Garcia Girls Quotes

If a girl says not to get her a birthday present that means get me a birthday present and make sure it's jewelry.

She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget.

There was a curse. There was a girl. And in the end, there was a grave. I never even saw it coming.

Lena's hair was sticking out in about fifteen directions, and her eyes were all small and puffy from crying. So this was what girls looked like in the morning. I had never seen one, not up close.

Link says if a girl says not to get her a birthday present that means get me a birthday present and make sure it’s jewelry.

Macon Ethan I lay my head down on his chest and cried because had lived because he had died a dry ocean, a desert of emotion happysad darklight sorrowjoy swept over me, under me i could hear the sound but i could not understand the words and then i realized the sound was me, breaking in one moment i was feeling everything and i was feeling nothing i was shattered, i was saved, i lost everthing, i was given everything else something in me died, something in me was born, i only knew the girl was gone whoever i was now, i would never be her again this is the way the world ends not with a bang but a whimper claim yourself claim yourself claim yourself claim gratitude fury love despair hope hate first green is gold but nothing green can stay dont try nothing green can stay -Lena Duchannes

She's not my girlfriend. We're just friends," I said automatically. "Shut up. You're so whipped I should buy you a saddle." Which he would've said about any girl I talked to, talked about, or even looked at in the hall. "She's not. Nothing's happened. We just hang out." "You're so full of crap, you could pass for a toilet. You like her, Wate. Admit it." Link wasn't big on subtleties, and I don't think he could imagine hanging out with a girl for any reason other than maybe she played lead guitar, except for the obvious ones.

My life had taken a stranger turn than I could've ever imagined. What was I doing on this path? Where was I headed really? Who was I to take on a battle between powers I didn't understand— armed with a runaway cat, a uniquely bad drummer, a pair of garden shears, and an Ovaltine-drinking teen Galileo? To save a girl who didn't want to be saved?

My mother used to say that girls should be seen and not heard. I say we should be seen and feared.

She was but a girl from nowhere. Let the heroes save the world, save kings who must regain their crowns. Live, live, she wanted to live, and there was a way.

I like your daydreams, dear girl," he said quietly.

It wasn't about how she looked, which was pretty, even though she was always wearing the wrong clothes and those beat-up sneakers. It wasn't about what she said in class--usually something no one else would've thought of, and if they had, something they wouldn't have dared to say. It wasn't that she was different from all the other girls at Jackson. That was obvious. It was that she made me realize how much I was just like the rest of them, even if I wanted to pretend I wasn't.

It was pretty obvious Lena wanted to be asked. Another mysterious thing about girls- they want to be asked to stuff even if they don't want to go.

From time to time, you may see a girl wearing her black opaque tights as pants. They are, in fact, not.

It wasn't that she was different from all the other girls at Jackson. That was obvious. It was that she made me realize how much I was just like the rest of them, even if I wanted to pretend I wasn't.

I stared at the creased map on my wall, the thin green line connecting all the places I had read about. There they were, all the cities of my imaginary future, held together with tape and marker and pins. In six months, a lot had changed. There was no thin green line that could lead me to my future anymore. Just a girl.

...to see a girl who burns me and shocks me and shatters me with a single touch.

...Usually i’d sit back and just enjoy the view for what it was because it’s not often you come across something so ridiculously out of place, a girl like you, on the subway, it’s like spotting a unicorn at the zoo. I reasoned how to pull this off, to get you, to say hi, to ask your name, what your voice sounded like, if you had a cute smile because i like cute smiles. In ten minutes I had a thousand thoughts of you and you had no clue...

Ridley was like a beautiful snake - you couldn't let her get close without the risk of being bitten.

I hurt people, once.' 'Did they deserve to be hurt?' Grandma touched Meche's chin. 'Don't they always, when you're a girl?

Coming into your powers can be a very confusing time. Perhaps there is a book on the subject. If you like, we can go see Marian." Yeah, right. Choices and Changes. A Modern Girl's Guide to Casting. My Mom Wants to Kill Me: A Self-Help Book For Teens.

As the quip attributed to Einstein goes, “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That is relativity.

The new girl looked up and caught me looking at her.I looked away, but it wasbto late. I tried not to smile, but I was embarrassed, and that only made me smile more. she didn't seem to notice.

I’m officially giving myself permission to ask; What are Mr. Garcia’s intentions? Maybe I’m late to the game on this question. The thing is, I’ve seen myself in the mirror. Why would I suspect anyone of wanting this?

BLACKBERRY. Also know as "Crackberry" for it's addictive qualities. It is the modern girl's weapon. It allow her to bid on ebay while walking down the street, map out her shopping route for maximum productivity, and sneak out of work and still get her messages as she peruses the sales racks...

I don't know what I'm trying to say. I don't know what any of this is really about. Why we bother. Why we're here. Why we love. I had a family, and they were everything to me, and I didn't even know it when I had them. I had a girl, and she was everything to me, and I knew it every second I had her. I lost them all. Everything a guy could ever want. I found my way home again, but don't be fooled. Nothing's the same as before. I'm not sure I'd want it to be.

Fuck you! Someone has tortured and killed one of your girls and you couldn’t give a damn? I thought you were supposed to protect them, to be their guardian. Isn’t that what pimps do?’ Garcia’s face flared red.

I've done my part, played my hand, even thrown in my cards when I had to. I've bet what I didn't have and bluffed until I had it. Link once said: Ridley Duchannes is always playing a game. I never told him, but he was right.

Jan-Peter offered to teach me the language of Amsterdam's red light district. ...But after his first phrase--'Using the back door will cost you double'--I withdrew my request.

You never knew what to expect with Ingrid. One minute she could be sawing the locks off Pierpont's freezers; the next, providing shelter for the homeless birds of Switzerland.

She imagined the diamond comb weighing the girl down, like an anchor, tying her to Luc.

I wasn't into girls like Emily. She was pretty, but that was it. And looking at her didn't make up for having to listen to what came out of her mouth.

A tall girl towered over us, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

...No small amount of schadenfreude. Do you know what that means?" "Dad, it's the lifeline of gossip. Of course I know what it means.

Would you mind taking off your shirt?

So this was what girls looked like in the morning.

Girls were like aliens, and as far as he was concerned, Ridley was their queen.

Something I eventually learned: Prince's top girlfriend was always in Minneapolis. When you came to Minneapolis, you were the girl on her way in. When you left Minneapolis, you were the girl on her way out. This would have been a valuable piece of information for me to keep in my own hip pocket.

Look at me Ethan. Am I Dark, or am I Light?' I looked at her, and I knew what she was. The girl I loved. The girl I would always love. Instinctively, I grabbed the gold book in my pocket. It was warm, as if some part of my mother was alive within it. I pressed the book into Lena's hand, feeling the warmth spread into her body, I willed her to feel it- the kind of love within the book, the kind of love that never died. 'I know what you are, Lena. I know your heart. You can trust me. You can trust yourself.

And she had to admit to herself that part of what kept her next to him was not just the promise of freeing herself of the bone splinter or a sense of obligation, but the lure of change, of becoming someone else, someone other than a girl who starched shirts and shone shoes and had to make do with a quick glimpse of the stars at night.

The girl was falling. I was falling. I had to hold on, but I couldn't. If I let go, something terrible would happen to her. But that's the thing. I couldn't let go. I couldn't lose her. It was like I was in lover with her, even though I didn't know her. Kind of like love BEFORE first sight. Which seemed crazy because she was just a girl in a dream.

Maite wished she had been born in Monaco or New York. Most of the girls in the comic books she read looked like they’d never set a foot in places like the Doctores. If they had toiled in poverty, then they had been lifted to a higher plane by the fat wallet of their beloved. Cinderellas, dreaming. Maite dreamed too, but nothing came of

Aunt Caroline opened the door, wiping her hands on her G.R.I.T.S. apron. Girls Raised in the South.

--- "You might have figured out she has a thing for guys in uniform." "A perfect match." He grinned. "Garcia has a thing for girls with a thing.

Mean girls are a force of nature that transcends geographical and cultural boundaries.

Looking at her, he thought of smoke, of incense and altars, and the painting of a girl he’d seen in a discarded museum catalogue.

Great. Another girl with a notebook.

It’s a ballad about a girl who’s dragged to the bottom of the river by her demon lover.

I pushed her shiny blond hair away from her face and leaned down, our faces only inches apart. She inhaled softly, our lips so close I could feel her breath and the scent of her skin, like honeysuckle in springtime. She smelled like sweet tea and old books, like she had always been here. I pulled my fingers through her hair and held it at the back of her neck. Her skin was soft and warm, like a Mortal girl's. There was no electric current, no shocks. We could kiss for as long as we wanted. If we had a fight, there wouldn't be a flood or a hurricane, or even a storm. I wouldn't find her on the ceiling of her bedroom. No windows would shatter. No exams would catch fire. Liv held up her face to be kissed. She wanted me.

It was raining hard and he welcomed the cold water sliding under the collar of his shirt because the rain nested in her hair like minuscule jewels, it crowned her in summer glory, and he dearly wanted that desperately lovely girl. Thank heavens then for the rain, which cooled his spirit.

She had been a pretty girl when she was young, but the years had corroded her easy beauty. What was left was a hard shell. It reminded Montserrat a little of Ewers’s look. He’d had that trace of resentment in his mouth as if something had been denied to him. A hunger, in the pit of their bellies.

in blue wihout when blues dream bears the only living girls are gold quickly the living boys will bring them stars and stars will sing them bells in bells without when bells dream blooms the only living boys are brave quickly the living girls will bring them dooms and dooms will praise their love

She was a spoiled rich girl who did not give a damn about me.” “A spoiled rich girl?” she said. “Neither rich nor spoiled. A girl wearing yesterday’s finery, having to live off the mercy of her father’s old friends. You have no idea what it was to be me. All the family’s expectations upon my shoulders.

Let’s try another route. How about power, Montserrat? The power you’ve craved since you were a little girl, when they mocked you and shoved you and called you dirty names. The power you lack when those men sneer at you and ignore your contributions, your brilliance. The power to make the whole world see you.

She was a girl. A girl who had played at murder and only succeeded in getting her sister killed in the process. A girl who could not be relied on to provide good counsel. A girl who ran off into the night, launched herself into a wild escape. A girl who was sick and tired. A girl who couldn’t pretend she was a tough cookie who could get through this intact.

Poetry was a discipline grounded in experience that drew its life and worth from a source much greater than oneself, and as it realized its potential to touch others in their innermost being, what [Kathleen] Fraser has termed their "yearning side," it could be a profoundly communal act. Poetry, when it succeeded, did so in ways that were not quantifiable, and did not look much like worldly success, but that might be summed up as the joy on the face of a girl in a dingy classroom who finds a kindred spirit in a poem by Garcia Lorca.

We are in uncharted territory" when it comes to sex and the internet, says Justin Garcia, a research scientist at Indiana University’s Kinsey Institute for Research in Sex, Gender, and Reproduction. "There have been two major transitions" in heterosexual mating, Garcia says, "in the last four million years. The first was around ten to fifteen thousand years ago, in the agricultural revolution, when we became less migratory and more settled," leading to the establishment of marriage as a cultural contract. "And the second major transition is with the rise of the Internet," Garcia says. Suddenly, instead of meeting through proximity, community connections, and family and friends, people could meet each other virtually and engage in amorous activity with the click of a button. Internet meeting is now surpassing every other form. “It’s changing so much about the way we act both romantically and sexually,” Garcia says. “It is unprecedented from an evolutionary standpoint.” And yet this massive shift in our behavior has gone almost completely unexamined, especially given how the internet permeates modern life. While there have been studies about how men and women use social media differently- how they use language and present themselves differently, for example- there's not a lot of research about how they behave sexually online; and there is virtually nothing about how girls and boys do. While there has been concern about the online interaction of children and adults, it's striking that so little attention has been paid to the ways in which the Internet has changed the sexual behavior of girls and boys interacting together. This may be because the behavior has been largely hidden or unknown, or, again, due to the fear of not seeming "sex-positive," mistaking responsibility for judgement. And there are questions to ask, from the standpoint of girls' and boys' physical and emotional health and the ethics of their treatment of each other. Sex on a screen is different from sex that develops in person, this much seems seems self-evident, just as talking on a screen is different from face-to-face communication. And so if talking on a screen reduces one's ability to be empathic, for example, then how does sex on a screen change sexual behavior? Are people more likely to act aggressively or unethically, as in other types of online communication? How do gender roles and sexism play into cybersex? And how does the influence of porn, which became available online at about the same time as social networking, factor in?

But I didn't how to worry, because if there was one thing I had figured out about girls, it was that pretty soon they would give up trashing each other. They'd be too busy trashing me.

What happened ta the other one? The Duchannes girl, with the dark hair?" Aunt Prue looked at her suspiciously. "Well, Mercy, that's jus' none a our concern. You shouldn't be askin' anything about it. She mighta up and left him." "Why would she do that? Ethan, you didn't ask that girl ta get nekkid, did ya?

Here's the thing. There are certain times when a girl hates herself. You know that. When she teases a guy she has no interest in being with. When she pretends to be stupider than she is, or more innocent, or whatever it is the boy she loves wants her to be. When she has to tell her boyfriend about all the boys she's kissed or loved before him. When she sees that look in his eyes - the look that says he thought he was the only one, that he had always been the one. It's all pretty dull, but it's life. So here's what I want you to know: I'm not that girl. I think I've been perfectly clear about that. I will always disappoint you. You, and everyone else. That's the girl I am. The one people whisper about. The scandal. The problem. I'm fine with that. But know this - and I don't know if you're listening, and I don't know if you care - there was a boy named Wesley Lincoln, once. And I loved him, with my whole heart, and maybe even part of my soul. I imagined a future with houses and children and all sorts of things I had no right imagining. He gave me a ring once, and I pretended it meant something different than it did. But that life isn't for me. I know that now. I'm not that girl. I didn't deserve him, and I never will. I deserve lots of things - the destruction of men and boys - the cataclysm of worlds - and the end of the New Order, possibly. The heart of a certain Dark Caster. But I want you to know, just between us, that I lost something. There was something I wanted. Even if it was something I knew I could never have. There was a boy, an ordinary boy, and he was my heart. Now I have no heart. That's my story I hope yours ends differently, but I doubt it will.

Americanah; Ayad Akhtar, American Dervish; Julia Alvarez, How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents; Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street; Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao; Teju Cole, Open City; William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying; Nell Freudenberger, The Newlyweds; Cristina García, Dreaming in Cuban and King of Cuba; Chang-rae Lee, Native Speaker.

A month ago, I wouldn't have believed it, but now I knew better. This was Gatlin. Not the Gatlin I thought I knew, but some other Gatlin that had apparently been hiding in plain sight all along. A town where the girl I liked was from a long line of Casters, my housekeeper was a Seer who read chicken bones in the swamp and summoned the spirits of her dead ancestors, and even my dad acted like a vampire.

Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That is relativity.

There was a curse. There was a girl. And in the end, there was a grave. I never even saw it coming.

I’m feeling like the luckiest girl alive today, Seb.” My heart swells before I quickly recover. “Yeah, well, you do have a brain injury.

So, on the afternoon that Robert Frost’s horse had clip-clopped through the snow, I’d raised my hand and told the class my mother was a poet. “Now, now, Delphine,” Mrs. Peterson said, “nice girls don’t tell their classmates lies.” She’d kept me after school and told me she knew the truth about how my mother had left home and that wanting a mother was no excuse for dreaming one up. I couldn’t leave the classroom until I’d written “I will not tell lies in class” twenty-five times on the blackboard. And then I’d had to erase the board clean. Vonetta sulked something pitiful when Cecile told her to cut it out.

Her hair curled around her shoulders, long and loose, held back with glinting clips, in one those magical ways girls have of making their hair look like it is supposed to be up, but also sort of falling down.

John elbowed me." Isn't there some kind of Cast that can keep our noses working? Like a Stinkus Lessus Cast? "No but I can think of a few Shutus Upus Casts that I might be applicable right about now." "Temper, Caster Girl. You're supposed to be Light. You know, one of the good guys." I broke the mold, remember? On my Seventeenth Moon, when I was Claimed Light and Dark?" I shot him a serious look. "Don't forget. I've got my Dark side." "I'm scared." He grinned. "You should be. Very."-Lena Duchannes and John Breed

Einstein goes, “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems

Why we bother. Why we’re here. Why we love. I had a family, and they were everything to me, and I didn’t even know it when I had them. I had a girl, and she was everything to me, and I knew it every second I had her. I lost them all. Everything

I'm trying my best to be a good daughter and accept the clipping of my wings, the taming of my heart. Being a senorita is not as much fun as I'd expect it to be. It means composure and dignity. Senorita is a nina, the girl I used to be, who has lost her voice.

The Mike Douglas Show wasn’t the only place to find colored people on television. Each week, Jet magazine pointed out all the shows with colored people. My sisters and I became expert colored counters. We had it down to a science. Not only did we count how many colored people were on TV, we also counted the number of words the actors were given to say. For instance, it was easy to count the number of words the Negro engineer on Mission Impossible spoke as well as the black POW on Hogan’s Heroes. Sometimes the black POW didn’t have any words to say, so we scored him a “1” for being there. We counted how many times Lieutenant Uhuru hailed the frequency on Star Trek. We’d even take turns being her, although Big Ma would have never let us wear a minidress or space boots. But then there was I Spy. All three of us together couldn’t count every word Bill Cosby said. And then there was a new show, Julia, coming in September, starring Diahann Carroll. We agreed to shout out “Black Infinity!” when Julia came on because each episode would be all about her character. We didn’t just count the shows. We counted the commercials as well. We’d run into the TV room in time to catch the commercials with colored people using deodorant, shaving cream, and wash powder. There was a little colored girl on our favorite commercial who looked just like Fern. In fact, I said that little girl could have been Fern, which made Vonetta jealous. In the commercial, the little girl took a bite of buttered bread and said, “Gee, Ma. This is the best butter I ever ate.” Then we’d say it the way she did, in her dead, expressionless voice; and we’d outdo ourselves trying to say it with the right amount of deadness. We figured that that was how the commercial people told her to say it. Not too colored. Then we’d get silly and say it every kind of colored way we knew how.