“
Part of the hem floated loose. She spun around again—the fabric tightened like wool on a spindle. She breathed in fear. The boat was farther away. She swung her head around—so was the shore.
”
”
Yvonne Korshak (Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece)
“
The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.
”
”
Rainer Maria Rilke (Letters to a Young Poet)
“
I want so many things,” he whispers. “I want your mind. Your strength. I want to be worth your time.” His fingers graze the hem of my top and he says “I want this up.” He tugs on the waist of my pants and says “I want these down.” He touches the tips of his fingers to the sides of my body and says, “I want to feel your skin on fire. I want to feel your heart racing next to mine and I want to know it’s racing because of me, because you want me. Because you never,” he says, he breathes, “never want me to stop. I want every second. Every inch of you. I want all of it.
”
”
Tahereh Mafi (Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2))
“
That's how you know you love someone, I guess, when you can't experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too.
”
”
Kaui Hart Hemmings (The Descendants)
“
Everyone in the world was programmed by the place they were born, hemmed in by their beliefs, but you had to at least try to grow your own brain.
”
”
Scott Westerfeld (Pretties (Uglies, #2))
“
I love Tris the Divergent, who makes decisions apart from faction loyalty, who isn’t some faction archetype. But the Tris who’s trying as hard as she can to destroy herself … I can’t love her.”
I want to scream. But not because I’m angry, because I’m afraid he’s right. My hands shake and I grab the hem of my shirt to steady them.
He touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “I believe you’re still in there,” he says against my mouth. “Come back.
”
”
Veronica Roth (Insurgent (Divergent, #2))
“
March is such a fickle month. It is the seam between winter and spring—though seam suggests an even hem, and March is more like a rough line of stitches sewn by an unsteady hand, swinging wildly between January gusts and June greens. You don’t know what you’ll find, until you step outside.
”
”
Victoria E. Schwab (The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue)
“
Jace set what he was holding down on the windowsill and reached out to her. She came to lean against him, and his hand slid up under her t-shirt and rested caressingly, possessively, on the small of her back. He bent to kiss her, gently at first, but the gentleness went quickly and soon she was pressed up against the glass of the window, his hands at the hem of her shirt — his shirt —
“Jace.” She moved a little bit away. “I’m pretty sure people down there in the street can see us.”
“We could …” He gestured toward the bed. “Move…over there.”
She grinned. “You said that like it took you a while to come up with the idea.”
When he spoke, his voice was muffled against her neck. “What can I say, you make my thought processes slow down. Now I know what it’s like to be a normal person.”
“How … is it?” The things he was doing with his hands under the t-shirt were distracting.
“Terrible. I’m already way behind on my quota of witty comments for the day.
”
”
Cassandra Clare (City of Lost Souls (The Mortal Instruments, #5))
“
I tugged at the hem of my brand-new Hecate Hall issue blue plaid skirt (Kilt? Some sort of bizarre skirt/kilt hybrid? A skilt?)
”
”
Rachel Hawkins (Hex Hall (Hex Hall, #1))
“
The alley and the music all fell away, and there was nothing but her and the rain and Jace, his hands on her. . . He made a noise of surprise, low in his throat, and dug his fingers into the thin fabric of her tights. Not unexpectedly, they ripped, and his wet fingers were suddenly on the bare skin of her legs. Not to be outdone, Clary slid her hands under the hem of his soaked shirt, and let her fingers explore what was underneath: the tight, hot skin over his ribs, the ridges of his abdomen, the scars on his back. This was uncharted territory for her, but it seemed to be driving him crazy: he was moaning softly against her mouth, kissing her harder and harder, as if it would never be enough, not quite enough —
”
”
Cassandra Clare (City of Fallen Angels (The Mortal Instruments, #4))
“
His finger flicked open a button on my cardigan-then two, three, four. It tumbled off my shoulders, leaving me in my camisole. He pushed up the hem, teasing and stroking his thumb across my stomach. My breath came in a sharp intake of air.
”
”
Becca Fitzpatrick (Silence (Hush, Hush, #3))
“
Nothing is more important than that you see and love the beauty that is right in front of you, or else you will have no defense against the ugliness that will hem you in and come at you in so many ways.
”
”
Neal Stephenson (Anathem)
“
Why is it so hard to articulate love yet so easy to express disappointment?
”
”
Kaui Hart Hemmings (The Descendants)
“
Will’s eyes met Tessa’s as she came closer, almost tripping again over the torn hem of her gown. For a moment, they were in perfect understanding. Jem was what they could still look each other straight in the eye about. On the topic of Jem, they were both fierce and unyielding. Tessa saw Will’s hand tighten on Jem’s sleeve. “She’s here,” he said.
Jem’s eyes opened slowly. Tessa fought to keep the look of shock from her face. His pupils were blown out, his irises a thin ring of silver around the black. “Ni shou shang le ma, quin ai de?” he whispered.
”
”
Cassandra Clare (Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices, #3))
“
I was attracted to science fiction because it was so wide open. I was able to do anything and there were no walls to hem you in and there was no human condition that you were stopped from examining.
”
”
Octavia E. Butler
“
For a moment, I pretended. Not that we weren't two different species, because I didn't see him that way, but that we actually liked each other.
And then he shifted and rolled. I was on my back, and he was still on the move. His face burrowed into the space between my neck and shoulder, nuzzling. Sweet baby Jesus...Warm breath danced over my skin, sending shivers down my body. His arm was heavy against my stomach, his leg between mine, pushing up and up. Scorched air fled my lungs.
Daemon murmured in a language I couldn't understand. Whatever it was, it sounded beautiful and soft. Magical. Unearthly.
I could've woken him up but for some reason I didn't. The thrill of him touching me was far stronger than anything else.
His hand was on the edge of the borrowed shirt, his long fingers on the strip of exposed flesh between the hem on the shirt and the band of the worn pajama bottoms. And his hand inched up under the shirt, across my stomach, where it dipped slightly. My pulse went into cardiac territory. The tips of his fingers brushed my ribs. His body moved, his knee pressed against me.
I gasped.
Daemon stilled. No one moved. The clock on the wall ticked.
And I cringed.
”
”
Jennifer L. Armentrout (Obsidian (Lux, #1))
“
He swapped the fistful of my shirt for one in my hair, and ground his mouth against mine.
I exploded.
I shoved at him, and clawed him closer. He shoved me back, and yanked me tighter to his body. I pulled his hair. He pulled mine. He didn‘t fight fair. Actually, he fought exactly fair. He didn‘t extend courtesies, not a single one.
I bit his lip. He tripped me and pushed me down to the stone floor of the cavern. I punched him. He straddled me.
I ripped his shirt down the front, left it hanging in tatters from his shoulders.
"I liked that shirt", he snarled. He rose over me, a dark demon, glistening in the torchlight, dripping sweat and blood, his torso covered with tattoos that disappeared beneath his waistband.
He grabbed the hem of my shirt, tore it straight up to my neck, and inhaled sharply.
”
”
Karen Marie Moning (Bloodfever (Fever, #2))
“
No hemming or hawing, no hinting or manipulation, no sledgehammer–subtlety may hold us back from claiming a climate of transparency and capturing an untainted and luminescent skyline, when the boldness of the truth is coming defiantly to the fore. ("Did not expect it would ever happen there" )
”
”
Erik Pevernagie
“
It is ... through the world of the imagination which takes us beyond the restrictions of provable fact, that we touch the hem of truth.
”
”
Madeleine L'Engle (A Circle of Quiet (Crosswicks Journals, #1))
“
You destroy me."
"Juliette," he says and he mouths the name, barely speaking at all, and he's pouring molten lava into my limbs and I never even knew I could melt straight to death.
"I want you," he says. He says "I want all of you. I want you inside and out and catching your breath and aching for me like I ache for you." He says it like it's a lit cigarette lodged in his throat, like he wants to dip me in warm honey and he says "It's never been a secret. I've never tried to hide that from you. I've never pretended I wanted anything less."
"You-you said you wanted f-friendship-"
"Yes," he says, he swallows, "I did. I do. I do want to be your friend. He nods and I register the slight movement in the air between us. "I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend," he says. "The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body, Juliette-"
"No," I gasp. "Don't-don't s-say that-"
"I want to know where to touch you," he says. "I want to know how to touch you. I want to know how to convince you to design a smile just for me." I feel his chest rising, falling, up and down and up and down and "Yes," he says. "I do want to be your friend." He says "I want to be your best friend in the entire world."
"I want so many things," he whispers. "I want your mind. Your strength. I want to be worth your time." His fingers graze the hem of my top and he says "I want this up." He tugs on the waist of my pants and says "I want these down." He touches the tips of his fingers to the sides of my body and says, "I want to feel your skin on fire. I want to feel your heart racing next to mine and I want to know it's racing because of me, because you want me. Because you never," he says, he breathes, "never want me to stop. I want every second. Every inch of you. I want all of it."
And I drop dead, all over the floor.
"Juliette."
I can't understand why I can still hear him speaking because I'm dead, I'm already dead, I've died over and over and over again.
He swallows, hard, his chest heaving, his words a breathless, shaky whisper when he says "I'm so-I'm so desperately in love with you-
”
”
Tahereh Mafi (Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2))
“
I need a Kleenex.” She sniffs.
Guy disengages his hands from hers, takes the hem of his
sweatshirt, and wipes her nose with it.
“That’s romantic,” she says, embarrassed.
“Well, it is sort of, because I wouldn’t do it for anybody else
in the world.
”
”
Julia Hoban (Willow)
“
You are doing God's work. You are doing it wonderfully well. He is blessing you, and He will bless you, --even--no, -especially--when your days and your nights may be most challenging. Like the woman who anonymously, meekly, perhaps even with hesitation and some embarrassment, fought her way through the crowd just to touch the hem of the Master's garment, so Christ will say to the women who worry and wonder and weep over their responsibility as mothers, `Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.' And it will make your children whole as well.
”
”
Jeffrey R. Holland
“
Sometimes, Hem, things change and they are never the same again. This looks like one of those times. That's life! Life moves on. And so should we.
”
”
Spencer Johnson (Who Moved My Cheese? An Amazing Way to Deal with Change in Your Work and in Your Life...)
“
I kissed her," he explained, aggrieved.
"Mmm, yes, I had the dubious pleasure of witnessing that, ah-hem, overly public occurrence." Lyall sharpened his pen nib, using a small copper blade that ejected from the end of his glassicals.
"Well! Why hasn't she done anything about it?" the Alpha wanted to know.
"You mean like whack you upside the noggin with that deadly parasol of hers? I would be cautious in that area if I were you.
”
”
Gail Carriger (Soulless (Parasol Protectorate, #1))
“
You sit at the edge of the world,
I am in a crater that's no more.
Words without letters
Standing in the shadow of the door.
The moon shines down on a sleeping lizard,
Little fish rain from the sky.
Outside the window there are soldiers,
steeling themselves to die.
(Refrain)
Kafka sits in a chair by the shore,
Thinking for the pendulum that moves the world, it seems.
When your heart is closed,
The shadow of the unmoving Sphinx,
Becomes a knife that pierces your dreams.
The drowning girl's fingers
Search for the entrance stone, and more.
Lifting the hem of her azure dress,
She gazes --
at Kafka on the shore
”
”
Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)
“
BLUE SWEATER
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that?
That's the sound of my heart beating...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart beating.
It was the first day of October. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard’s? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean.
You promised to love me forever that night...
and boy
did you
ever!
It was the first day of December this time. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard’s? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean.
I told you I was three weeks late
You said it was fate.
You promised to love me forever that night...
and boy
did you
ever!
It was the first day of May. I was wearing my blue sweater, although this time the double stitched hem was worn
and the strength of each thread tested as they were pulled tight against my growing belly. You know the one. The same one I bought at Dillard’s? The one with holes in the ends of the
sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the
ocean.
The SAME sweater you RIPPED off of my body as you shoved me to the
floor,
calling me a
whore
,
telling me
you didn't love me
anymore.
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that? That's the sound of my heart beating.
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Bom Bom...
Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart
beating.
(There is a long silence as she clasps her hands to her stomach, tears streaming down her face)
Do you hear that? Of course you don't. That's the silence
of my womb.
Because you
RIPPED
OFF
MY
SWEATER!
”
”
Colleen Hoover (Slammed (Slammed, #1))
“
For months they'd run their fingers around the hem of their affection without once acknowledging the fabric.
”
”
Anthony Marra (A Constellation of Vital Phenomena)
“
Hopes were wallflowers. Hopes hugged the perimeter of a dance floor in your brain, tugging at their party lace, all perfume and hems and doomed expectation. They fanned their dance cards, these guests that pressed against the walls of your heart.
”
”
Karen Russell (Swamplandia!)
“
Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and burst into tears. "It's been so long," she gasps, "since I've seen anything pretty.
”
”
Suzanne Collins (Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3))
“
The moon sets and the eastern sky lightens, the hem of night pulling away, taking stars with it one by one until only two are left.
”
”
Anthony Doerr (All the Light We Cannot See)
“
Kylie watched as his shirttail upward, exposing a very hard abdomen. The hem of his shirt inched higher, and she took in the cutest inny belly button she'd ever seen. And then his chest. Solid. Hard. A few drops of water glistened against his skin. Hear heart beat to the sound of passion again.
”
”
C.C. Hunter (Born at Midnight (Shadow Falls, #1))
“
Dammit, Michael, get out of my room, you pervert!” Could you even be a pervert if you were dead? She supposed you could, if you had a working body half the time. “I swear, I’m going to start taking my clothes off!”
The cold spot stayed resolutely put until she got the hem of her T-shirt all the way up to her bra line, and then faded away. “Chicken,” she said, and paced the room, back and forth.
”
”
Rachel Caine (Glass Houses (The Morganville Vampires, #1))
“
...I became aware of the world's tenderness, the profound beneficence of all that surrounded me, the blissful bond between me and all of creation, and I realized that the joy I sought in you was not only secreted within you, but breathed around me everywhere, in the speeding street sounds, in the hem of a comically lifted skirt, in the metallic yet tender drone of the wind, in the autumn clouds bloated with rain. I realized that the world does not represent a struggle at all, or a predaceous sequence of chance events, but the shimmering bliss, beneficent trepidation, a gift bestowed upon us and unappreciated.
”
”
Vladimir Nabokov
“
Oh yes. Draw your hem back from my mud, little sister.
”
”
Philippa Gregory (The Other Boleyn Girl (The Plantagenet and Tudor Novels, #9))
“
No one expects a woman busy at her sewing to pay attention to what’s being said around her. Nevermind if a man’s mother and sister showerd them they heard everything while they stictched, he’ll still think a woman who plies her needles saves all her brains for the work. You’re a far better spy hemming sheets than if you clank with daggers.
”
”
Tamora Pierce
“
Cery: So, Hem, tell me why I shouldn't see how many holes I need to make before you start leaking money?
”
”
Trudi Canavan (The High Lord (Black Magician Trilogy, #3))
“
What’s under here?” He toyed with the hem of my shirt.
“You’ve forgotten already?”
He dragged my T-shirt over my head and tossed it aside. “Oh, breasts. Best present ever. Thanks, pumpkin.
”
”
Kylie Scott (Play (Stage Dive, #2))
“
Nothing is ever truly gone...
Not for me, nor for any human being. We can only go forward, unless we are guests in some enchantment that is not is ours. We are condemned to an endless present, and we can never go back-the source of all our joy, and all our sorrow."
-Hem at Zelika's grave
”
”
Alison Croggon (The Crow (The Books of Pellinor #3))
“
things change and they are never the same again. This looks like one, of those times, Hem. That's life! Life moves on. And so should we.
”
”
Spencer Johnson (Who Moved My Cheese? An Amazing Way to Deal with Change in Your Work and in Your Life...)
“
Van wat een kind leest, onthoudt het maar een deel. Maar dat onthoudt hij ook zo goed, dat het zijn verdere leven met hem meereist, in zijn hart en in zijn bloed, het wordt een stuk van hemzelf.
”
”
Annie M.G. Schmidt
“
I might look like a honey-eyed schoolgirl on the outside, in my skirt with its regulation four-inches-above-the-knee hem. But I'll rip those tassels off your shoes, old man. Just try Googling me.
”
”
Meg Cabot
“
When the friendly jailer gave Socrates the poison cup to drink, the jailer said: "Try to
bear lightly what needs must be." Socrates did. He faced death with a calmness and
resignation that touched the hem of divinity.
”
”
Dale Carnegie (How to Stop Worrying and Start Living: Time-Tested Methods for Conquering Worry (Dale Carnegie Books))
“
Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“You mean go on a date?” I focused on stirring instead of my suddenly racing heart. “When?”
“Before the union. Have dinner with me and I’ll take you to Blood Moon for a couple of hours until it’s time for the ceremony.” His fingers moved from the pleats to the hem of my sweater, his hand slipping under the pale blue cashmere to stroke the skin of my lower back.
I gasped, caught his wrist in my fingers, and pulled his hand away from its provocative exploration.
“We are in class,” I hissed at him through clenched teeth.
”
”
Andrea Cremer (Nightshade (Nightshade, #1; Nightshade World, #4))
“
How come we've got these bodies? They are frail supports for what we feel. There are times I get so hemmed in by my arms and legs I look forward to getting past them. As though death will set me free like a traveling cloud... I'll be out there as a piece of the endless body of the world feeling pleasures so much larger than skin and bones and blood.
”
”
Louise Erdrich (Love Medicine (Love Medicine, #1))
“
Neil waited, but Andrew didn't let go. With so many people watching them Neil couldn't lift his shirt. He did the next best thing and dragged one of Andrew's hands under the hem. He pressed Andrew's palm to the ugly scarring across his abdomen.
”
”
Nora Sakavic (The Raven King (All for the Game, #2))
“
I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't give you everything you wanted. I wasn't everything you wanted. You were everything I wanted.
”
”
Kaui Hart Hemmings (The Descendants)
“
What are you doing?” I tried to pull away, but his hand slipped from my hair to cup the nape of my neck.
When he whispered, his warm breath brushed over my lips. “Just let me kiss you, Calla. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to. No one has to know.”
My lips parted as I drew a sudden, startled breath and in that instant his mouth was on mine, soft as velvet. I closed my eyes against the rush of a hundred wings that suddenly beat in my chest and soared through my body.
His scent was all around me. Leather, sandalwood, bonfires in autumn. He pulled back, but only for the sake of moving his lips to trail over my neck.
My blood was on fire and I was shaking. Is this really happening?
I couldn’t stop thinking about Shay in the clearing. About asking him to kiss me. The electric touch of his lips on mine.
But this is where I belong. I tried to push the memories back.
Ren stroked my knee, his fingers wandering up my thigh, sliding beneath the hem of my dress.
I grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”
He didn’t free his arm from my grasp but continued kissing my collar bone.
“Let’s skip the waiting part,” he murmured into my skin.
”
”
Andrea Cremer (Nightshade (Nightshade, #1; Nightshade World, #4))
“
I like these people swarming on the sidewalks, wedged into a little space of houses and canals, hemmed in by fogs, cold lands, and the sea streaming like a wet wash. I like them, for they are double. They are here and elsewhere.
”
”
Albert Camus (The Fall)
“
Let me go,” I said, my gaze dropping to his hand, holding the hem of my jacket. He closed his eyes briefly.
“I don’t know how,” he whispered.
”
”
Claire Contreras (Paper Hearts (Hearts, #2))
“
I wished for you," he whispered, so quietly that I struggled to hear.
"What did that feel like? I've never made a wish in my life." My voice was as shaky as my words were stupid.
"Everybody wishes for something, Charli."
I put just enough space between us to be able to look at him. "Not me. I've saved them all up. Birthday candles, shooting stars, stray eyelashes...ladybugs. I've saved hem all up. I figure I'm owed hundreds of wishes now.
”
”
G.J. Walker-Smith
“
All my life, I [Pari] have lived like an aquarium fish in the safety of a glass tank, behind a barrier as impenetrable as it has been transparent. I have been free to observe the glimmering world on the other side, to picture myself in it, if I like. But I have always been contained, hemmed in, by the hard, unyielding confines of the existence that Baba has constructed for me, at first knowingly, when I was young, and now guilelessly, now that he is fading day by day. I think I have grown accustomed to the glass and am terrified that when it breaks, when I am alone, I will spill out into the wide open unknown and flop around, helpless, lost, gasping for breath.
”
”
Khaled Hosseini (And the Mountains Echoed)
“
There’s a vastness here and I believe that the people who are born here breathe that vastness into their soul. They dream big dreams and think big thoughts, because there is nothing to hem them in.
”
”
Conrad Hilton
“
Slavery is everyday longing, is being born into a world of forbidden victuals and tantalizing untouchables—the land around you, the clothes you hem, the biscuits you bake. You bury the longing, because you know where it must lead.
”
”
Ta-Nehisi Coates (The Water Dancer)
“
Finally, he pushed back the chair and exhaled.
"He's alive," I said. "Your dad's alive."
He loooked up at me and, I couldn't help it-- I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. Then I realized what I was doing. I let go, backing away, tripping over my feet, stammering. "I-I'm sorry. I'm just--I'm happy for you."
"I know."
Still sitting, he reached out and pulled me toward him. We stayed there, looking at each other, his hand still wrapped around my shirt hem, my heart hammering so hard I wash sure he could hear it.
"There's more," I said after a few seconds. "More emails, Tori said."
He nodded and swiveled back to the computer, making room for me. When I inched closer, not wanting to intrude, he tugged me in front of him and I stumbled, half falling onto his lap. I tried to scramble up, cheeks burning, but he pulled me down onto his knee, one arm going around my waist, tentative, as if to say Is this okay? It was, even if my blood pounded in my ears so hard I couldn't think.
”
”
Kelley Armstrong (The Reckoning (Darkest Powers, #3))
“
In life, a person can take one of two attitudes: to build or to plant. The builders might take years over their tasks, but one day, they finish what they're doing. Then they find that they're hemmed in by their own walls. Life loses its meaning when the building stops.
Then there are those who plant. They endure storms and all the vicissitudes of the seasons, and they rarely rest. But unlike a building, a garden never stops growing. And while it requires the gardener's constant attention, it also allows life for the gardener to be a great adventure.
Gardeners always recognize each other, because they know that in the history of each plant lies the growth of the whole World.
”
”
Paulo Coelho
“
He's irritating." He stood and started to pull up the hem of his shirt. "And he stabbed me."
Alex rolled his eyes. "And you're still alive. Time to get over it."
Kale held his hand out to Ginger. "Fine. Give me something sharp. If I stab him, then we'll be even.
”
”
Jus Accardo (Toxic (Denazen, #2))
“
Because feeling love does make you feel superior. Until you find out you aren't loved back.
”
”
Kaui Hart Hemmings (The Descendants)
“
Wouldn’t it be easier keep your victim faceless?”
I shuddered. “Not a victim.”
“What else do you call one hemmed in by fate?”
“Human,” I said, bitterness creeping into my voice.
“What about guilt, then? Why open yourself to pain?”
“Guilt is what makes you accountable.
”
”
Roshani Chokshi (The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen, #1))
“
Aman, kendini asmış yüz kiloluk bir zenci,
Üstelik gece inmiş, ses gelmiyor kümesten;
Ben olsam utanırım, bu ne biçim öğrenci?
Hem dersini bilmiyor, hem de şişman herkesten.
İyi nişan alırdı kendini asan zenci,
Bira içmez ağlardı, babası değirmenci,
Sizden iyi olmasın, boşanmada birinci...
Çok canım sıkılıyor, kuş vuralım istersen.
”
”
Ülkü Tamer (Güneş Topla Benim İçin (Toplu Şiirler))
“
Take off your shirt," I said, sitting up and pulling at the hem of the garment.
"Why?" he asked, but sat up and obliged. I knelt in front of him, admiring his naked body.
"Because I want to look at you," I said. He was beautifully made, with long, graceful bones and flat muscles that flowed smoothly from the curves of chest and shoulder to the slight concavities of belly and thigh. He raised his eyebrows.
"Well then, fair's fair. Take off yours, then." He reached out and helped me squirm out of the wrinkled chemise, pushing it down over my hips. Once it was off, he held me by the waist, studying me with intense interest. I grew almost embarrassed as he looked me over.
"Haven't you ever seen a naked woman before?" I asked.
"Aye, but not one so close." His face broke into a broad grin. "And not one that's mine.
”
”
Diana Gabaldon (Outlander (Outlander, #1))
“
Sun Tzu said: The art of war recognises nine varieties of ground: (1) Dispersive ground; (2) facile ground; (3) contentious ground; (4) open ground; (5) ground of intersecting highways; (6) serious ground; (7) difficult ground; (8) hemmed-in ground; (9) desperate ground.
”
”
Sun Tzu (The Art of War Publisher: Shambhala)
“
But here is a question that is troubling me: if there is no God, then, one may ask, who governs human life and, in general, the whole order of things on earth?
– Man governs it himself, – Homeless angrily hastened to reply to this admittedly none-too-clear question.
– Pardon me, – the stranger responded gently, – but in order to govern, one needs, after all, to have a precise plan for a certain, at least somewhat decent, length of time. Allow me to ask you, then, how can man govern, if he is not only deprived of the opportunity of making a plan for at least some ridiculously short period, well, say, a thousand years , but cannot even vouch for his own tomorrow? And in fact, – here the stranger turned to Berlioz, – imagine that you, for instance, start governing, giving orders to others and yourself, generally, so to speak, acquire a taste for it, and suddenly you get ...hem ... hem ... lung cancer ... – here the foreigner smiled sweetly, and if the thought of lung cancer gave him pleasure — yes, cancer — narrowing his eyes like a cat, he repeated the sonorous word —and so your governing is over! You are no longer interested in anyone’s fate but your own. Your family starts lying to you. Feeling that something is wrong, you rush to learned doctors, then to quacks, and sometimes to fortune-tellers as well. Like the first, so the second and third are completely senseless, as you understand. And it all ends tragically: a man who still recently thought he was governing something, suddenly winds up lying motionless in a wooden box, and the people around him, seeing that the man lying there is no longer good for anything, burn him in an oven. And sometimes it’s worse still: the man has just decided to go to Kislovodsk – here the foreigner squinted at Berlioz – a trifling matter, it seems, but even this he cannot accomplish, because suddenly, no one knows why, he slips and falls under a tram-car! Are you going to say it was he who governed himself that way? Would it not be more correct to think that he was governed by someone else entirely?
”
”
Mikhail Bulgakov (The Master and Margarita)
“
Fuck', I think. What a beautiful word. If I could say only one thing for the rest of my life, that would be it.
”
”
Kaui Hart Hemmings (The Descendants)
“
Among them is a renegade king, he who sired five royal heirs without ever unzipping his pants. A man to whom time has imparted great wisdom and an even greater waistline, whose thoughtless courage is rivalled only by his unquenchable thirst.
At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears.
Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young.
And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights.
A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes.
“Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.”
And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.
”
”
Nicholas Eames (Kings of the Wyld (The Band, #1))
“
I wondered about Mrs. Winterbottom and what she meant about living a tiny life. If she didn't like all that baking and cleaning and jumping up to get bottles of nail polish remover and sewing hems, why did she do it? Why didn't she tell them to do some of the things themselves? Maybe she was afraid there would be nothing left for her to do. There would be no need for her and she would become invisible and no one would notice.
”
”
Sharon Creech (Walk Two Moons)
“
Sordukları zaman, bana ne iş yaptığımı, evli olup olmadığımı, kocamın ne iş yaptığını, ana babamın ne olduklarını sordukları zaman, ne gibi koşullarda yaşadığımı, yanıtlarımı nasıl memnunlukla onayladıklarını yüzlerinde okuyorum. Ve hepsine haykırmak istiyorum. Onayladığınız yanıtlar yalnızca bir yüzey. Ne düzenli bir iş, ne iyi bir konut, ne sizin medeni durum dediğiniz durumsuzluk, ne de başarılı bir birey olmak ya da sayılmak benim gerçeğim değil. Bu kolay olgulara, siz bu düzeni böylesine saptadığınız için ben de eriştim. Hem de hiç bir çaba harcamadan. Belki de hiç istediğim gibi çalışmadan. istediğiniz düzeye erişmek o denli kolay ki… Ama insanın gerçek yeteneğini, tüm yaşamını, kanını, aklını, varoluşunu verdiği iç dünyasının olgularının sizler için hiç bir değeri yok ki. bırakıyorsun insan onları kendisiyle birlikte gömsün. Ama hayır, hiç değilse susarak hepsini yüzünüze haykırmak istiyorum. Sizin düzeninizle, akıl anlayışınızla, namus anlayışınızla, başarı anlayışınızla bağdaşan hiç yönüm yok. Aranızda dolaşmak için giyiniyorum, hem de iyi giyiniyorum. İyi giyinene iyi değer verdiğiniz için. İçgüdülerimi hiç bir işte uygulamama izin vermediğiniz için. Hiç bir çaba harcamadan bunları yapabiliyorum, bir şey yapıldı sanıyorsunuz. Yaşamım boyunca içimi kemirttiniz. Evlenizle. Okullarınızla. İş yerlerinizle. Özel ya da resmi kuruluşlarınızla içimi kemirttiniz. Ölmek istedim, dirilttiniz. Yazı yazmak istedim, aç kalırsın, dediniz. Aç kalmayı dendim, serum verdiniz. Delirdim, kafama elektrik verdiniz. Hiç aile olmayacak insanla bir araya geldim, gene aile olduk. Ben bütün bunların dışındayım. Şimdi tek konuğu olduğum bu otelden ayrılırken, hangi otobüs ya da tren istasyonuna, hangi havaalanı ya da hangi limana doğru gideceğimi bilmediğim bu sabahta, iyi, başarılı, düzenli bir insandan başka her şey olduğumu duyuyorum.
”
”
Tezer Özlü (Yaşamın Ucuna Yolculuk)
“
To do such a thing would be to transcend magic. And I beheld, unclouded by doubt, a magnificent vision of all that invisibility might mean to a man—the mystery, the power, the freedom. Drawbacks I saw none. You have only to think! And I, a shabby, poverty-struck, hemmed-in demonstrator, teaching fools in a provincial college, might suddenly become—this.
”
”
H.G. Wells (The Invisible Man)
“
hear him breathing behind me, loud and fast. "Are you all right, Four?"
"Are you human, Tris? Being up this high..." He gulps for air. "It doesn't scare you at all?"
I look over my shoulder at the ground. If I fall now, I will die. But I don't think I will fall. A gust of air presses against my left side, throwing my body weight to the right. I gasp and cling to the rungs, my balance shifting. Four's cold hand clamps around one of my hips, one of his fingers finding a strip of bare skin just under the hem of my T-shirt. He squeezes, steading me and pushing me gently to the left, restoring my balance. Now I can't breathe. I pause, staring at my hands, my mouth dry. I feel the ghost of where his hand was, his fingers long and narrow.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
"Yes," I say, my voice strained.
”
”
Veronica Roth
“
Galen stowed the goblets behind a curtain and walked up to twitch the hem of Rose’s shawl. She gasped and looked around.
“Hello,” Galen said in a low voice. “Would you like to dance?”
“So you’re Pansy’s good spirit?”
“I am.”
“Your voice sounds familiar.” Her eyes sparkled. “Could you pretend to snore, so that I could make sure?
”
”
Jessica Day George (Princess of the Midnight Ball (The Princesses of Westfalin Trilogy, #1))
“
The sky was a cold iron-grey, like the underside of a shield. A sharp breeze lifted the hems of skirts and rattled the leaves on the immature trees; a spiteful, chill wind that sought out your weakest places, the nape of your neck and your knees, and which denied you the comfort of dreaming, of retreating a little from reality.
”
”
J.K. Rowling (The Casual Vacancy)
“
How are you coming with your home library? Do you need some good ammunition on why it's so important to read? The last time I checked the statistics...I think they indicated that only four percent of the adults in this country have bought a book within the past year. That's dangerous. It's extremely important that we keep ourselves in the top five or six percent.
In one of the Monthly Letters from the Royal Bank of Canada it was pointed out that reading good books is not something to be indulged in as a luxury. It is a necessity for anyone who intends to give his life and work a touch of quality. The most real wealth is not what we put into our piggy banks but what we develop in our heads. Books instruct us without anger, threats and harsh discipline. They do not sneer at our ignorance or grumble at our mistakes. They ask only that we spend some time in the company of greatness so that we may absorb some of its attributes.
You do not read a book for the book's sake, but for your own.
You may read because in your high-pressure life, studded with problems and emergencies, you need periods of relief and yet recognize that peace of mind does not mean numbness of mind.
You may read because you never had an opportunity to go to college, and books give you a chance to get something you missed. You may read because your job is routine, and books give you a feeling of depth in life.
You may read because you did go to college.
You may read because you see social, economic and philosophical problems which need solution, and you believe that the best thinking of all past ages may be useful in your age, too.
You may read because you are tired of the shallowness of contemporary life, bored by the current conversational commonplaces, and wearied of shop talk and gossip about people.
Whatever your dominant personal reason, you will find that reading gives knowledge, creative power, satisfaction and relaxation. It cultivates your mind by calling its faculties into exercise.
Books are a source of pleasure - the purest and the most lasting. They enhance your sensation of the interestingness of life. Reading them is not a violent pleasure like the gross enjoyment of an uncultivated mind, but a subtle delight.
Reading dispels prejudices which hem our minds within narrow spaces. One of the things that will surprise you as you read good books from all over the world and from all times of man is that human nature is much the same today as it has been ever since writing began to tell us about it.
Some people act as if it were demeaning to their manhood to wish to be well-read but you can no more be a healthy person mentally without reading substantial books than you can be a vigorous person physically without eating solid food. Books should be chosen, not for their freedom from evil, but for their possession of good. Dr. Johnson said: "Whilst you stand deliberating which book your son shall read first, another boy has read both.
”
”
Earl Nightingale
“
She watched his throat move, and then, he reached out and touched her face. "You sure are pretty," he said. "It's the stone," she replied immediately. Her skin felt warm; his fingertip touched just the very edge of her mouth. "It's flattering." Adam gently pulled the stone out of her hand and a set it on the floorboards between them. Through his ingers he threaded one of the flyaway hairs by her cheek. "My mother used to say, 'Don't throw compliments away, so long as they're free." HIs face was very earnest. "That one wasn't mean tho cost you anything, Blue." Blue plucked at the hem on her dress, but she didn't look away from him. "I don't know what to say when you say things like that." "You can tell me if you want me to keep saying them." She was torn by the desire to encourage him and the fear of where it would lead. "I like when you say things like that." Adam asked, "But what?" "I didn't say but." "You meant to. I heard it.
”
”
Maggie Stiefvater (The Raven Boys (The Raven Cycle, #1))
“
We walk until there aren't more houses, all the way to the part of the beach where the current makes the waves come in then rush back out so that the two waves clash, water casting up like a geyser. We watch that for a while and then Scottie says, "I wish Mom was here." I'm thinking the exact same thought. That's how you know you love someone, I guess, when you can't experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too. Every day I kept track of anecdotes, occurrences, and gossip, bullet-pointing the news in my head and even rehearsing my stories before telling them to Joanie in bed at night.
”
”
Kaui Hart Hemmings (The Descendants)
“
But unvented - ahh! One un-vents something; one unearths it; one digs it up, one runs it down in whatever recesses of the eternal consciousness it has gone to ground. I very much doubt if anything is really new when one works in the prehistoric medium of wool with needles. The products of science and technology may be new, and some of them are quite horrid, but knitting? In knitting there are ancient possibilities; the earth is enriched with the dust of the millions of knitters who have held wool and needles since the beginning of sheep. Seamless sweaters and one-row buttonholes; knitted hems and phoney seams - it is unthinkable that these have, in mankind's history, remained undiscovered and unknitted. One likes to believe that there is memory in the fingers; memory undeveloped, but still alive.
”
”
Elizabeth Zimmermann (Elizabeth Zimmermann's Knitter's Almanac)
“
Now isn't this role more fun than nun?" Gabrielle sauntered into the room, casting a sideways glance at the skirt she had personally hemmed.
Hamish nodded, "Kat... you have... legs."
"And boobs," Angus added, staring quite directly at the section of the white blouse that Gabrielle had made a bit too form-fitting for Kat's personal taste.
"Seriously Kat," Simon said, inching closer, "When did you get boobs?"
Hamish looked at Hale, "The boobs are new." He said as if that point hadn't already been thoroughly made.
"Is that padded?" Simon held out his hand as if to cop an oh-so-scientific feel.
"Hey!" Kat slapped his hand away.
"Her dad's going to get out of prison one of these days boys." Hale added, amused.
”
”
Ally Carter (Heist Society (Heist Society, #1))
“
-and nobody’s getting laid!” I practically shouted.
“You think I don’t know that?” He shifted his body beneath me, making me painfully aware of something. Two somethings, in fact, one of which was how far up my short skirt was. The other wasn’t my problem. I wriggled, to shimmy my hem down, but his expression perished the thought. When Barrons looks at me like that, it rattles me. Lust, in those ancient, obsidian eyes, offers no trace of humanity. Doesn’t even bother trying.
”
”
Karen Marie Moning (Faefever (Fever, #3))
“
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in switch licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So Priketh hem Nature in hir corages),
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially from every shires ende
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke
”
”
Geoffrey Chaucer (The Canterbury Tales)
“
I'll accept your apology on one condition." He folded his arms across his chest.
"Anything?"
"You trust me."
I cocked my head to the side. "I trust you, Cam."
"No, you don't." He walked over to my small table and pulled out a chair. "Have a seat."
Sitting down, I tugged the hem of his shirt down as he headed back to the stove, putting the tiny skillet over the burner.
"If you trusted me, you wouldn't have reacted the way you did," he simply said, cracking an egg. "And that's not me judging you or any of that kind of shit. You got to trust me that I'm not going to be an ass or freak out over that kind of stuff. You have to trust that I care enough about you.
”
”
Jennifer L. Armentrout (Wait for You (Wait for You, #1))
“
XXVIII
"Truth," said a traveller,
"Is a rock, a mighty fortress;
"Often have I been to it,
"Even to its highest tower,
"From whence the world looks black."
"Truth," said a traveller,
"Is a breath, a wind,
"A shadow, a phantom;
"Long have I pursued it,
"But never have I touched
"The hem of its garment."
And I believed the second traveller;
For truth was to me
A breath, a wind,
A shadow, a phantom,
And never had I touched
The hem of its garment.
”
”
Stephen Crane
“
What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born. Her face, at once innocent and feral, soft and wild! Her mouth voluptuous. Eyes deep as oceans, her eyes as wide as planets. I likened her to the slender Psyché and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: the dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her tiny bare feet, the coal-stained balcony bricks upon which she sat, and that dusty wrought-ironwork that framed her perch. All this and the pungent air!—almost foul, with so many odors. Ô, that and the spicy night! …Pungency, spice, filth and night, dust and light; all things dark did blossom in sight; flower and bloom, the night has its pearl too—the moon! And once a month it will make the face of this tender girl bloom.
”
”
Roman Payne
“
In any case, there was only one tunnel, dark and lonely, mine, the tunnel in which I had spent my childhood, my youth, my whole life. And in one of those transparent lengths of the stone wall I had seen this girl and had gullibly believed that she was traveling another tunnel parallel to mine, when in reality she belonged to the broad world, to the world without confines of those who do not live in tunnels; and perhaps she had peeped into one of my strange windows out of curiosity and had caught a glimpse of my doomed loneliness, or her fancy had been intrigued by the mute language, the clue of my painting.
And then, while I advanced always along my corridor, she lived her normal life outside, the exciting life of those people who live outside, that strange, absurd life in which there are dances and parties and gaiety and frivolity. And it happened at times that when I walked by one of my windows she was waiting for me, silent and longing (why was she waiting for me? why silent and longing?); but other times she did not get there on time, or she forgot about this poor creature hemmed in, and then I, with my face pressed against the glass wall, could see her in the distance, smiling or dancing carefree, or, what was worse, I could not see her at all and I imagined her in inaccessible or vile places. And then I felt my destiny a far lonelier one than I had imagined.
”
”
Ernesto Sabato (El túnel)
“
«He grins and straightens, wings high and regal behind him. I glare at his costume. It’s so typical him. A mix of medieval and rock star: brown leather forearm guards with studs over a ruffle-cuffed white shirt, and a cavalier doublet in burgundy with a gold lace overlay. The hem hits above his muscled thighs, so the skintight burgundy hose taper smoothly into knee-high brown boots, leaving nothing to the imagination. Worst of all, he has a crown.
He dressed as a fairy king. The irony doesn’t escape me.
I scowl.
“Problem, luv?” He looks down on me from behind a gold lace half mask while adjusting the ruby-jeweled crown over his blue hair with velvet-clad hands. Tiny moth corpses are suspended in the rubies, like stained-glass fossils.
I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be the only one wearing anything tight enough to need a codpiece. Always have to be the showstopper, don’t you?”
“Oh, I assure you, what I chose to show is only the start.»
”
”
A.G. Howard (Unhinged (Splintered, #2))
“
What are you smiling about?" Benedict demanded.
She didn't bother to glance up as she replied, "I'm plotting your demise."
He grinned-not that she was looking at him, but it was one of those smiles she could hear in the way he breathed.
She hated that she as that sensitive to his every nuance. Especially since she had a sneaking suspicion that he was the same way about her.
"At least it sounds entertaining,"he said.
"What does?" she asked, finally moving her eyes from the lower hem of the curtain, which she'd been staring at for what seemed like hours.
"My demise," he said, his smile crooked and amused. "If you're going to kill me, you might as well enjoy yourself while you're at it, because Lord knows, I won't."
Her jaw dropped a good inch. "You're mad," she said.
”
”
Julia Quinn (An Offer From a Gentleman (Bridgertons, #3))
“
You asked if I thought my fiction had changed anything in the culture and the answer is no. Sure, there's been some scandal, but people are scandalized all the time; it's a way of life for them. It doesn't mean a thing. If you ask if I want my fiction to change anything in the culture, the answer is still no. What I want is to possess my readers while they are reading my book--if I can, to possess them in ways that other writers don't. Then let them return, just as they were, to a world where everybody else is working to change, persuade, tempt, and control them. The best readers come to fiction to be free of all that noise, to have set loose in them the consciousness that's otherwise conditioned and hemmed in by all that isn't fiction. This is something that every child, smitten by books, understands immediately, though it's not at all a childish idea about the importance of reading.
”
”
Philip Roth
“
You'll want all your strength for the wedding night."
I cannot think why I should need strength," she said, ignoring a host of spine-tingling images rising in her mind's eye. "All I have to do is lie there."
"Naked," he said grimly.
"Truly?" She shot him a glance from under her lashes. "Well, if I must, I must, for you have the advantage of experience in these matters. Still, I do wish you'd told me sooner. I should not have put the modiste to so much trouble about the negligee."
"The what?"
"It was ghastly expensive," she said, "but the silk is as fine as gossamer, and the eyelet work about the neckline is exquisite. Aunt Louisa was horrified. She said only Cyprians wear such things, and it leaves nothing to the imagination."
Jessica heard him suck in his breath, felt the muscular thigh tense against hers.
"But if it were left to Aunt Louisa," she went on,"I should be covered from my chin to my toes in thick cotton ruffled with monstrosities with little bows and rosebuds. Which is absurd, when an evening gown reveals far more, not to mention--"
"What color?" he asked. His low voice had roughened.
"Wine red," she said, "With narrow black ribbons threaded through the neckline. Here." She traced a plunging U over her bosom. "And there's the loveliest openwork over my...well, here." She drew her finger over the curve of her breast a bare inch above the nipple. "And openwork on the right side of the skirt. From here" --she pointed to her hip--"down to the hem. And I bought---"
"Jess." Her name was a strangled whisper.
"--slippers to match," she continued." Black mules with--"
"Jess." In one furious flurry of motion he threw down the reins and hauled her into his lap.
”
”
Loretta Chase (Lord of Scoundrels (Scoundrels, #3))
“
Sevgili Bilge, bana bir mektup yazmış olsaydın, ben de sana cevap vermiş olsaydım. Ya da son buluşmamızda büyük bir fırtına kopmuş olsaydı aramızda ve birçok söz yarım kalsaydı, birçok mesele çözüme bağlanamadan büyük bir öfke ve şiddet içinde ayrılmış olsaydık da yazmak, anlatmak, birbirini seven iki insan olarak konuşmak kaçınılmaz olsaydı. Sana, durup dururken yazmak zorunda kalmasaydım. Bütün meselelerden kaçtığım gibi uzaklaşmasaydım senden de.
İnsanları, eski karıma yapmış olduğum gibi, büyük bir boşluk içinde
bırakmasaydım. Kendimden de kaçıyorum gibi beylik bir ifadenin içine
düşmeseydim. Bu mektubu çok karışık hisler içinde yazıyorum gibi basmakalıp sözlere başvurmak zorunda kalmasaydım. Ne olurdu, bazı sözleri hiç söylememiş olsaydım; ya da bazı sözleri hiç söylememek için kesin kararlar almamış olsaydım. Sana diyebilseydim ki, durum çok ciddi Bilge, aklını başına topla.
Ben iyi değilim Bilge, seni son gördüğüm günden beri gözüme uyku girmiyor diyebilseydim. Gerçekten de o günden beri gözüme uyku girmeseydi. Hiç olmazsa arkamda kalan bütün köprüleri yıktım ve şimdi de geri dönmek istiyorum, ya da dönüyorum cinsinden bir yenilgiye sığınabilseydim. Kendime, söyleyecek söz bırakmadım. Kuvvetimi büyütmüşüm gözümde. Aslında bakılırsa, bu sözleri kullanmayı ya da böyle bir mektup yazmayı bile, ne sen ne aşk ne de hiçbir şey olmadığı günlerde kendime yasaklamıştım. Sen, aşk ve her şeyin olduğu günlerde böyle kararlar alınamazdı. Yaşamış birinin ölü yargılarıydı bu
kararlar. Şimdi her satırı, “bu satırı da neden yazdım?” diyerek öfkeyle bir öncekine ekliyorum. Aziz varlığımı son dakikasına kadar aynı görüşle ayakta tutmak gibi bir görevim olduğunu hissediyorum. Çünkü başka türlü bir davranışım, benimle küçük de olsa bir ilişki kurmuş, benimle az da olsa ilgilenmiş insanlarca yadırganacaktır. Oysa, sevgili Bilge, aziz varlığımı artık ara sıra kaybettiğim oluyor. Fakat yaralı aklım, henüz gidecek bir ülke bulamadığı için bana dönüyor şimdilik. Biliyorum ki, bu akıl beni bütünüyle terk edinceye kadar gidip gelen aziz varlık masalına kimse inanmayacaktır.
Bazı insanlar bazı şeyleri hayatlarıyla değil, ölümleriyle ortaya koymak
durumundadır. Bu bir çeşit alın yazısıdır. Bu alın yazısı da başkaları
tarafından okunamazsa hem ölünür ve hem de dünya bu ölümün anlamını bilmez; bu da bir alın yazısıdır ve en acıklı olanıdır. Bir alın yazısı da ölümün anlamını bilerek, ona bu anlamı vermesini beceremeden ölmektir ki, bazı müelliflere göre bu durum daha acıklıdır. Ben ölmek istemiyorum. Yaşamak ve herkesin burnundan getirmek istiyorum.
Bu nedenle, sevgili Bilge, mutlak bir yalnızlığa mahkum edildim. (İnsanların kendilerini korumak için sonsuz düzenleri var. Durup dururken insanlara saldırdım ve onların korunma içgüdülerini geliştirdim.) Hiç kimseyi görmüyorum. Albay da artık benden çekiniyor. Ona bağırıyorum. (Bütün bunları yazarken hissediyorum ki, bu satırları okuyunca bana biraz acıyacaksın. Fakat bunlar yazı, sevgili Bilge; kötülüğüm, kelimelerin arasında kayboluyor.)
Geçen sabah erkenden albayıma gittim. Bugün sabahtan akşama kadar
radyo dinleyeceğiz, dedim. Bir süre sonra sıkıldı. (İnsandır elbette
sıkılacak. Benim gibi bir canavar değil ki.) Bunun üzerine onu zayıf
bulduğumu, benimle birlikte bulunmaya hakkı olmadığını yüzüne bağırdım. (Ben yalnız kalmalıyım. Başka çarem yok.)
...
”
”
Oğuz Atay (Tehlikeli Oyunlar)
“
(...) çok güzel kızlar varmış ve Kant'ı da su gibi okuyorlarmış diye söylentiler çıkarıyorlar, doğru mu acaba? Onları ne yazık ki karşıdan karşıya geçerken ve vapurda bacak bacak üstüne atarken ve piyasa caddelerinde gözlerini ilerde bir noktaya dikmiş yürürken göremiyoruz, nerede saklanıyorlar dersin, bak ben ortadayım, onlarda kim bilir ne isterler? Kant'ın kendisini isterler, hem de güzel bir Kant isterler, kirli çamaşırlarını bile kimselere koklatmazlarmış öyle mi? Beni şimdiye kadar otuz yedinci sayfaya kadar okudular, sıkılıp ellerinden bıraktılar, o sayfam açık öylece kaldım, o sayfada sarardım, bizim bir arkadaş vardı, kadınlara kendini acındıracaksın diye öğüt veriyordu bana, çok üzülüyorum – ne yapacağımı bilmiyorum – yalnız kaldığım için intihar etmeyi düşünüyorum diye dert yandı mı bütün kadınlar ağına düşüyormuş, sonra bir yanlışlık oldu: Bu arkadaş -başımız sağ olsun- intihar etti, benim de korktuğum anlar oluyor, insan bu güven olmaz, pencere bu kadar yakınken ve iki adım daha atınca denize düşmek ihtimali varken, korkmayın canım şey, sizi elde etmek için yalan söyledim, ben ölür müyüm? ha- ha, vicdan azabı rolünde yaşamak niyetindeyim, kendimden bahsettiğime bakmayın, asıl mesele sizsiniz, ben yaşlanıyorum, siz hep genç kalıyorsunuz, yıllardır vapura binerim, yıllardır geniş caddelerde karşıdan karşıya geçerim, yıllardır yollarda yürürüm, gördüğüm kadarıyla siz hep gençsiniz, hep güzelsiniz, yirmi yaşında kalıyorsunuz her zaman, bir bayrak yarışında olduğu gibi gençliği birbirinize devrederek ilerliyorsunuz, ben benzetme için özür dilerim, sizi yerinizden oynatacak kadar heyecanlı bir benzetme yapmayı ne kadar isterdim, bizi iyi yetiştirmediler, hep ukalalık öğrettiler, öğretenleri bir elime geçirebilsem, sizin yanınızdaki delikanlılar da yaşlanmıyor, ne garip ne karışık bir düzen bu, bazen yanınızda yaşlıları da görüyorum, sakın paraya kıymet vermeyin olur mu? Sizi onlarla gördükçe daha çok üzülüyorum, beni kırmayın olmaz mı? (...)
”
”
Oğuz Atay (Tehlikeli Oyunlar)
“
Not easy when you can't talk, is it?" I grinned. "Well, not easy for you but I could get used to it."
He grumbled, but I could see relif in his eyes, like he was glad to see me smile.
"SO i was right, wasn't I? It's still youm even in wolf form."
He grunted.
"No sudden uncontrollable urges to go kill something?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Hey, you're the one who was worried." I paused. "And i don't smell like dinner, right?"
I got a real look for that one.
"Just covering all the bases."
He gave a rumbling groul, like a chuckle, and settled in, lowering his head to his front paws, gaze on me. I tried to get comfortable, but the ground was ice-cold through his swearshirt, and i was wearing only my new pajamas, a light jacket, and sneakers.
Seeing me shiver, he stretched a front leg toward the swearshirt, pawing the edge and snarling when he realized he couldnt grab it.
"The lack of opposanle thumbs is going to take some getting used to, huh?"
He motioned me closer with his muzzel. When I pretended not to understand, he twisted and gingerly took the hem of the swearshirt between his teeth, lips curled in discust as he tugged it.
"Okay, okay. I'm just trying not to croud you."
That wasnt the only reason i was uncomfortanle getting too cozy with him now, but he just grunted, again seeming to say it was fine. i moved over beside himm. He shifted, his torso making a partial wind block, the boddy heat from the change still blasting like a furnace.
He grunted.
"Yes, thats better.thanks. now get some rest."
i had no idea what would happen now. i doubted derek did either. he'd been focused on getting through the change. what i did know was that this was only half the process. he had to change back, and he'd need time and rest for that.
and how would it happen? did he have to wait until his body was ready, like he did with the change to a wolf? how long would that be?hours?days?
Feeling his gaze on me, i forced a smile and pushed back my worries. it would be okat. he could change. that was the important thing.
when i relaxed, he shifted closer, fur brushing my hand. i tentatively touched it, feeling the coarse top layer and soft undercoar. he leaned against my hand, as if to sat it was okaym and i buried my hand in his fur, his skin so hot from the change it was like putting my numb hands on a radiator. my cool fingers must have felt just as good, because he closed his eyes and shifte until i was leaning on him. within minutes he was asleep.
i closed my eyes, meaning to rest for just a moment, but the next thing i knew, i was waking up, curled on my side, using derek as a pillow. i jumped. he looked over at me.
"S-sorry, I didn't mean-"
He cut me short with a growl, telling me off for apologizing.
”
”
Kelley Armstrong
“
I forbid you to go."
"I am not yours to forbid. Comfort your pride with your conquest!"
"Felicia!"
The raw anguish of it stopped me. Tears were threatening to spill from my eyes so that I had to bend my head, fighting for self-control, and I did not hear him come up beside me. His hand touched my shoulder, then dropped again as I shivered.
"Does this look like pride?" His voice was shaking. "Or must I grovel?"
He was on his knees at my feet, and as I watched he lifted the hem of my gown to his lips and kissed it. I made some sort of sound in my throat, but I could not speak.
"You cannot go." He spoke in a whisper, without lifting his head. "I love you. I have always loved you--I bought you from your vile brother because I could not live without you."
As I stared down at his bowed, bright head, the earth shook under my feet. This could not be happening, I thought.
”
”
Teresa Denys (The Silver Devil)
“
Ik wou dat ik iemand was, dat denk ik ondertussen, en dat ik alles kon, of toch datgene wat ze van mij wilden. Ik wou het zelfvertrouwen van dat ene kind met die grote oren. En het grapje waar die mevrouw met dat haar, daar achter dat ene raam, zo om moet lachen. Ik wou stoute schoenen om aan te trekken. Ik wou glanzend geluk en onwerkelijk grote liefde. Ik wou troost voor mij en voor iedereen die dat nodig heeft. Ik wou dat ik steengoed was in wat ik deed. Ik wou dat ik hem kon geven wat hij dan verlangt. Ik wou een vader die ik meer kon helpen. Ik wou de mist boven de bergen, dingen om nooit meer te vergeten, en onweerstaanbaar zijn, dat ook nog.
”
”
Griet Op de Beeck (Kom hier dat ik u kus)
“
You could knock,” Trey said. Brian paused in the bedroom’s doorway holding his towel around his waist. Standing before the long dresser, Trey wrapped his arms around the thin young man in front of him and plastered his body to the guy’s back. Trey’s hand slid up under the hem of his new friend’s T-shirt. The guy’s eyes widened and he caught Trey’s hands in his. “H-hey, Master Sinclair, erm, Brian. Can I call you Brian?” Brian shrugged and the guy flushed. “This isn’t what it looks like. I don’t like guys or anything.” He shook his head vigorously. “You will,” Trey murmured, inching the guy’s shirt further up his belly. “Trey, are you molesting virgins again?” Brian grinned at his best friend’s delight with his latest conquest.
”
”
Olivia Cunning (Backstage Pass (Sinners on Tour, #1))
“
Tori swiveled in her seat as we came in.
"There are more," she said. "He sent one every couple of weeks. The last one was only a few days ago."
"Good," I said. "Would you mind keeping and eye on Andrew?"
"Sure." She took off.
"Wait." I grabbed Derek's sleeve as he headed for the chair Tori had vacated. I wanted to say something. I didn't know what. But there was no way to tell him that wouldn't be much of a shock, so I ended up stupidly murmuring, "Never mind."
When he read what was on the screen, he went absolutely still, like he wasn't even breathing. After a few seconds, he yanked the laptop closer, leaning in to read it again. And again. Finally, he pushed back the chair and exhaled.
"He's alive," I said. "You're dad's alive."
He looked up at me and, I couldn't help it- I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. Then I realized what I was doing. I let go, backing away, tripping over my feet, stammering, "I-I'm sorry. I'm just- I'm happy for you."
"I know."
Still sitting, he reached out and pulled me toward him. We stayed there, looking at each other, his hand still wrapped in my shirt hem, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.
"There's more," I said after a few seconds. "More emails, Tori said."
He nodded and swiveled back to the computer, making room for me. When I inched closer, not wanting to intrude, he tugged me in front of him and I stumbled, half falling onto his lap. I tried to scramble up, cheeks burning, but he pulled me down onto his knee, one arm going around my waist, tentative, as if to say Is this okay? It was, even if my blood pounded in my ears so hard I couldn't think. Thankfully, I had my back to him because I was sure my cheeks were scarlet.
”
”
Kelley Armstrong (The Reckoning (Darkest Powers, #3))
“
...that, to repeat what I heard for years and years and suspect you’ve been hearing over and over, yourself, something’s meaning is nothing more or less than its function. Et cetera et cetera et cetera. Has she done the thing with the broom with you? No? What does she use now? No. What she did with me--I must have been eight, or twelve, who remembers--was to sit me down in the kitchen and take a straw broom and start furiously sweeping the floor, and she asked me which part of the broom was more elemental, more fundamental, in my opinion, the bristles or the handle. The bristles or the handle. And I hemmed and hawed, and she swept more and more violently, and I got nervous, and finally when I said I supposed the bristles, because you could after a fashion sweep without the handle, by just holding on to the bristles, but couldn’t sweep with just the handle, she tackled me, and knocked me out of my chair, and yelled into my ear something like, ’Aha, that’s because you want to sweep with the broom, isn’t it? It’s because of what you want the broom for, isn’t it?’ Et cetera. And that if what we wanted a broom for was to break windows, then the handle was clearly the fundamental essence of the broom, and she illustrated with the kitchen window, and a crowd of the domestics gathered; but that if we wanted the broom to sweep with, see for example the broken glass, sweep sweep, the bristles were the thing’s essence. No? What now, then? With pencils? No matter. Meaning as fundamentalness. Fundamentalness as use. Meaning as use. Meaning as fundamentalness.
”
”
David Foster Wallace (The Broom of the System)
“
He tries again, swallowing hard to ease away the painful lump in his throat. "It's just important. I love you. I'm yours. I need people to know."
"Alright," Lindsay says suddenly. He leans down to grab at Pip's bag, throwing stuff out onto the carpet, his iPod and phone and wallet and gloves and Attitude magazine until he finds what he's looking for, a green marker pen, and holds it between his teeth while he starts tugging at the hem of Pip's t-shirt. Pip's too surprised to do anything but submit, he lets Lindsay peel off his t-shirt and throw that on top of all the things from his bag then just watches as Lindsay pulls the pen out of the cap in his mouth and signs his name in big green letters on the side of Pip's stomach. He holds his breath, trying not to suck in the belly fat everybody else keeps telling him is imaginary. "There, you're mine, are you fucking happy now?" Lindsay snaps, and throws the recapped pen across the room to get lost in the bookcase somewhere.
”
”
Richard Rider (No Beginning, No End (Stockholm Syndrome, #3))
“
Travis slammed into my back, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“You scared the shit outta me!” I complained.
He ran his hands over my skin. I noticed they felt different; slow and deliberate. I closed my eyes when he pulled me against him and buried his face in my hair, nuzzling my neck. Feeling his bare skin against mine, it took me a moment to protest.
“Travis…,”
He pulled my hair to one side and grazed his lips along my back from one shoulder to the other, unsnapping the clasp of my bra. He kissed the bare skin at the base of my neck and I closed my eyes, the warm softness of his mouth felt oo good to make him stop. A quiet moan escaped from his throat when he pressed his pelvis against mine, and I could feel how much he wanted me through his boxers. I held my breath, knowing the only thing keeping us from that big step I was so opposed to a few moments before was two thin pieces of fabric.
Travis turned me to face him, and then pressed against me, leaning my back against the wall. Our eyes met, and I could see the ache in his expression as he scanned the bare pieces of my skin. I had seen him peruse women before, but this was different. He didn’t want to conquer me; he wanted me to say yes.
He leaned in to kiss me, stopping just an inch away. I could feel the heat from his skin radiating against my lips, and I had to stop myself from drawing him in the rest of the way. His fingers were digging into my skin as he deliberated, and then his hands slid from my back to the hem of my panties. His index fingers slid down my hips, in between my skin and the lacey fabric, and in the same moment that he was about to slip the delicate threads down my legs, he hesitated. Just when I opened my mouth to say yes, he clenched his eyes shut.
“Not like this,” he whispered, brushing his lips across mine. “I want you, but not like this.
”
”
Jamie McGuire (Beautiful Disaster (Beautiful, #1))
“
He wanted you to be the small, quiet girl from Abnegation," Four says softly. "He hurt you because your strength made him feel weak. No other reason."
I nod and try to believe him.
"The others won't be as jealous if you show some vulnerability. Even if it isn't real."
"You think I have to pretend to be vulnerable?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes,I do." He takes the ice pack from me, his fingers brushing mine, and holds it against my head himself. I put my hand down, too eager to relax my arm to object. Four stands up. I stare at the hem of his T-shirt.
Sometimes I see him as just another person, and sometimes I feel the sight of him in my gut, like a deep ache.
"You're going to want to march into breakfast tomorrow and show your attackers they had no effect on you," he adds, "but you should let that bruise on your cheek show, and keep your head down."
The idea nauseates me.
"I don't think I can do that," I say hollowly. I lift my eyes to his.
"You have to."
"I don't think you get it." Heat rises into my face. "They touched me."
His entire body tightens at my words, his hand clenching around the ice pack. "Touched you," he repeates, his dark eyes cold.
"Not...in the way you're thinking." I clear my throat. I didn't realize when I said it how awkward it would be to talk about. "But...almost."
I look away.
He is silent and still for so long that eventually,I have to say something.
"What is it?"
"I don't want to say this," he says, "but I feel like I have to.It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand?"
His straight eyebrows are drawn low over his eyes. My stomach writhes, partly because I know he makes a good point but I don't want to admit it, and partly because I want something I don't know how to express; I want to press against te space between us until it disappears.
I nod.
"But please,when you see an opportunity..." He pesses his hand to my cheek,cold and strong, and tilts my head up so I have to look at him. His eyes glint. They look almost predatory. "Ruin them."
I laugh shakily. "You're a little scary, Four."
"Do me a favor," he says, "and don't call me that."
"What should I call you,then?"
"Nothing." He takes his hand from my face. "Yet.
”
”
Veronica Roth (Divergent (Divergent, #1))
“
The free spirit again draws near to life - slowly, to be sure, almost reluctantly, almost mistrustfully. It again grows warmer about him, yellower as it were; feeling and feeling for others acquire depth, warm breezes of all kind blow across him. It seems to him as if his eyes are only now open to what is close at hand. he is astonished and sits silent: where had he been? These close and closest things: how changed they seem! what bloom and magic they have acquired!
He looks back gratefully - grateful to his wandering, to his hardness and self-alienation, to his viewing of far distances and bird-like flights in cold heights. What a good thing he had not always stayed "at home," stayed "under his own roof" like a delicate apathetic loafer! He had been -beside himself-: no doubt about that.
Only now does he see himself - and what surprises he experiences as he does so! What unprecedented shudders! What happiness even in the weariness, the old sickness, the relapses of the convalescent! How he loves to sit sadly still, to spin out patience, to lie in the sun! Who understands as he does the joy that comes in winter, the spots of sunlight on the wall!
They are the most grateful animals in the world, also the most modest, these convalescents and lizards again half-turned towards life: - there are some among them who allow no day to pass without hanging a little song of praise on the hem of its departing robe. And to speak seriously: to become sick in the manner of these free spirits, to remain sick for a long time and then, slowly, slowly, to become healthy, by which I mean "healthier," is a fundamental cure for all pessimism.
”
”
Friedrich Nietzsche (Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits)
“
Hayat beni sıkıyor..." dedi. "Her şey beni sıkıyor. Mektep, profesörler, dersler, arkadaşlar... Hele kızlar... Hepsi beni sıkıyor... Hem de kusturacak kadar..."
Bir müddet durdu. Eliyle gözlüğünü oynattı ve devam etti: "Hiçbir şey istemiyorum. Hiçbir şey bana cazip görünmüyor. Günden güne miskinleştiğimi hissediyorum ve bundan memnunum. Belki bir müddet sonra can sıkıntısı bile hissedemeyecek kadar büyük bir gevşekliğe düşeceğim. İnsanlar bir şey yapmalı, öyle bir şey ki... Yoksa hiçbir şey yapmamalı. Düşünüyorum: Eliminizden ne yapmak gelir? Hiç!... Milyonlarca senelik dünyada en eski şey yirmi bin yaşında. Bu bile biraz palavralı bir rakam. Gecen gün bizim felsefe hocasıyla konuşuyordum. Lafı gayet ciddi tarafından açtım ve 'hikmeti vücudumuz'u araştırmaya çalıştım. Dünyaya ne halt etmeye geldiğimiz sualine o da cevap veremedi. Yaratmak zevkinden, hayatin bizatihi bir hikmet olduğu hakikatinden dem vurdu, fakat çürük. Ne yaratacaksın? Yaratmak yoktan var etmektir. En akillimizin kafası bile bizden evvelkilerin depo ettiği bir suru bilgi ve tecrübenin ambarı olmaktan ileri geçemez. Yaratmak istediğimiz şey de bu mevcut malları seklini değiştirerek piyasaya sürmekten ibaret. Bu gülünç is bir insani nasıl tatmin eder bilmiyorum. Bizde ziyasını beş bin senede gönderen yıldızlar varken, en kabadayısı elli sene sonra kütüphanelerde çürüyecek ve nihayet beş yüz sene sonra adi unutulacak eserler yazarak ebedi olmaya çalışmak yahut üç bin sene sonra kolsuz bacaksız, bir müzede teshir edilsin diye ömrünü çamur yoğurmak ve mermere kalem savurmakla geçirmek bana pek akilli isi gibi gelmiyor." Sesine mühim bir eda vererek ağır ağır mırıldandı: "Bana öyle geliyor ki, hakikaten yapabileceğimiz bir tek is vardır, o da ölmek. Bak, bunu yapabiliriz ve ancak bu takdirde irademizi tam bir şey yapmakla kullanmış oluruz. Ben ne diye bu isi yapmıyorum diyeceksin! Demin söyledim ya, müthiş bir gevşeklik içindeyim. Üşeniyorum. Atalet kanunu icabı sürüklenip gidiyorum. Eeeeh.
”
”
Sabahattin Ali (İçimizdeki Şeytan)
“
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?
”
”
Jennifer L. Armentrout (Opposition (Lux, #5))
“
Her sweet smell drove my body higher as I nibbled on the edge of her earlobe. “I’m not stopping you. You plan. I’ll kiss.”
Echo turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. My siren became a temptress with that seductive smile on her lips. A mistake on her part. I caressed her cheek and kissed those soft lips.
I expected her to shy away. We’d been playing this game for over an hour: she plotted while I teased.Leaving for the summer was important to her and she was important to me. But instead of the quick peck I’d anticipated, she moved her lips against mine. A burning heat warmed my blood.
It was a slow kiss at first—all I meant it to be, but then Echo touched me. Her hands on my face, in my hair. And then she angled her body to mine. Warmth, enticing pressure on all the right parts, and Echo’s lips on mine—fireworks.
She became my world. Filling my senses so that all I felt and saw and tasted was her. Kisses and touches and whispered words of love and when my hand skimmed down the curve of her waist and paused on the hem of her jeans my body screamed to continue, but my mind knew it was time to stop.
With a sigh, I moved my lips once more against hers before shifting and pulling her body to my side. “I’m in love with you.”
Echo settled her head in the crook of my arm as her fingertips lazily touched my face. “I know. I love you, too.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” If I had, then maybe we never would have been apart.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “We’re together now and that’s all that matters.”
I kissed her forehead and she snuggled closer to me. The world felt strange. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t fighting someone or something. My brothers were safe. Echo knew the truth. Soon, I’d be free from high school and foster care. Hopefully, I’d be admitted on late acceptance to college. Contentment and happiness were unfamiliar emotions, but ones I could learn to live with.
“Do you mind?” she asked in a small voice that indicated nerves. “That we’re taking it slow?”
“No.” And it was the truth.
Everything in her life was in flux and she needed strong, steady and stable. Oddly, she found those three things in me. Who would ever have guessed I’d be the reliable sort? “Besides, taking it slow creates buildup. I like anticipation.”
Her body rocked with silent giggles and my lips turned up. I loved making her happy.
”
”
Katie McGarry (Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits, #1))