Jade West Mean Quotes

He’d fit. They’d fit. Surely. Definitely. Hopefully. I mean, you can push a whole fucking baby out of that hole, right? Right? But

How good it made them feel, these well-meaning Upper West Side transplants, buying organic produce they didn't even have to wash from a handsome black man who would greet them with an exotic fist bump! An attractive, articulate chap, not unlike the young senator from Illinois they had just congratulated themselves for nominating, who would show the world that slavery was behind us and that we could appreciate Hip Hop. Yes! So many pretty boxes to check all at once!

I want you on your knees, pleading for a mouth jammed full of cock. I want to believe you mean it. That you’re hungry for it. That you’re desperate for the throat fucking of the fucking century and desperate for it now

Those nights after Anna died, the sun would go down and the house would seem so lonely then, so quiet. I felt like I’d die from the pain before the sun came back up. But then one night it occurred to me that grief is the ultimate price we pay for love. And to grieve so hard means that you have loved so much, so very much.

James,” I breathed. “I’ve never felt like this before.” He kissed my forehead. “I know.” “I mean it,” I whispered. “I’ve never felt like this.” He tilted my face up to his, eyes warm. “If we say it, that’s it, Lydia, a whole new ballgame. You can’t undo the words, they change everything. Is that what you want?

A baby,” I said. “I want you to have my baby. That’s what happy means.” I sighed. “I dream about being a father.

We followed Captain Skinny inside, and as we stepped into the lobby the cool air hit me with a force that numbed my lips and made time slow down. But we all made it over to reception somehow without slipping into hypothermic shock. The man at the desk inclined his head at us with great gravity and said, “Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a reservation?” I nodded back and said we had, in fact, reserved a room—and Rita leaned in front of me and blurted out, “Not a room, it’s a suite? Because it’s supposed to be, I mean, and anyway when we got it—online? And Dexter said—my husband. I mean, Morgan.” “Very good, ma’am,” the clerk said. He turned to his computer, and I left Rita to go through all the little rituals of registration while I took Lily Anne and followed Cody and Astor over to a large rack holding pamphlets for all the many charming and glamorous attractions this Magic Isle held for even the most jaded traveler. Apparently, one could do almost anything in Key West—as long as one had a couple of major credit cards and an overwhelming urge to buy T-shirts. The kids stared at the dozens of brightly colored brochures. Cody would frown and point to one, and Astor would pull it from its slot. Then their two heads came together over the pictures as they studied the page, Astor whispering to her brother and Cody nodding and frowning back at her, and then their eyes would snap up and they’d go back to the rack to pick another one. By the time Rita had us registered and came to join us, Astor held at least fifteen brochures.

To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness, but life without meaning is the torture of restlessness and vague desire. It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid. Edgar Lee Masters

One person has feelings for another, then those feelings must be real, right? No matter where they came from. Feelings are real. They won’t be tamed, or bought, or discarded for some rational conclusion someone came up with once. Transference means nothing. Emotions… feelings… mean everything.

grief is the ultimate price we pay for love. And to grieve so hard means that you have loved so much, so very much.

Just because someone can do something doesn’t mean they want to do it.

what is it you want to be remembered for? What do you want your final part of the road to mean?

I mean it, Faith. I’m going to claim that sweet little pussy of yours, and it’s going to hurt so much before it feels good. I’m going to love how it hurts before it feels good.

I wondered when I’d written myself off. From being a woman, I mean — because that’s what it felt like, ultimately. Like somehow, somewhere along the path, I’d traded in my female identity for some all-encompassing idea of motherhood and a minimum wage job down the cafe. It had happened so slowly, I guess. Losing myself just a tiny little piece at a time; a busy schedule, not enough sleep, a lousy boring boyfriend like Brian…