Lizzie Young Quotes

Because I knew deep down inside that I would sit with Lizzie Young for the rest of my life if it kept the sadness out of her eyes. If it kept her safe.

I don’t think I like you, Lizzie Young.” He looked out the window when he whispered, “I know I do.

Walking away from Lizzie Young wasn’t something I had the capacity to do.

If anything ever happened to you, it would destroy me,” I admitted, unable to make the tremble in my voice. “You are my whole world, Lizzie Young, so don’t you dare talk about not being alive.

You’re different, Lizzie Young.” “I am?” She nodded and smiled. “You’re special.” “Is that bad?” “No.” She shook her head, still smiling. “You remind me of Joe.” “Your brother?” “Yep.” She nodded again. “And that’s a very good thing.

Don’t, Joey.” Clad in an oversized hoodie, Lizzie Young slowly walked toward me. “Don’t.

All I could do was stay. So that’s what I did. Because I knew deep down inside that I would sit with Lizzie Young for the rest of my life if it kept the sadness out of her eyes. If it kept her safe.

Today is a good day,” I told her instead, giving her the words she needed to hear. “You are having a good day, Lizzie Young.” I pulled her closer to me, wanting to envelope her body with mine and protect her from the world. “You’re happy and safe because you’re with me, and you know I won’t let anything bad happen to you.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing?" "What do you mean?" "Are you being a dick about my hair? Because I know you're not complimenting me." "Lizzie," I said, pouring on the tease, even though I fucking loved her new hair. It was shorter and cute as hell, but no way could I give her a genuine compliment. We didn't do that. So I said, "Your hair is the stuff of cheerleader fantasy. Of main character daydreams. Your hair runs so that young gingers' hair can walk." She bit down on the inside of her cheek and-holy shit-looked like she wanted to laugh. "Are you high, Wes Bennett?

Because I knew deep down inside that I would sit with Lizzie Young for the rest of my life if it kept the sadness out of her eyes.

Mom used to tell us stories of these bogeymen when we were kids, and Lizzy would crawl into my bed so she could fall asleep. Stories of the monsters who forced us underground, and when the force field faltered, would snatch us from our homes.

Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden, Your young life like mine be wasted, Undone in mine undoing, And ruined in my ruin, Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?'— She clung about her sister, Kissed and kissed and kissed her: Tears once again Refreshed her shrunken eyes, Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth; Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. Her lips began to scorch, That juice was wormwood to her tongue, She loathed the feast: Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung, Rent all her robe, and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste...

Whom the gods love die young.’)

She's not with us,' Lizzie whispers.

She stretched out her fingers. “A bright star shines at your brow and fortune smiles down upon your path in life.” The young woman’s mouth fell open. “Oh,” she breathed. “Does it really?” Lizzie rolled her eyes.

Twice a year, when Lizzie and Ne-kah-e-se-y were young, their families and the rest of the tribe would pack their few earthly possessions—clothing, bedding, blankets, utensils, dried meat, weapons—lash them to horses, and set out on a sacred, two-month buffalo hunt.

When Prince Napoleon, the cousin of Napoleon Bonaparte III, visited Washington in early August, Mary organized an elaborate dinner party. She found the task of entertaining much simpler than it had been in Springfield days. “We only have to give our orders for the dinner, and dress in proper season,” she wrote her friend Hannah Shearer. Having learned French when she was young, she conversed easily with the prince. It was a “beautiful dinner,” Lizzie Grimsley recalled, “beautifully served, gay conversation in which the French tongue predominated.” Two days later, her interest in French literature apparently renewed, Mary requested Volume 9 of the Oeuvres de Victor Hugo from the Library of Congress.

The man at the desk in the library had seen Martin there so often that he had become quite cordial, always greeting him with a smile and a nod when he entered. It was because of this that Martin did a daring thing. Drawing out some books at the desk, and while the man was stamping the cards, Martin blurted out: "Say, there's something I'd like to ask you." The man smiled and paid attention. "When you meet a young lady an' she asks you to call, how soon can you call?" Martin felt his shirt press and cling to his shoulders, what of the sweat of the effort. "Why I'd say any time," the man answered. "Yes, but this is different," Martin objected. "She - I - well, you see, it's this way: maybe she won't be there. She goes to the university." "Then call again." "What I said ain't what I meant," Martin confessed falteringly, while he made up his mind to throw himself wholly upon the other's mercy. "I'm just a rough sort of a fellow, an' I ain't never seen anything of society. This girl is all that I ain't, an' I ain't anything that she is. You don't think I'm playin' the fool, do you?" he demanded abruptly. "No, no; not at all, I assure you," the other protested. "Your request is not exactly in the scope of the reference department, but I shall be only too pleased to assist you." Martin looked at him admiringly. "If I could tear it off that way, I'd be all right," he said. "I beg pardon?" "I mean if I could talk easy that way, an' polite, an' all the rest." "Oh," said the other, with comprehension. "What is the best time to call? The afternoon? - not too close to meal-time? Or the evening? Or Sunday?" "I'll tell you," the librarian said with a brightening face. "You call her up on the telephone and find out." "I'll do it," he said, picking up his books and starting away. He turned back and asked: "When you're speakin' to a young lady - say, for instance, Miss Lizzie Smith - do you say 'Miss Lizzie'? or 'Miss Smith'?" "Say 'Miss Smith,'" the librarian stated authoritatively. "Say 'Miss Smith' always until you come to know her better." So it was that Martin Eden solved the problem. "Come down any time; I'll be at home all afternoon," was Ruth's reply over the telephone to his stammered request as to when he could return the borrowed books.

The man at the desk in the library had seen Martin there so often that he had be- come quite cordial, always greeting him with a smile and a nod when he entered. It was because of this that Martin did a daring thing. Drawing out some books at the desk, and while the man was stamping the cards, Martin blurted out:- "Say, there's something I'd like to ask you." The man smiled and paid attention. "When you meet a young lady an' she asks you to call, how soon can you call?" Martin felt his shirt press and cling to his shoulders, what of the sweat of the ef- fort. "Why I'd say any time," the man answered. "Yes, but this is different," Martin objected. "She - I - well, you see, it's this way: maybe she won't be there. She goes to the university." "Then call again." "What I said ain't what I meant," Martin confessed falteringly, while he made up his mind to throw himself wholly upon the other's mercy. "I'm just a rough sort of a fellow, an' I ain't never seen anything of society. This girl is all that I ain't, an' I ain't anything that she is. You don't think I'm playin' the fool, do you?" he de- manded abruptly. "No, no; not at all, I assure you," the other protested. "Your request is not ex- actly in the scope of the reference department, but I shall be only too pleased to as- sist you." Martin looked at him admiringly. "If I could tear it off that way, I'd be all right," he said. "I beg pardon?" "I mean if I could talk easy that way, an' polite, an' all the rest." "Oh," said the other, with comprehension. "What is the best time to call? The afternoon? - not too close to meal-time? Or the evening? Or Sunday?" "I'll tell you," the librarian said with a brightening face. "You call her up on the telephone and find out." "I'll do it," he said, picking up his books and starting away. He turned back and asked:- "When you're speakin' to a young lady - say, for instance, Miss Lizzie Smith - do you say 'Miss Lizzie'? or 'Miss Smith'?" "Say 'Miss Smith,'" the librarian stated authoritatively. "Say 'Miss Smith' always - until you come to know her better." So it was that Martin Eden solved the problem. "Come down any time; I'll be at home all afternoon," was Ruth's reply over the telephone to his stammered request as to when he could return the borrowed books.

I am not surprised. Lizzy, you have grown up without brothers, so you are perhaps unaware that, although we may manage to force a veneer of civility on young boys, they are in truth young savages, and I can attest to that as a former young boy myself." He smiled at her. "Then we send those young savages away to school with other young savages, and we pretend that what occurs at those schools is something other that uncontrolled savagery. Unfortunately, it is precisely that.

Lizzie Skurnick, who blogs about young adult books for Jezebel.com and is the author of Shelf Discovery: The Teen Classics We Never Stopped Reading, and David Kipen, former director of literature for the National Endowment for the Arts and supervisor of the NEA’s Big Read program, which includes To Kill a Mockingbird.

Liz,” Jack said. “Nothing to talk about there.” Now it was Jack’s turn to laugh without humor. “Buddy, on this we’re gonna talk. I know you didn’t take her calls, didn’t return them. I don’t know what’s up with that, but we’re going to be back in town and she works for her aunt Connie every week. You can’t avoid her. She’s scared to death of how you’re going to act toward her.” “She doesn’t have to be scared,” Rick said quietly. Jack sighed. At least that last lacked the edge of hostility. “I’m sure she can’t help it. You’ve been ignoring her. I gotta say, I don’t get that.” “I know you don’t. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her. I’ll be nice as I can.” “Rick, what the hell’s going on with that?” He took a deep breath. “Jack, it’s going to be all right. Lizzie’s young. Young and beautiful. She’s sweet. And strong. She’ll be fine.” “Something about what you just said sounds real bad.” “Nah, it’ll be okay. Might take a little getting used to, that’s all. She doesn’t need a guy like me weighing her down.” Jack had to concentrate to keep from driving off the road. “What the hell? Is this about the leg?” “It’s not about the leg, but face it, that’s not a great asset. It’s about everything. Ever since Liz ran into me, her life has been messed up. I’m not good for her. She can do a lot better and deserves to.” “She’s

I used to think if I could be free I should be the happiest woman," a young Mississippi woman recalled. "But when my master come to me, and says 'Lizzie, you is free!' it seems like I was in a kind of daze. And when I would wake up in the morning I would think to myself, Is I free? Hasn't I got to get up before daylight and go into the field and work?

At a hotel. The Hyatt.” “For how long?” “I’ll give you the details later, I promise. But first you need to let me finish. If Spiderman knows about Richard, then that means he’s been watching him.” Cathy’s eyes widened in horror as the truth dawned on her. “That madman knows where we live?” “I believe so. It’s possible that he’s been watching all of you.” Cathy’s face paled as she pressed her hand over her mouth. After a moment Cathy said, “What am I going to do?” “There’s a federal agent parked across the street,” Jared cut in. “His name is Ronald Holt. He’ll remain parked outside the house twenty-four-seven. He won’t go anywhere unless he has a replacement.” “But I don’t think that’s enough,” Lizzy added. “I think you should take Brittany to Dad’s place and stay there until the feds catch him and put him behind bars.” Cathy’s face paled. “You don’t understand. Brittany has only recently begun to make friends. For the first time in her life she feels as if she’s starting to fit in. I know what it’s like to feel lost and out of place at school. I can’t uproot her now and take away what little bit of confidence she’s gained. I won’t do it.” “But you can’t take the added risk of keeping her in school or taking her to swim practice right now.” “She can’t stop living.” Cathy pointed a finger at Lizzy. “You said that yourself. You said you were miserable from all those years of hiding from your own shadow.” “But you were the one who was right when you said that hiding from my own shadow was better than the alternative.” Lizzy didn’t believe that for herself any longer, but Brittany had her whole life ahead of her, and Lizzy would say anything to make her sister understand that they needed to protect Brittany at all costs. Cathy shook her head. “I can’t do that to Brittany. She’s too young. She wouldn’t understand. I won’t have her life turned upside down because of that maniac. I won’t allow him to do this to me again.” “You must.” Lizzy lifted a hand to comfort her sister. Cathy backed away, her eyes feral. “Don’t touch me. I want you to get out of here. Stay away from

Zoey hesitated then took pity on her. “Zoey.” She reached down to snag the frozen vegetables that had fallen off the girl’s leg and replaced the bag. “It’s a pretty name.” “It’s awful. I’m the last one called for everything,” Zoey replied. The young woman smiled faintly. “I’m Chrissy.” The woman was around Zoey’s age, tall, with cocoa skin and an exotic tilt to her eyes. She was pretty enough to be a Halfling or Succubus, without the glow of sex energy.

All children require a bit of guidance on the pathto marital bliss,” the viscountess persisted. Marcus promptly spit out his brew. At his side, Lizzie’s slender frame shook with mirth and servants rushed forward with cloths to clean the mess. “M-marital bliss?” he sputtered. Good god, is that what she would call it? “Marcus,” his mother scolded. “Oh, do not look at me like that, Marcus. I daresay I prefer you charming to bitter.” “You know it is my expectation that you’ll find a young woman who makes your heart happy.” “I will tell you clearly what would make my heart happy,” he mumbled.

It’s nothing to apologise for, Lizzie. Different things upset different people. We all have our moments.’ Simple words, wise words from someone so young.

How do you “start” liking boys? I’ve always thought it was an unsettling idea: Something deep inside you, ticking down, unheard, until one day, ding! You go off like some kind of microwave.

I asked for your consent to marry Elizabeth, and you refused.” “Yes,” Zachary cleared his throat gruffly. “Well, I—” “You've left me no choice, sir.” Although Somers flushed slightly with obvious nervousness, his voice was steady as he continued. “Out of respect for you, I came to inform you in person that I intend to marry Elizabeth with or without your approval. And despite what you or anyone else thinks, I'm not doing it because I have an eye on your damned fortune. I happen to love your sister. If she'll have me, I'm going to provide for her, work like hell for her and treat her with all the respect and gentleness a man can give his wife. And if you require more than that of any man, you can go to the devil.” Zachary felt his brows lift slightly. He couldn't help but be impressed by the young man—it wasn't often that someone dared to stand up to him this way. “If I may ask,” he said quietly, “why do you love Elizabeth?” “She's my perfect match in every way that matters.” “Not socially,” Zachary pointed out. “I said,” came the young man's calm reply, “in every way that matters. I don't give a damn what her social status is.” The answer satisfied Zachary. His instincts told him that Somers was a decent man who truly loved Elizabeth. “Then you have my approval to marry Lizzie—if you'll do one thing for me.

You're far too young for a governess,' mused Lizzie as she stirred cream into her tea. 'And the strain of behaving would probably kill you,' muttered Frank.

Nikki said he got Susan pregnant when she was thirteen.’ Lizzie nods and cringes and gives a little grunt. ‘It’s very young.’ She grunts non-committally again, shrugs and takes another biscuit. ‘I can’t explain that you.’ ‘Isn’t he a paedophile then?’ ‘Yeah, technically. But then he was still with her until she was nineteen, so then what?

Without advance warning, Parambil receives a young visitor. The ten-year-old boy who steps onto the verandah and looks them all in the eye has a name equal to his precocious self-assurance: Lenin Evermore. It’s been a year since BeeYay Achen wrote to Big Ammachi with the shocking news that Lizzi, Manager Kora, and their baby daughter had died of smallpox. Only Lenin survived. Big Ammachi replied at once saying she would gladly raise Lenin as her own and that he was family: the boy’s father and Philipose were fourth cousins.

my abilities? How can I do something that matches these criteria now? Seeking out flow, I learned, is far more effective than self-punishing shame. Three: based on what I learned about the way social media is designed to hack our attention spans, I now take six months of the year totally off it. (This time is divided into chunks, usually of a few months.) To make sure I stick to it, I always announce publicly when I am going off—I’ll tweet that I am leaving the site for a certain amount of time, so that I will feel like a fool if I suddenly crack and go back a week later. I also get my friend Lizzie to change my passwords. Four: I acted on what I learned about the importance of mind-wandering. I realized that letting your mind wander is not a crumbling of attention, but in fact a crucial form of attention in its own right. It is when you let your mind drift away from your immediate surroundings that it starts to think over the past, and starts to game out the future, and makes connections between different things you have learned. Now I make it a point to go for a walk for an hour every day without my phone or anything else that could distract me. I let my thoughts float and find unexpected connections. I found that, precisely because I give my attention space to roam, my thinking is sharper, and I have better ideas. Five: I used to see sleep as a luxury, or—worse—as an enemy. Now I am strict with myself about getting eight hours every night. I have a little ritual where I make myself unwind: I don’t look at screens for two hours before I go to bed, and I light a scented candle and try to set aside the stresses of the day. I bought a FitBit device to measure my sleep, and if I get less than eight hours, I make myself go back to bed. This has made a really big difference. Six: I’m not a parent, but I am very involved in the lives of my godchildren and my young relatives. I used to spend a lot of my time with them deliberately doing things—busy, educational activities I would plan out in advance. Now I spend most of my time with them just playing freely, or letting them play on their own without being managed or oversupervised or imprisoned. I learned that the more free play they get, the more sound a foundation they will have for their focus and attention. I try to give them as much of that as I can. I would like to be able to tell you that I also do other things I learned I should do to improve my focus—cut out processed foods, meditate every day, build in other slow practices like yoga, and take an extra day off work each week. The truth is I struggle with this—so much of how I deal with ordinary anxiety is tied up with comfort eating and overworking.

To Lizzy, he seemed to be a young boy not yet grown into adulthood, but play-acting as a very serious man of God.