Lola's Love Quotes

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.

I draw him closer by his tie and whisper into his ear, "Cricket Bell, I have been in love with you for my entire life.

What just happened?" "Your father invited the former love of your life in for pie." "Yeah, that's what I thought.

I look at you, and I think about you, and ... I don't know. No one has ever confounded me the way you do.

No, I don't love Max anymore. But I don't want to give you this broken, empty me. I want you to have me when I'm full, when I can give something back to you. I don't have much to give right now.

I have fallen in love with you, and there is no future for us. That you burst into my life suddenly only a short time ago. That it's too fast, too soon, and you will leave the same way you came into my life. I'll turn around one day and you'll be gone.

It's become impossible to deny he means something to me.

When two people are in love, it’s supposed to work. It has to work. No matter how difficult the circumstances are.

Keep your head, heels and standards high.

You were just supposed to be a one night stand but you poked my eye, and kissed me sweet and listened to my car. Now, I kinda wanna keep you.

She rests her hand on the ruffled costume beside her. “Just answer this one question. My brother never got over you. Did you ever get over him?”I swallow. “There are some people in life that you can’t get over.” “Good.” Calliope stands and gives me a grim smile. “But break Cricket’s heart? I’ll break your face.

I slide my hand between our mouths, just in time. His lips are soft against my palm. I slowly, slowly remove it. “No, I don’t love Max anymore. But I don’t want to give you this broken, empty me. I want you to have me when I’m full, when I can give something back to you. I don’t have much to give right now.” Cricket’s limbs are still, but his chest is pounding hard against my own. “But you’ll want me someday? That feeling you once had for me … that hasn’t left either?” Our hearts beat the same wild rhythm. They’re playing the same song. “It never left,” I say.

But it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.

When I come back, the club is packed. There's hardly any standing room. Anna snagged a wooden bar stool, one of the few seats here. St. Clair stands close to her, facing her, and he smoothes the platinum stripe in her hair. She pulls him even closer by the top of his jeans, one finger tucked inside. It's an intimate gesture. I'm embarrassed to watch, but I can't look away. He kisses her slowly and deeply. They don't care that anyone could watch. Or maybe they've forgotten they aren't alone. When they break apart, Anna says something that makes him fall into silly, boyish laughter. For some reason, that's the moment that makes me turn away. Something about their love is painful.

You make my vagina all melty,--wait no!--You make my belly all melty. My vaginas hot!

Why did he do it?" "For the same reason everyone makes mistakes. He fell in love.

The realization is surprising, but the one that follows stuns me even more. I'm not in love with him anymore. Instead, looking at him makes me feel...hollow.

I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. "Is this okay?" I whisper. "Are you okay?" His reply is anguished. Honest. "I love you.

This was my love, her love --torn, damaged, broken, ripped apart and put back together. This was our tattered love.

I would praise the Lord above for a ticket to that ride.

I don't have a choice but to want to do this, Lola. I'm in love with you.

Got a pair just like those. Never seen 'em lookin' like that though." "Like what?" Sauntering away from her, I smirked. "Sexy as fuck.

What scares you?" She looked into his eyes and said, "That I have fallen in love with you, and there is no future for us. That you burst into my life suddenly only a short time ago. That it's too fast, too soon, and you will leave the same way you came into my life. I'll turn around one day and you'll be gone.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Do what makes you want to get out of bed every day. There’s no sense in doing something that makes your life mundane.

My God, Mace was all man, the kind of man every warm-blooded woman would love to take home for the night, tie to her bed and let loose on. Sitting this close to him, my mind conjured up a long list of things I could do, just with my mouth.

Scarlett Garcia fell at the feet of no gloriously delicious man!

What the f~ck you're doing is pulling your head outta your ass and getting with the motherf~cking program, babe.

Just so you know, now I know what she looks like, the next time I see her, I'm gonna kick her ass.

Fine,' Aria conceded. 'But *I'll* carry her.' She grabbed the baby seeat from the back. A smell of baby powder wafted up to greet her, bringing a lump in her throat. Her father Byron, and his girlfriend, Meredith, had just had a baby, and she loved Lola with all her heart. If she looked too long at this baby, she might love her just as much.

So why did he do it?" Cricket rakes a hand through his hair. "For the same reason everyone makes mistakes. He fell in love.

Several yards away – closer to the cathedral’s legendary carved doorways – Anna and St. Clair are standing on top of Point Zéro. It’s been hand-brushed clear of its dusting of snow. Point Zéro is the bronze marker, a star, which designates the official centre of France. There are at least two superstitions about it. One is that anyone who stands on the star will return to France. The other is that you can use it to make a wish. “Wait for it,” Josh says. Lola stands straighter, excited. “No!” “Yes,” Cricket says. I’m the last one in the dark, until – suddenly – it happens. St. Clair removes something from his pocket. And then he gets down on one knee. Anna’s entire body lights with shock and joy and love. She nods a vigorous yes. St. Clair places the ring on her finger. He stands, she throws her arms around him, and they kiss. He spins her in a circle. They kiss again. Deep, hungry, long. And then he turns to us and waves – with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen – clearly aware that we’ve been standing here the whole time.

The distance between us feels too close, too far, too close.

Wow, being in love sure sounds exhausting. - Lola

Forget it." She turned to the closed door of the bathroom. "Forget I said anything. I take it back." Just as she pulled the door open, he was behind her, slamming it shut. With one hand planted in front of her face, Max said next to her ear, "You can't take it back now." "Yes, I can." "No." He leaned his big body into her and shoved her against the door. "I heard you." His hot breath brushed her temple. "You love me Lola. I won't let you take it back. You can't ever take it back.

I'm gonna take you right here on this table, Scar, so every time you're sitting here working, all you'll be able to think about is coming apart on my mouth.

She could already feel small waves of her juices fall from her newly-broken pussy, making a damp spot under her ass.

Even when he was gone, some fragment of his spirit lingered behind.

You have to fight for the people that you love. You. Have. To. Fight.

Did somebody forget to give you the ‘wrap it before you whack it’ talk? This is…this is big. What’re you thinking?” Mace asked.

In the hall, Tina whisper hisses, "Retreat! Retreat!" The sounds of heels clip clopping follows before... stumble crash bang Mimi laughs her ass off and says, "We have a man down! I repeat. We are a man down!" Lola laughs hard and yells out, "We're so bad at this! Best mission ever! The sound of giggles and heels approach my room. I put an arm under my head to elevate it. I want to see what these goofballs are doing. Tina's first through the door and looks sheepish while rubbing her elbow. That is until she see Nat, Helena and Nina all sitting on my bed. Then she yells out, "Pajama party!" And literally throws herself on to my bed, hurt elbow forgotten. She belly flops onto my stomach, My body jolts upwards, the wind is knocked out of me and I groan. Tina looks up at me with wide eyes. She rushed out, "Ash, honey! I'm so sorry!" Then she rubs what she thinks is my stomach. Only its my cock. Removing her hands from me, I tell her, "Tina, I don't think Nik would like you in my bed rubbing my junk.

Don't you want to find your purpose?' Lara glared at her. 'Right now my purpose is to get the hell out of here and then I'll figure the rest of it out the normal way; by drinking vodka. Or maybe I'll read Eat, Pray, Love all the way through...

Your guardian angel’s a man?” She gave me a little wry look, and for the first time in days, I saw a hint of the old Lola coming back to life. “Of course. I like to imagine he’s hopelessly in love with me, but we can never be together because it’s against the rules.

My mind was a constant tornado of thoughts, worries and confused-as-fuck feelings.

My heart sank. He really did think I didn't love him.

I was going to be sweet. So damn sweet she'd get a toothache.

So why did he do it?" Cricket rakes a hand through his hair. "For the same reason everyone makes mistake. He fell in love.

I didn't get jealous; that word shouldn't even be in my damn vocabulary, and it never had been before.

I don’t have a choice but to want to do this, Lola. I’m in love with you.

And despite all that, she finds a way to forgive you. She finds a way to love you. Then you take that love and beat her to death with it.

You're his rainbow at the end of the storm.

It was amazing how a shape-shifter could spot their mate from their scent alone.

Cricket tells a joke and turns to see if I'm laughing, if I think he's funny, and I want him to know that I do think he's funny, and I want him to know that I'm glad he's my friend, and I want him to know that he has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. And I want to press my palm against his chest to feel it beat, to prove he's really there. But we cannot touch.

I tended to be skeptical of anything that couldn't be measured, written down, and independently verified across a series of double-blind tests. But this was hard data. Lola's heart beat fastest for me.

I felt like I needed to do something special for her to show my appreciation. It wasn't like Hallmark had a card that read 'Thanks for destroying your vag with my spawn.' So I had to come up with something else.

I slowly, slowly remove it. "No, I don't love Max anymore. But I don't want to give you this broken, empty me. I want you to have me when I'm full, when I can give something back to you. I don't have much to give right now.

compersion – sometimes described as ‘the opposite of jealousy’, compersion is a feeling of joy or happiness in witnessing or hearing about a partner’s attraction or love for another person and/or relationship successes or wins.

as she walked back to her husband, lola thought about lying on her expensive sheets and holding a baby - their baby - to her breast. to the baby, lola would smell like a mother, and the ridiculous chandelier would look like stars.

she had to admit the essential difference between Iain and herself: he believed in the possibility of a carnation-strewn, uncomplicated life, and Lola did not. perhaps Iain had thought he could convince her, but grew weary of the endeavor.

I really love Lola, and my mother, and I think that they love me, although we can't seem to get along with one another and maybe we never will. In a funny way maybe it's not important to get along, and more important just to love each other anyway.

The truth is that I really love Lola, and my mother, and I think that they love me, although we can't seem to get along with one another, and maybe we never will. In a funny way maybe it's not important to get along, and more important just to love each other anyway.

Damn, I wasn’t a woman and I wasn’t real stoked at the idea of my fun house turning into an escape hatch. I felt like I needed to do something special for her to show my appreciation. It wasn’t like Hallmark had a card that read ‘Thanks for destroying your vag with my spawn

Lola said I’m not allowed to talk about whether you two love each other or not, but I love you, Anastasia. I was serious when I said I want you to live here. Whether you two are together or not, if you get tired of Nathan you can sleep in my room. I’ll get the air mattress again.

Yesterday. Tonight. Tomorrow. In ten years. She’s mine.(...) Don’t test that, You don’t want to play with a man who would blow the world to pieces for her. (...) Because, tell me, if I’m willing to destroy myself for her, what makes you think I won’t destroy someone as insignificant as you?

He used to tell her... that it was because Russia had left a chill in his bones. Lola Plum believed it, only because sometimes he'd get a very distant and apathetic look around his eyes and he'd sting her with some harsh truth. Always he apologized for it, but she had never blamed him, only the cold of his Russian heritage.

also, i wanted to kiss you, said lola. come here, said emmett.

What was I supposed to do? Skip around in circles smiling and handing out candy canes while rainbows came out my ass?

She was about to have her lady junk stretched nine ways to Sunday.

Get it together asshole; You can do this.

I'm about ready to take an axe to this piece-of-shit crib.

I had to go and be stupid enough to fall in love. Love only leads to heartbreak; I'd seen it on more than one occasion and felt it myself.

There’s a fixed essential part of my being that only comes alive in the place where romancé ends.

love can be painful. But real love? It beats any obstacle along the way. And it saves people who are beyond saving. People who the world has given up on. It can be redemption.” I

Lola, what’s your love language?” Franny asked, her chin coyly resting in the palm of her hand. Lola shrugged. “I don’t know. Anal, probably.

My dear Muna,” he started. “I love your spirit. But I would rather go back home and die fighting for something than die here in paradise doing nothing and listening to birdsong.

I really love you, Lola. Unconditionally,” I said as I started to cry again. “I really love you too. Unconditionally,” she replied.

And then Stego broke away slowly and stood there looking at her. “Doctor come here for talk? Or love?” he asked, punctuating each sentence with a light stomp of his front leg.

divided lovers rarely meet but you and i bridged the distance

Oliver nods, bending and pressing his cheek to mine again. “I don’t have a choice but to want to do this, Lola. I’m in love with you.” The

I don’t know if there is somewhere inside me that’s open to taking you back. But if there is, if that place exists, I would love to find it—so I can burn it to the ground.

When you take something away from someone, something that they love, it changes them.

Loving somebody changed people. It made them do stupid things. It made them change who they were and I'd seen it firsthand.

She was talking about dresses, and flowers and crap; something I never thought she'd do, but that's the proof: love made you forget who you were.

Cricket: I love you. I didn't say it so you'd say it back. Please don't say it if you don't mean it. I can wait. Lola: Cricket Bell, I have been in love with you for my entire life.

It's not like you ate Filipino food all the time. You loved Emperor's Way takeout, and the friendly Chinese girl there who you were too shy to ask but whose name tag said to call her Ming always gave you extra sauce for your orange chicken. The sweet potato pie from Butter was absolutely to die for, and it made you feel soft and warm the same way Lola's leche flan did. The youngest Manzano once handed you a delicious pastry without prompting or demanding payment before drifting away, seemingly lost in a world of her own. If this was a marketing strategy for their pastelería, it worked. But you could tell that there were differences in the way they cooked and baked, that they took old and treasured recipes and put in their own unique, modern spin to them. Why couldn't you do the same?

The more the woman shows herself submissive, the quicker the man becomes bored and overbearing; but the crueler and more faithless she is, the more she mistreats him, the more frivolously she plays with him and the less mercy she shows, the more she excites the lust of the man and is loved and worshiped by him. It was like that in all eras – from Helen and Delilah to Catherine the Great and Lola Montez

There's a certain feeling that can only be compared to the same feeling one gets when they've been in the cold rain when it's dark at night and suddenly night gives way to dawn and sunlight filters through the clouds as they part. That's how his voice felt as it hit my ears, flowing through me like fresh air hitting my lungs. It felt like I was slowly sinking into a hot bubble bath after having been outside, naked in the cold.

She showed you how to make her special adobo recipe- proper adobo, with soy sauce and vinegar and spices- and it tasted exquisite, better than any other grandmother would have made. She offered both meals for free to the carinderia's clientele that day, much to their delight. Sampling your casserole brought them no perceptible changes; eating Lola's adobo left them fresh, eager, and thrumming with energy, exhaustion falling away like a cloak.

He-the Monster-is now dating someone whose name begins with "L". I think her name is Lola or maybe, possibly, Lolita. (Tiptoeing off the tounge. How lovely. Lovely Lola Lolita) The Monster, everyone say is much better now. He doesn't drink (I'm not around) and he doesn't smoke (I'm not around) and he doesn't stay out all night and ring "L's" doorbell at 4:30 in the morning (drunk and smoky). He's older, wiser and unwilling to go backward into that great abyss that reads me.

Fifteen is an appropriate age to test for seasoning. It is not a complicated ritual, but it is an unusual rite of passage and not for the fastidious. It's a prick of a finger. It's five drops of blood. It's drizzling the blood onto sinigang- a heady soup of tamarind broth, with a savory sourness enhanced by spinach and okra, tomatoes and corms, green peppers for zest. Lola Simeon prefers stewed pork, and so that was chopped into the broth, a perfect medley of lean meat and fat.

I read once that you need two things to be happy. Any two of health, money and love. You can cover the absence of one with the other two. I drew comfort from this idea while I was fully bodied, employed, and unloved. It made me feel I wasn't missing much. But now I realized this was unmitigated bullshit, because health and money did not compare with love at all. I had a girl in a hospital bed who liked me and I didn't know where that might go but I could tell it was more important than low blood pressure. It mattered more than a new car. With Lola in the same building, I walked with a spring in my step. That was true literally. But I mean I was happy, happy on an axis I had previously known about only in theory. I was glad to be alive.

If only I had met Molly sooner, when it was still possible to choose one road rather than another! Before that bitch Musyne and that little turd Lola crimped my enthusiasm! But it was too late to start being young again. I didn't believe in it any more! We grow old so quickly and, what's more, irremediably. You can tell by the way you start loving your misery in spite of yourself. Nature is stronger than we are, no two ways about it. She tries us in one particular mould, and we're never able to throw it off. I had started out as the restless type. Little by little, without realizing it, you begin to take your role and fate seriously, and, before you know it, it's too late to change. You're a hundred per cent restless, and it's set that way for good.

Look, I know love has nothing to do with your background or career, but seriously, when a director of marketing starts considering dates from janitors, something is wrong.” An electrician who works out regularly, loves to read, and enjoys Thai food—her favorite.

Imagine this: A world where the quality of your life is not determined by how much money you have. You do not have to sell your labour to survive. Labour is not tied to capitalism, profit or wage. Borders do not exist; we are free to move without consequence. The nuclear family does not exist; children are raised collectively; reproduction takes on new meanings. In this world, the way we carry out dull domestic labour is transformed and nobody is forced to rely on their partner economically to survive. The principles of transformative justice are used to rectify harm. Critical and comprehensive sex education exists for all from an early age. We are liberated from the gender binary’s strangling grip and the demands it places on our bodies. Sex work does not exist because work does not exist. Education and transport are free, from cradle to grave. We are forced to reckon with and rectify histories of imperialism, colonial exploitation, and warfare collectively. We have freedom to, not just freedom from. Specialist mental health services and community care are integral to our societies. There is no “state” as we know it; nobody dies in “suspicious circumstances” at its hands; no person has to navigate sexism, racism, ableism or homophobia to survive. Detention centres do not exist. Prisons do not exist, nor do the police. The military and their weapons are disbanded across nations. Resources are reorganised to adequately address climate catastrophe. No person is without a home or loving community. We love one another, without possession or exploitation or extraction. We all have enough to eat well due to redistribution of wealth and resource. We all have the means and the environment to make art, if we so wish. All cultural gatekeepers are destroyed. Now imagine this vision not as utopian, but as something well within our reach.

order something else. I signal to the waitress for another menu while my date looks at his smile on the surface of the knife, yet again. Oh please, please let there be cyanide on this dinner menu. I scour the menu—there’s a lovely rosemary rack of lamb, a mouthwatering orange glazed duck, and a divine filet mignon with porcini

Ugh,” Turner groans from the kitchen. “That skinny tramp can go fuck herself. She doesn't stand a chance. Even if I wasn't fucking committed to marrying your ass making tiny Turner babies, she's a little below my usual standards.” Naomi's eyes narrow, and I can't hold back my smile. God, I love the shit out of these stupid assholes. I hope they buy a house down the street from me, so I can watch Naomi throwing Turner's stuff out on the lawn every other Christmas. I don't admit to myself that in that fantasy, Lola Saints is in the kitchen with nothing but an apron on.

If only I had met Molly sooner, when it was still possible to choose one road rather than another. Before that bitch Musyne and that little turd Lola crimped my enthusiasm. But it was too late to start being young again. I didn't believe in it anymore. We grow old so quickly and, what's more, irremediably. You can tell by the way you start loving your misery in spite of yourself. Nature is stronger than we are, no two ways about it. She tries us in one particular mold, and we're never able to throw it off. I had started out as the restless type. Little by little, without realizing it, you begin to take your role and fate seriously, and before you know it, it's too late to change. You're a hundred-percent restless, and it's set that way for good.

I hadn't known this about love: that you did not need to deserve it. I thought there was a set of criteria, like a good sense of humor and looks and wealth. You could compensate deficiencies in one area with excellence in another, hence rich, ugly men with beautiful wives. But there was an algorithm involved. That was why I thought I was unloved: I didn't score highly enough. I had made some attempts to improve my score and also told myself I didn't care because that was what women wanted, something fake and temporary, I would rather be alone. And sometimes I was just lazy and would rather code things. But here I was soaking in a bath of my own filth with Lola scrubbing my shoulders, and what algorithm could explain that? That problem was nonhalting.

Lola writes in her notebook: Leaf-fleas are even worse. Someone said, They don't bite people, because people don't have leaves. Lola writes, When the sun is beating down, they bite everything, even the wind. And we all have leaves. Leaves fall off when you stop growing, because childhood is all gone. And they grow back when you shrivel up, because love is all gone. Leaves spring up at will, writes Lola, just like tall grass. Two or three children in the village don't have any leaves, and those have a big childhood. A child like that is an only child, because it has a father and a mother who have been to school. The leaf-fleas turn older children into younger ones - a four-year-old into a three-year-old, a three-year-old into a one-year-old. Even a six-months-old, writes Lola, and even a newborn. And the more little brothers and sisters the leaf-fleas make, the smaller the childhood becomes.

But your lolas took offense at being called witches. That is an Amerikano term, they scoff, and that they live in the boroughs of an American city makes no difference to their biases. Mangkukulam was what they styled themselves as, a title still spoken of with fear in their motherland, with its suggestions of strange healing and old-world sorcery. Nobody calls their place along Pepper Street Old Manila, either, save for the women and their frequent customers. It was a carinderia, a simple eatery folded into three food stalls; each manned by a mangkukulam, each offering unusual specialties: Lola Teodora served kare-kare, a healthy medley of eggplant, okra, winged beans, chili peppers, oxtail, and tripe, all simmered in a rich peanut sauce and sprinkled generously with chopped crackling pork rinds. Lola Teodora was made of cumin, and her clients tiptoed into her stall, meek as mice and trembling besides, only to stride out half an hour later bursting at the seams with confidence. But bagoong- the fermented-shrimp sauce served alongside the dish- was the real secret; for every pound of sardines you packed into the glass jars you added over three times that weight in salt and magic. In six months, the collected brine would turn reddish and pungent, the proper scent for courage. unlike the other mangkukulam, Lola Teodora's meal had only one regular serving, no specials. No harm in encouraging a little bravery in everyone, she said, and with her careful preparations it would cause little harm, even if clients ate it all day long. Lola Florabel was made of paprika and sold sisig: garlic, onions, chili peppers, and finely chopped vinegar-marinated pork and chicken liver, all served on a sizzling plate with a fried egg on top and calamansi for garnish. Sisig regular was one of the more popular dishes, though a few had blanched upon learning the meat was made from boiled pigs' cheeks and head.