Leah Movie Quotes

This is ridiculous," I said, trying to laugh it off. "I never cry at movies." "Because you've never been in love," he said.

Just as television didn't put an end to radio or the movies (to say nothing of books), I don't think e-books will put an end to hard copies, even for someone like me who loves technology and does not fetishize the physical medium of books. ~ Steven Pinker, author of The Lauguage Instinct, How the Mind Works The Blank Slate and The Stuff of Thought: Language as a Window into Human Nature.

I was so sure this was different, the kind of story they made movies and books about, but in the end it was just a summer to a summer, a dizzying breath of honeysuckle and whiskey and candle smoke, inhaled, held, let go.

1. Romantic: One who ruthlessly believes in love in its finest form and impresses those feelings onto his or her various relationships. May result in scaring off partners, falling for the wrong person, and desperately trying to turn life into a movie with glamorous Old Hollywood actors. May also result in some of the best, most inspiring, and deepest relationships around.

Everyone thinks their romance is classy AF. No one sits there comparing their coupledom to the stuff of Lifetime movies. And no one thinks it will go away because, if you did, you'd never take a chance. Luckily, the human heart is not that logical.

Next time you leave the house, think about who might be watching you. Do you pass a traffic camera? Do the shops you go to have security cameras? Is there a camera on board your train or bus? What about in your school? The cafes and restaurants where you eat? Street corners? Subways? And who is on the other side of that camera? A private security guard? The police? The government? How can you tell?

This was an old-time, black-and-white-movie kiss, with the orchestra swelling in my chest, hot tungsten lamps carving out our shadows. My bones turned to air, nothing holding me up but the fierceness of my desire.

The highway at night looked like a movie flashing past us in fast forward, all the lights receding, out of reach. Autumn spread its golden disease through the woods, Midas trailing his fingers over the treetops. Dying things became extraordinarily beautiful at the very end.

She would rather be respected than desired and she didn't understand why a woman would make a different choice than that. When she had been younger, she had felt there was something lacking in her, the way she didn't seem to want passion, pleasure, the way her friends sometimes whispered that they did, the way they giggled over vegetable markets, comparing their husbands' genitals, the way they sighed over kissing scenes in movies, complaining that their husbands never touched them that way anymore. Now Swati didn’t have to feel that there was anything wrong with her. A woman her age wasn’t supposed to want such things.

What people didn’t get about tragedy, people who hadn’t yet had the privilege of going through it, is that it could be so casual. When bad news came, it was never like the movies. No dramatic score building to a crescendo. No slow pan of the camera. It struck out of nowhere—a midday phone call while you were at work. A sentence uttered—“It’s probably fine”—that would replay henceforth on a loop.

I watch movies alone now—Leah’s concentration is not what it used to be. When I can’t sleep, which is often, I take myself out of the spare room and watch movies on the living room floor until the sky grows light beyond the telegraph poles and my back starts to hump from sitting so long with my arms curled over my knees. I watch only movies I’ve seen before—impossible, I think, to follow something new, to find the will to do so.

What are you guys going to do?” she asked. “Snort cocaine.” Dylan gave her the first genuine grin she’d seen out of him all day. “Absolutely no cocaine, any other kind of drug, alcohol, or girls.” He pretended astonishment. “Movies are fine.” She’d set parental controls. “So are the video games we already own.” “What about board games?” Sebastian asked her wryly. “More like bored games,” Dylan answered, taking a clunky stab at humor. “Board games are allowed. As are puzzles. You can cook anything except meth. And, of course, arts and crafts are always a wholesome option.” “They could make jewelry,” Sebastian suggested, deadpan. “Or tie-dye shirts,” Leah said. “They could color.” “Or do macramé.” Dylan shook his head and took a few steps back. “Can I, uh . . .” He gestured to his room. “Go now?” Delightful child. Such an open, winning, sunny personality. “Yes.

#1 of 2 Leah munched another chip as she watched a couple on-screen race madly away from men with guns who were intent on killing them. She and Seth sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa, both slumped down until they were practically lying on their backs. Seth had pulled the matching ottoman up against the sofa, so it really did feel as if they were lying in bed together, watching a movie. She slid him a covert glance. He had donned black cargo pants and a black T-shirt after his shower but had left his big feet bare. He had also left his hair loose. It now spilled over the back of the sofa in a glossy curtain, the thick wavy tresses still drying. He chuckled at something the male protagonist said. Leah smiled. She loved seeing him laugh. She didn’t think he did so as often as he should. Every once in a while, she noticed his gaze would slide to her legs. Her feet were propped on the ottoman close to his. The robe she had borrowed had parted just above her knees and fallen back, leaving most of her legs bare. And that pale flesh repeatedly drew Seth’s attention. She held the bag of chips out to him. Smiling, unaware that the faint golden light of desire illuminated his eyes, he poked his hand in and drew out a couple of chips. She smiled back, then returned her attention to the screen. The protagonists had at last made it to safety. They checked each other over for wounds, something both had miraculously escaped incurring in true Hollywood fashion. Then they fell into each other’s arms, finally giving in to the lust that had sparked between them ever since their first contentious meeting. Leah sighed as she watched them peel each other’s clothes off with eager hands. It made her want to do the same with Seth. Her body even began to respond as her imagination kicked in. “I miss sex.” The words were out of her mouth before she could question the wisdom of speaking them. “I do, too,” Seth confessed. She glanced over at him and found his eyes glued to the screen. More so since I met you. Her eyes widened when his voice sounded in her head. “Really?” “Yes.” The actors on-screen fell naked onto the bed and began to simulate sex, their moans and groans and cries of passion filling the room. “It’s natural to miss it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Nothing to feel guilty about.” “No. I mean, you really miss it more since you met me?” He froze. A look of dismay crossed his features as he cut her a glance. “I said that out loud?” “No. I heard it in my head.” Sh**. She grinned. “I heard that, too.” F**k.

Dan has what amounts to my entire life in the palm of his hand. He’ll see our chats. He’ll see the texts I sent to Beth about him and my plan. And what did I think was going to happen? Did I really think I could pull off some only-works-in-movies shit? “Do you think it could be possible that Dan didn’t mean to hit me with that basketball?” The question flies out of my mouth, and I don’t remember thinking about asking it. She scowls, looking me up and down. “Are you okay? I mean, I can tell you’re not. Was he that big of a jerk last night?” I shake my head and pick at my nail polish. It’s not chipping yet, but it’s inevitable, so why not just go ahead and get it over with? “No, I’m fine. He was fine. I just… I don’t know.” She puts a worried hand on my shoulder. “What happened, Z? Tell me.” I let my forehead hit the surface of my desk. It hurts. “He has my phone.” A bit of time passes where she doesn’t say anything. I just wait for the moment of realization to explode from her. “Holy shit! Don’t tell me your chat is on there!” There it is. I nod my head, which probably just looks like I’m rubbing it up and down on my desk. “Please tell me it’s password protected or something.” I shake my head, again seemingly nuzzling my desk. “Zelda, do you have your homework?” Mr. Drew asks from above me. I pull out my five hundred words on the importance of James Dean in cinema from my backpack without even looking and hand it to him. Mr. Drew has a big thing for James Dean. “Are you…okay, Zelda?” he asks a bit uncomfortably. Good old Mr. Drew. Concerned about his students but very much not well versed in actually dealing with them. I raise a hand and wave him off. “I’m good. As you were, Drew.” “Right. Okay then.” He moves on. Beth rubs my back. “It’s going to be all good in the hood, babe. Don’t worry. Dan won’t be interested in your phone. How did he get it, by the way?” I turn my head just enough to let her see my face fully. I’m not sure if she sees a woman at the end of her rope or a girl who has no idea what to do next, but she pulls her hand back like she just touched a disguised snake. I’m so not in the mood to describe the sequence of events that led up to the worst moment of my life, and she knows it.

I have an inner Regina George. The manipulative, deceitful, belittling queen bee in the movie Mean Girls talks smack, giving my self-esteem Ray Rice beat downs. Don’t judge. I’ll bet you have an inner Regina George, who makes you feel like crap because of your thighs/boyfriend/job/laugh. We all do. Some are just better at silencing their Reginas before she inflicts real damage. My Regina is telling me I am going to lose my job.

What are you guys going to do?” she asked. “Snort cocaine.” Dylan gave her the first genuine grin she’d seen out of him all day. “Absolutely no cocaine, any other kind of drug, alcohol, or girls.” He pretended astonishment. “Movies are fine.” She’d set parental controls. “So are the video games we already own.” “What about board games?” Sebastian asked her wryly. “More like bored games,” Dylan answered, taking a clunky stab at humor. “Board games are allowed. As are puzzles. You can cook anything except meth. And, of course, arts and crafts are always a wholesome option.” “They could make jewelry,” Sebastian suggested, deadpan. “Or tie-dye shirts,” Leah said. “They could color.” “Or do macramé.” Dylan shook his head and took a few steps back. “Can I, uh . . .” He gestured to his room. “Go now?” Delightful child. Such an open, winning, sunny personality. “Yes.

I wanted to devour this woman's dignity. Congratulations for what exactly? For having a family who made it through genocide? For being part of the slim population of surviving Native Americans post-colonization? An anger simmered in my throat, begging to be let loose on this stupid woman who was there to simply enjoy her vacation. How dare she remain blissfully unaware of the modern existence of Native Americans when all she had seen were movies making us look like history? As mad as I was, I knew it wasn't her fault and I couldn't muster up the energy to boil my anger into a response.

A Mother is only as happy as her saddest child.

So what’s your favorite horror movie?” she asked. “Easy,” Gael said. “The Birds.” Not even its recent association with Anika could quell his love for the masterpiece. “Umm, The Birds totally doesn’t count as horror.” “Of course it does!” Gael ventured a sip of his hot chocolate, but it was still too hot. “What are you talking about?” “No one even dies,” Sammy protested. “You can’t have a horror movie without at least one death.” “The schoolteacher dies,” Gael said. Sammy rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Favorite slasher film, then. You know, where there’s a killer, and the killer is not, like, a pigeon.” It was actually mainly crows and seagulls in The Birds, but Gael let that one slide.