I Hate Slow Replies Quotes

Where are we?” she asked when I pulled into a parking lot. “The park.” “Isn’t it dangerous at night?” “Not here. Come on.” I pulled her out of her seat and grabbed a blanket from the trunk before trekking through the soft grass. “You always keep a blanket in your car?” “Yeah, for emergencies. Never know when you might need it. Food, water, first-aid kit, too.” “Oh!” she grunted and caught my arm as one of her heels pierced the soft dirt and sank. “You should take those off.” “And walk around barefoot? Hello? Ever heard of hookworms and tetanus?” “Ever heard of snapping your ankles as you fall flat on your face in the dark?” I asked as I squatted in front of her and slipped her foot out of the high heels. “What are you doing?” she gasped, tumbling forward and grabbing onto my shoulders for support. “Removing your obstacles.” She landed a bare foot on the grass as I undid the other shoe. “So now I get tetanus?” I looked up at her, my hands lightly stroking her ankles up to her calves. “You worry too much.” “It’s a real risk. Ask Preeti.” I stood slowly, moving up her body, and hovered above her. “How…how far are we walking?” she asked. “To the river.” “In the dark?” I nodded and handed her the shoes. “Took these off and you won’t even carry them?” “I’ll carry them,” I replied, swooped down, and threw her over the blanket on my shoulder. Liya yelped. “Put me down!” “So you can get tetanus?” I asked and walked toward the river. She laughed. “I hate you!” “You love it.” She slapped my butt and then poked her pointy elbows into my shoulder as she arched her back. “Enjoying the view of my backside from over there?” I slid my hand up the back of her thighs and tugged her dress down to keep her covered. “This isn’t so bad,” she said. “Oh, yeah?” “Yeah.” She slapped my butt again. “Giddyap!” “All right. You asked for it.” Her next words were swallowed up in a scream as I took off at a full sprint. She gripped my shirt, clutching for my waist, as the breeze broke around us. I ran the short distance to the riverside in no time, slowing only when the moonlit gleam on the water’s surface appeared. I placed Liya on the grass, but she swayed away. I grabbed her by the waist to steady her and chuckled. “Are you okay?” “You try doing that upside down.

The Apocalypse gave you your time back. The time you can now use to look, to see, and to focus on your conscious process of cognitive evolution.” Master repeats the word ‘see’ in three local synonyms. Back then, they thought they all meant the same. Except, they didn’t. “The Apocalypse took your society, responsibilities, and useless recreations. Those were the distractions. Those things slow the process,” Master continues in the scene, the side of his face glowing from the daylight entering the cave. The visual details are as much as his brain retrieved from his memory. “Is this why monks hate recreation? Society?” Ruem asks—he looks just as Yuan’s memory recollected Ruem’s teenage self. “They don’t hate recreation,” Master says in the scene. “They just know they have to hate it.” “So, you like recreation?” Ruem asks in a confused tone. “Did I say I am a monk?” Master replies in the scene. “You never answer the question!” Ruem sounds annoyed. And for a moment, it makes the Monk—wrapped in the old shawl—smile as he watches his own old memory, remembering how impatient they both were before. “Fine,” Master begins. “The monks force themselves out of recreation because the rulebooks tell them to. People only follow rulebooks. But they don’t know why they should follow them. They don’t look at the true purpose of their rituals. They blindly follow, evolving neither spiritually nor physically.” “So, we should accept recreation, society?” asks Yuan’s teenage self, in the hologram scene. “Yes and No, my boy. It’s a perspective. You can find the secret from wherever you are as long as you aren’t drunk on indulgence, distracted from the One.” “Master, do you know why you wear orange cloth?” Ruem asks. “You caught me, my boy!” says Master, chuckling. “No, I don’t know. I wore it because the rulebooks told me to. Now it doesn’t matter which color I wear. No need for pointless rebellion over some uniform color!” “Because everything is the same?” Yuan’s teenage self asks. “Because everything is One.” Master’s eyes twinkle.

My phone dings. Probably my mother, who has mom-radar and always knows when I’m up to no good. Undoubtedly asking how many Hail Marys she needs to say for me today. I grab my phone just to make sure it’s not a somebody died text, and almost fall off my stool. Tarzan here. Looking for Ms. P. This her? I close my eyes, blow out a slow breath. One, if he’s texting me, his date with Lila Valentine probably didn’t produce a second, which makes me happier than I have any right to be. Two, I’m not asking the guy to marry me. I’m asking him to be a hot piece of ass to make me look good. And three, I’m suddenly worried that my bad taste in men is making an unfortunate appearance again. What man in his right mind would text back a woman who made that proposition last weekend? Am I wrong about his date with the auction winner? Did I leave something behind at the hotel, and he’s just returning it? Or does he actually have some secret fetish that’ll play out wrong in the middle of my class reunion? "Who’s that?" Sia demands. "Tele-texter," I lie. I ignore the glares from my friends and type a quick reply. Yes, this is Parker. Except my phone hates me, and it autocorrects to Trying. This is Parking. Thanks, phone. Y E S, I type. Damn autocorrect. I hit send, and "Ohmygod." "What? What?" My friends all peer around me, and I jump off my stool to keep them from seeing my screen. Autocorrect just autocorrected to autocunnilingus. I just told Tarzan I’m eating myself. What have I done? Does that count as sexting? I don’t know. This is why I can’t have nice things.

Maynard, what have you been doing with yourself?" Odegar Taumber asked as the slow moving librarian shuffled from the stairwell to the main floor. Casselle caught sight of Temos and Raabel and motioned for Jaksen to deposit the books on a nearby and conveniently clean table. He did so and the squadmates reunited, just out of earshot of the Captain. "I see you two found him," Raabel said. "We've been back for some time. I guess he's as slow as he looks?" "Casselle found him," Jaksen replied. "And he's both slow and rude. I'm sure he's important enough, but seems like he was in no real danger to begin with." "I took a look out of the windows while we were searching for him," Temos said. "It doesn't look like it's calmed down much out there. I'd hate to think of trying to move him through an angry crowd. He doesn't look nimble enough to sneak by, either." "If we weren't in this damned armor, I'd just carry him," Raabel said. Coming from someone else, it might have been considered a boast, but Raabel usually didn't say things he wasn't sure he was capable of doing. Casselle pictured the old man wailing in protest, thrown over Raabel's shoulder and being forced to bounce along like a sack of potatoes. Raabel was right about the armor, though: it was clumsy and ill-fitting. It was obvious that it had not been altered for them, and none more obvious than on Casselle. Her broad shoulders were a boon, but even bound, her breasts had proved problematic to find a properly sized chestplate from a stockpile that had been made exclusively for men. They had settled on a piece that was just slightly too large, having previously been worn by a heavyset Templar from a time before. In thinking of it, she pondered Maynard's earlier words. "He called me a boy," she said. "A fat young boy." Her squadmates took a step back, shocked. "And you did not correct him?" Raabel asked. "Or worse?" Jaksen asked. "To be fair," Temos said after a moment, "he is very old. It is entirely possible he has lost his will to live.

Do you ever dream, Mr. Vesper?” The question slipped out from me, soft and genuine. “Do I ever dream?” he repeated, amused. He walked with his hands in his jacket pockets, and the wind stirred his hair. “You mean if I’ve ever experienced my own nightmare, Miss Neven?” “Yes, I suppose that is the better question.” He was quiet, and when he slowed his strides, I slowed mine, to keep pace with him. “I’ve never dreamt,” he replied, meeting my gaze. “But then again…I’ve never given myself the chance to.” I hated how his words resonated with me. I hated how his words could have been my own. I hated how they made me want to ask him more questions.

Diriday is the perfect mount for me." In that low, deep, beastly growl, he replied, "It's good to know you'll... ride... as I wish." She flushed. Her toes curled, and her nipples tightened into firm beads that ached to be touched. How had he done it? She'd said the most obvious thing, and he'd made it clear he wasn't talking about the horse. He pried her bare fingers from the rail of the stall and kissed them. "I find Lady Gertrude is a good chaperon," he said. Eleanor nodded, stricken dumb by the brief brush of his lips that had sent goose bumps racing up her arms. He placed her hand on his shoulder. "So good, you and I haven't had a moment alone together." "We're alone now." Unwise to remind him! He crooned with satisfaction, "So we are." "So we should go now." She tried to step away, to obey her instincts and flee. Mr. Knight maneuvered her so that her back was to the post. "Fortunately, Lady Gertrude doesn't ride, and doesn't see that our being together now is a cause of concern." "It's not." Eleanor tried to speak firmly, yet she ended on a questioning note. "Lady Gertrude has no imagination." In the dim light, his eyes watched her relentlessly, like a falcon watches a fleeing morsel. In slow increments, he extended his free hand and wrapped it around her waist. "I find myself wondering about you." When had the situation turned dangerous? "I'm easily understood." "You're a mystery, one I find myself compelled to solve. I want to know whether you like to kiss with your mouth closed... or open." She gasped in shock. "Where you find most pleasure when a man's mouth, my mouth, roams your body." She wanted to gasp once more, but the gratification she saw in his face stopped her. Yes, he shocked her. He enjoyed shocking her. But she hated being so craven. She yearned to take him back, and out of the depths of that need, she found the nerve to reply, "You may ask me those questions, and mayhap, if I wish, I'll reply. But don't imagine you yourself can discover the answers." "Ask. What a novel idea." A small smile played across his velvet lips. "Yes, you could tell me, of course, but I find I like to make discoveries on my own." Pulling her close against his body, he sealed them together. Discoveries? She could tell him about discoveries. She did like being embraced so tightly that her breasts pressed against his chest; and that, and the amusement in his gaze, were reasons enough to leave- at once. With a twist, she freed herself and ran. He sprang after her. Two stalls down, he caught her by the waist. He swung her against the gate and held her hard against him. She stared into his pale blue eyes and with all her heart wished she had some experience in these matters, for she had never felt so helpless in her life. "I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was deep and heated. "I'm not going to ravish you. I'm just going to kiss you.

Be careful and go straight home. Hospital’s full enough for today,” said Ben as he held her arm while she navigated a slick spot on the sidewalk. “Use your turn signals; don’t go switching lanes without warning people.” ​“I hate those things, all clickety-click,” replied Dorothy, as she stopped to slip her gloves on. “Besides, I never use the indicator, keeps the other drivers on their toes.” ​All Ben could do was shake his head and thank the heavens Dorothy drove slow enough to not so much crash into things as nestle up against them, kind of a vehicular hug.