coming-of-age friendships so powerful. I know the usual theories…. That they fill the void of adolescent loneliness. That they give us a sense of belonging. That they shape our adult identities. All these things are true, but when it comes right down to it, I think it’s a simple matter of who was there by our side, bearing witness to our loss of innocence.

And when Mary nodded, Pauline said, "You'd better hurry then, you know how how is," and laughed to show she would not be married to bald John Keane for all the tea in China. In her laugh was every confidence Mary had ever shared with Pauline about her husband's failings, every unguarded criticism, every angry, impromptu, frustrated critique of his personality, his manners, his sometimes morbid, sometimes inscrutable, sometimes impatient ways. A repository, Pauline and her laugh, for every moment in thier marriage when Mary Keane had not loved her husband, when love itself had seemed a misapprehension, a delusion (a stranger standing outside of Schrafft's transformed into an answered prayer), and marriage--which Pauline had had sense enough to spurn--simply an awkward pact with a stranger, any stranger, John or George, Tom, Dick, or Harry. A repository, Pauline and her laugh, her knowing eye, for all that Mary Keane should have kept to herself.

It’s been six hours since our friendship pact—sealed with a kiss,

We'd made a pact eight years ago to pass away in our sleep together, holding hands, in the retirement home we'd spent a decade wreaking awesome havoc on. Like the chaotic best friend version of The Notebook.

I'd never had an audience like Rebecca Cross. Her shining eyes and respectful silence spurred me to ever greater heights of invention. Ever deeper trenches of imagined horrors. By Friday, I'd pegged half our class as speeding towards some kind of astonishing doom. And Becca was mine. We'd been written off as weirdos together. Together. Some girls treated their friends as athletes in competitive trials, constantly moving them up and down the ranks. But for us best friendship was deadly serious. More permanent than a tattoo. We invented code words and handshakes. We made repeated blood pacts. We scratched each other's arms with pine needles and sipped unholy potions we invented in our parents' gardens out of some nebulous, but passionate desire to show out devotion. We snuck clothes into each other's drawers, so we could swear to anyone who asked (no-one ever asked) that we lived together. Our mom's conducted hush phone calls, worried we'd burn bright then break each others hearts. They set up play dates with other children who never asked to come back. Our parents didn't get it. That was all. They didn't believe you could find your soulmate at six.

I often wonder what makes our coming-of-age friendships so powerful. I know the usual theories…That they fill the void of adolescent loneliness. That they give us a sense of belonging. That they shape our adult identities. All these things are true, but when it comes down to it, I think it’s a simple matter of who was there by our side, bearing witness to our loss of innocence.

Take a look at this bridge, how weathered and worn it is, and yet, it’s one of the most magnificent things I’ve ever seen. It may have its battle scars, but it’s sturdy, a strong foundation, and that’s something love should be built on.’ She was right. There were scars in our relationship, some battle wounds, but underneath the cosmetic features of our friendship was a sturdy foundation that love could be built on. Love

They then spent the next two hours working, just two regular unicorns, getting through their to-do list.

The plan is, by a combination of fighting, bargaining, and well-timed strokes of treachery, to acquire a ring of bases completely encircling one or other of the rival states, and then to sign a pact of friendship with that rival and remain  on peaceful terms for so many years as to lull suspicion to sleep.

If I care about what happens to them, then maybe that’s what friendship is.

Thankfully, a much-needed letter from Bobby was waiting for me in the mailbox. Dear Heidi, Sorry everyone’s being so mean. Sometimes people get scared of what they don’t know, and then they do stupid things to pretend that they’re not scared. Kirk doesn’t deserve to go out with you, so don’t even think about him. Cathy isn’t a good friend either. I wish I could be there for you, but you know how it is. All I can say is maybe you can teach them what it’s like to be Donald. That might help, you know? And I hope you meet a friend who is cool enough to see how much fun Donald can be. I sure miss playing in the park with you guys. Take it easy, and write soon. Bobby I hugged the letter to my chest after reading it several times, grateful that we made a pact to write real letters instead of emails. You can’t hold and hug an email. I folded it up carefully and stuck it in a special pocket of my backpack so I’d be able to sneak a peek at it at school for some extra comfort.

And if I tell Linden how I feel and he doesn’t feel the same way that would ruin our friendship. It would ruin everything we have together, not to mention the relationships we’re both in.