Mckenzie Quotes

Fine," he says, his words coming out breathless. "I'll save your precious sword-master, McKenzie. But I will never, ever give you back to him.

If I were a good man,” he says, “I’d acknowledge that Taltrayn is an honorable fae, that he loves you and would take care of you. I’d step down and let you have the man you’ve always wanted, but, McKenzie, I’m not as good as Taltrayn. I never will be, and I can’t step down. I’ll fight for the chance to be with you.

The good Lord had been having a very creative day when he made Connor McKenzie

He’s had ten years to make you fall in love with him. I haven’t had ten weeks! Tell me how that’s fair!

Take what comes and live life without complaint. What will be, will be. Life is a woman's gift; death is God's.

Sometimes life just doesn't allow for a totally happy ending.

You don't want to work to fall in love, you want to be in love. Like in a fairy tale.

He bent his head, gently laid his cheek down on top of her breasts and closed his eyes. He inhaled her scent and let out a slow groan. Mine.

Mathias lifted his head and looked directly into Mina's eyes. His smile was gone. Possession filled his gaze. After tonight, you won't be asking another man for anything.

You should never turn down the offer of another man’s story,’ the fox persisted, moving off a little further into the trees ahead. ‘Stories are the only thing that separates us from the animals after all.

The complete truth, McKenzie, is I’d do anything for you, but you ask for nothing. You won’t confide in me. You won’t rely on me. You’re so preoccupied trying to decide if you can trust your feelings that you won’t consider giving in to them.

I stare off into space for a minute. "I just wish my life would go back to the way it was." "Why?" "Because I was happy then. Things weren't perfect, but still, I knew where I fit. I knew where I was going." "And you don't feel that way anymore?" "No. I feel kind of...lost in the middle of my own life, if that makes any sense.

You told me you wanted time. I’ve given it to you, and I’ll give you as long as you need, McKenzie. I love you.” He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You’re worth waiting a decade for.

Love isn't simple, Katie, and neither is life. Things that are worth having are sometimes complicated, and they evoke complicated emotions. You know, one of the reasons people often turn to alcohol or drugs is that they can't deal with complications.

It seemed like almost nothing had happened, but that almost nothing changed everything for me.

I’m not a mistake, McKenzie,

If I could undo my past for you, McKenzie, I would. But I don’t have that power. No fae does.

Is there a panic button I can hit? Or better yet, a button that will pause this whole scene while I figure out how I want to play it? But no. That's not how it works in real life.

Many journeys, often ones you didn't plan to make, take you to an unexpected destination that turns out to be exactly where you want to be.

Don't tell me what I am," she said. "I get to say what I am.

Just before I drop into a chair in my English classroom I pick up my phone and send Nolan a text. "What if there's a day when I can't be there with my mom when she's at home?" I don't even have to wait thirty seconds before he sends his reply: "Then I'll be there

Everyone’s path to here is unique, Anne. It’s what you do from here that counts.

If someone figured out a way to bottle woman-been-wronged, they’d make a fortune.

I’ve seen his eyes soften and sparkle in the moonlight. I’ve seen a smile crack those lips, heard a laugh ring from that broad chest. And yet, even in those few, untroubled moments, there’s always a certain gravitas to him, like he could stand in the middle of a battle and part the enemy’s line with one cool glare. (McKenzie)

You shine like love You shine like hate until I can’t remember the difference

Actually, the only time I ever tried to cultivate being sexy was when I read Peyton Place. I was about sixteen and I read that this guy's watching this woman walk and he can tell she's a good fuck by the way she walks. It's a whole passage. He's telling Allison McKenzie, "I know you're a virgin." And she says, "Well, how?" And he says, "I can tell by the way you walk." And I thought, Uh-oh, everybody knows! I was ashamed to be a virgin, so I tried to cultivate a fucked walk. I tried to figure out what it looked like. I figured I'd watch any hot woman I could. I mean, look at Jeanne Moreau. You watch her walk across the street on the screen and you know she's had at least a hundred men. (Penthouse interview, 1976)

One minute doesn’t erase a thousand.

It matters because you matter to Him.

I know,” Aren says. “But I wanted to apologize. I don’t want Taltrayn to convince you I’m the bad guy.” At that, I give a short laugh. “You are the bad guy, Aren.” He frowns, and I realize he’s taking my words the wrong way. “What I mean is you’re the . . . well, the rebel. Kyol’s the good guy. He’s made mistakes, yes, but he loves me.” He cocks his head to the side. His gaze makes my skin tingle. The step he takes toward me is hesitant, careful, and when his silver eyes peer down at me, I stop breathing. His lips are so close. I remember the way they felt pressed against mine. I remember his taste, the heat of his edarratae. The smallest distance separates us when he whispers, “You don’t think I’m in love with you?” “I . . .

But when my gaze falls on my bed, I freeze, no longer worried what Nolan thinks of the pink or DR.Hoo or my unicorn collection. Instead, I hold up my hand and point at the checkerboard. Someone has made the next move.

His mouth tastes like Scotch, and feels familiar, like somewhere I've been before.

The wood creaks as I step over the threshold, a haunting sort of hello.

You can quit if you want. If you hate it. If it isn't fun anymore. I'll back you with Dad. But you can't quit just because it's hard. Things are hard for most people. Life is hard.

It’s hard to find someone you’d rather spend time with than not.

That I’d been letting life act itself out on me when I should have been directing it.

Most smiles are started by another smile.

I don’t think that bad actions erase good ones. Not really.

I prefer creeptastic,” Mom answers with a smile.

Her departure was a gradual thing, like a watercolor left in the sun, every day fainter until one day the canvas was bare and you had to rely on memory to recapture the image.

He glances down at me, and a bolt of blue lightning skitters from his jaw to his temple before disappearing into his dark hair. Another bolt zigzags across the hand he rests on his sword’s hilt. They’re chaos lusters, visual reminders that the fae don’t belong in this world, and they’re beautiful, mesmerizing. With his quiet, strong confidence, he’s mesmerizing.

Lucha. Lucha por lo que quieres, en cada cosa que haces y hasta el límite de tus fuerzas, para que cuando todo se desvanezca solo queden sonrisas de satisfacción y no remordimientos".

In some ways, the great danger for this commodified universe is our boredom with it ... There is this sort of dialectic that you could tease out, that even in this overdeveloped late-capitalist world, that boredom was still this kind of critical energy that you could work on and try to theorize and then act on, to find other kinds of belonging, other kinds of desire, other kinds of life.

He had taken anger, dipped it in rage and left it to marinate for hours.

He wanted to pull her inside his skin and carry her around close to his heart.

we can proceed without knowing or expectation

And why do the main characters always have to hate each other at the beginning of the movie? Like, hello, red flag. It’s so obvious they’re going to get together.

But, of course, everyone has regrets. Loose ends. Things they could do if they had more time.

We all wear a mask. The trick is keeping it in place.

I'd much rather my life be defined by a thousand little moments of faithfulness than by one big moment of fame.

They say that if a butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian rain forest, it can change the weather half a world away. Chaos theory. What it means is that everything that happens in this moment is an accumulation of everything that’s come before it. Every breath. Every thought. There is no innocent action. Some actions end up having the force of a tempest. Their impact cannot be missed. Others are the blink of an eye. Passing by unnoticed. Perhaps only God knows which is which. All I know today is that you can think that what you’ve done is only the flap of a butterfly wing, when it’s really a thunderclap. And both can result in a hurricane.

Some people are meant to disappear from your life, to remain a memory, a faded possibility. A curiosity. I ought to know. But when curiosity is so easily fulfilled, how do you avoid fulfilling it? A button is pressed and you’re friends again.

He’s tall, taller than Kyol, but not as thickly muscled, and his silver eyes, while intense, have a lighter, livelier hue to them. He’s wearing a poorly made, dark jaedric cuirass over a once-white tunic, loose gray pants, and scuffed black boots. His golden-blond hair looks like it’s been chopped off with a knife or, perhaps, the sword in his hand. Despite his haphazard appearance, he’s confident, he’s alert, and he’s completely focused on me, his prey.

Maybe it's hard to make it work if you start out in love. Because if things change, you remember how they used to be and you're disappointed. If you don't have any expectations going in, you can't be let down.

Mom was just teasing when she asked whether I felt safe being left alone in a haunted house. But now I know: once you move into one, you're never really alone again.

What I know best is crying and orgasm

This hole in the earth was no storage space. I was digging my own grave.

It’s impossible to feel homesick with the familiar weight of the book in my hands.

All I knew was I had to talk to someone. I had to try to steal someone’s rationality.

...maybe that was the thing about finding stillness in God -- it required nothing and everything all at the same time.

You don't honor God with your life by changing your personality and tossing out everything that is unique about who you are. You honor Him by offering those very gifts back to Him.

Y tan solo un segundo podía contener un infinito.

Holy intimacy is fostered with the marriage to two commitments: one to sitting in quiet solitude with the inner Self; the other to sitting in rapt attention with one's mortal Beloved

Anyway, why would I want friends I had to act fake in front of? I don’t want to pretend to be scared of dead things and to prefer digital to film. I don’t mind that I’m old-fashioned.

The intentional act of loving other brown queers is about healing, in a world that says we are not worthy, that things like pleasure and care and security and unconditional love are not for us.

Suppose I say summer, write the word “hummingbird,” put it in an envelope, take it down the hill to the box. When you open my letter you will recall those days and how much, just how much, I love you.

Don't ya wanna hear the secret?' his eyes were narrow and mean, despite the glaze of rum. Louer drained his glass and slammed it to the bar. 'You get happy by learnin' to say 'yes' to what life offers you, but stay happy by rememberin' when to start sayin' 'no'.

And while I got that about him, he never seemed to understand or believe it when I told him I wasn't like that. That I was happy to coast. To drift and summersault like a dried-out leaf in the late fall, hoping to avoid the rake, the collecting pile, the compost heap.

Like how there’s this optimal money/happiness equation. Once you pass a certain amount of household income, life isn’t any better. Apparently, money can’t buy happiness, or it does, but it costs less than you imagined it would.

I meant to text quickly, but it took five attempts to type with my thumbs. Ever since the time I accidentally told Wick I'd stopped for cocaine instead of coffee and when Mel, my best friend, asked me to get penis instead of pedis, I lost my faith in technology and proofread all my messages

By clearly emphasizing all that was lacking in others, by mapping and raising to an art form the catalog of their flaws, Veblen’s mother had inversely punched out a template for an ideal human being, and it was the unspoken assumption that Veblen would aspire to this template with all her might.

A pod in the Matrix is looking pretty good right now.

Aidan didn’t want me to get too attached to my humanity—to my life—because he knew that I might have to give it up. “Is this the real reason you didn’t want Nolan to come here?

A man who could admit wrongdoing, a man who could break through the layers of his own price, was a man who could love with humility.

Still, it’s really frustrating me that there doesn’t seem to be anything in my closet that’s appropriate to wear to an exorcism.

My purpose is to learn. My mission is to serve. My heart is to love. My boss is God and my work is to be me.

Pigs and dogs behave for food but horses and humans have minds of their own.

I swallow a sigh.

Male appreciation hardened his features from doubt to certainty. Boobs, the best negotiation strategy of them all. She thanked the Lord and her genetics for her great rack.

A life could be spent like an apology—to prove you had been worth it.

We employed a stocky Yorkshire woman to walk me home from school past the barbershop with the unhappy mynah bird. "Kill me!" it suggested as we passed by.

You’re not supposed to want to date a boy just for jacket access.

If I could wave a magic wand and eliminate one term from the lexicon of racism discussion, it would be “reverse-racism”. It’s the go-to of every clueless person who can’t be bothered to take any time to understand anything about history or context. Every time I hear it, my faith in humanity diminishes. Use of that term is the easiest way to tell that someone has no idea what racism actually is. These are the same people who will, in response to a POC’s complex and nuanced understanding of racism, quote the dictionary definition to us. They can’t fathom that we know more about our own experiences than the dictionary. ‘Reverse-racism’ is not a thing. Tell your friends.

No one had told her, before she had children, that being a mother would be like reliving her own childhood, only worse. That she’d have to re-feel all the slights and worries a hundredfold.

Stay away from the Sirenas of this world and get you a plain, fat woman who thinks a hot dog and popcorn at Walmart’s is a dinner date. That’s my counsel, said Luis. Sirena she’s messed up more good men around here than Marine Corps recruiters. And she tried to kill your dog. A man shouldn’t forget who tries to kill his dog.

Anna’s parents were staunch Wee Frees, and she wasn’t even allowed to wear face powder, never mind attend a dance. Music itself was not allowed, except on Sundays, and then it had to be for the sake of worship only, and sung unadorned. The senior McKenzies were so strict they confined their cockerel under a bushel basket on the Sabbath so he wouldn’t get up to anything untoward with the hens.

Thorstein Veblen would say people hate squirrels, she called up to him, "because that's the only way to motivate expenditure on them - such as buying traps or guns. It's the same with stirring up patriotic emotionalism, because it justifies expenditures for defense.

Before I met Isaac, before I auditioned for Hamlet, before I had anything else that was good here, I had you. You were the first person to break through the walls I’d built up around myself from all that shit with Xavier, and I just want to thank you for that.” “Dammit, Holloway,” Angie said, swiping her fingertips under her eyes. “You’re a life saver, McKenzie, okay?” I said. “You’re a fucking life saver.

I’m almost 36, and I have learned that I don’t really need to “appreciate everyone’s point of view.” I mean, you can have politics that are opposed to mine. Fine. But if you do, we are not going to be friends.

I don’t need my heart anymore, you can have it. Cut it out, put it in a box, bury it in the hard ground, next to you. My eyes are useless too. They only show me a world without you. Color blind, color absent, colorless. And my mind screams, Not fair! Not right. Not what I was promised on the swing set as you pushed me toward the sun. None of the stories you read me schooled me for this. I didn’t learn this lesson in the moon, or on the train, or as a thing to be curious about. So I don’t need my heart anymore, you can have it. Let it be buried, in the hard ground, next to you.

A long time ago, when you were a wee thing, you learned something, some way to cope, something that, if you did it, would help you survive. It wasn't the healthiest thing, it wasn't gonna get you free, but it was gonna keep you alive. You learned it, at five or six, and it worked, it *did* help you survive. You carried it with you all your life, used it whenever you needed it. It got you out--out of your assbackwards town, away from an abuser, out of range of your mother's un-love. Or whatever. It worked for you. You're still here now partly because of this thing that you learned. The thing is, though, at some point you stopped needing it. At some point, you got far enough away, surrounded yourself with people who love you. You survived. And because you survived, you now had a shot at more than just staying alive. You had a shot now at getting free. But that thing that you learned when you were five was not then and is not now designed to help you be free. It is designed only to help you survive. And, in fact, it keeps you from being free. You need to figure out what this thing is and work your ass off to un-learn it. Because the things we learn to do to survive at all costs are not the things that will help us get FREE. Getting free is a whole different journey altogether.

The point is to make room for POC to prioritize their own well-being over the “education” of white people, which I don’t think we allow ourselves enough. White supremacy demands that we centralize whiteness at all times, even when we are supposed to be taking care of ourselves. I reject the idea that white people’s education about my experiences of racism is more important than my psychological well-being and my right to say no to that kind of engagement.

Depression’s a funny thing. We don’t know what to do about it—as a society—unless we’ve been there ourselves. The person before us is not someone we know, and their unhappiness is often not something we can understand. So we downplay it, and we make the afflicted somehow to blame. No one would ever tell someone with cancer that if they tried a bit harder, if they got out of bed and took a shower, everything would be better, but people told her all those things. That and more, worse.

She felt her future close upon her but unseen, like the sea behind the blowing veil of snow... She would follow Llyr's advice and face it a little every day...Day by day, step by step life would go forward. Eventually, the veil would lift, the cold would yield to the sun's warmth, and the world would be reborn. This dark time would pass.

White people, you need to get this: you are racist. You uphold white supremacy in big and small ways every day, whether you mean to or not. The first step is admitting that you are part of the problem. If you want to understand how and why, read a book. Read a hundred books. Take a workshop. Read as many books and take as many workshops as you need to be able to stop pretending it’s other white people and not you. Trust me. It’s

What do you think for dinner? I know it’s important I don’t show you up.” Something soft and red filled his lust-hazed vision. “With this first one, I can’t wear a bra because it’s backless…” She swapped it out for something dark. “…but this second one is a little low-cut. Bra or no bra?” Think, man, think. The fate of the universe depended on the answer to this question.

It’s just how love gets described in the movies. Like in Sleepless in Seattle . . .” This is the movie they showed us last night. “Tom Hanks’s character is musing about why he fell in love with his dead wife, and he says that it was because she could peel an apple in one long strip, or something like that. And I was reading something similar in a book recently, only that was about peeling an orange . . . anyway . . . I’ve just never felt like the way someone peels fruit would be a reason to spend the rest of your life with them.

When you entered the cavern of another language, you could leave certain people behind, for they had no interest in following you in. You could, by way of translation, emerge from the cavern and share your adventures with them. You didn’t have to be an intellectual in a black beret smoking clove cigarettes to be a translator, not at all. You could become one in your blue flannel pajamas, your face smeared with Clearsil. You did.

Staying level with Tess was going to require fast thinking, which was mighty difficult considering all the blood he needed for said thought processes was now hurtling south. “What would this job involve?” “Only one task. Make. Me. Believe.” “That I’m your fiancé?” Cue her smile, sly and sexy. First time she’d let him in on that action, too. “That you want me more than your next breath.” If she moved forward a couple of inches, his boner would make her believe.

He turned away from the wall and lay on his back instead. He was tired and he wanted to sleep. Every time he tried, the past pushed in. He didn't like it. It wasn't the real past, anyway, it was a sweeter, happier version, a half-lie, with all the pleasures and none of the pains. It was a trick, a falsehood that omitted its own ugliest parts and pretended to be something it wasn't, the way the past liked to do.

Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle turns a page. Howard Cardwell turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page. ‘Groovy’ Bruce Channing attaches a form to a file. Ann Williams turns a page. Anand Singh turns two pages at once by mistake and turns one back which makes a slightly different sound. David Cusk turns a page. Sandra Pounder turns a page. Robert Atkins turns two separate pages of two separate files at the same time. Ken Wax turns a page. Lane Dean Jr. turns a page. Olive Borden turns a page. Chris Acquistipace turns a page. David Cusk turns a page. Rosellen Brown turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page. R. Jarvis Brown turns a page. Ann Williams sniffs slightly and turns a page. Meredith Rand does something to a cuticle. ‘Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Howard Cardwell turns a page. Kenneth ‘Type of Thing’ Hindle detaches a Memo 402-C(1) from a file. ‘Second-Knuckle’ Bob McKenzie looks up briefly while turning a page. David Cusk turns a page. A yawn proceeds across one Chalk’s row by unconscious influence. Ryne Hobratschk turns a page. Latrice Theakston turns a page. Rotes Group Room 2 hushed and brightly lit, half a football field in length. Howard Cardwell shifts slightly in his chair and turns a page. Lane Dean Jr. traces his jaw’s outline with his ring finger. Ed Shackleford turns a page. Elpidia Carter turns a page. Ken Wax attaches a Memo 20 to a file. Anand Singh turns a page. Jay Landauer and Ann Williams turn a page almost precisely in sync although they are in different rows and cannot see each other. Boris Kratz bobs with a slight Hassidic motion as he crosschecks a page with a column of figures. Ken Wax turns a page. Harriet Candelaria turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page. Ambient room temperature 80° F. Sandra Pounder makes a minute adjustment to a file so that the page she is looking at is at a slightly different angle to her. ‘Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle turns a page. David Cusk turns a page. Each Tingle’s two-tiered hemisphere of boxes. ‘Groovy’ Bruce Channing turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Six wigglers per Chalk, four Chalks per Team, six Teams per group. Latrice Theakston turns a page. Olive Borden turns a page. Plus administration and support. Bob McKenzie turns a page. Anand Singh turns a page and then almost instantly turns another page. Ken Wax turns a page. Chris ‘The Maestro’ Acquistipace turns a page. David Cusk turns a page. Harriet Candelaria turns a page. Boris Kratz turns a page. Robert Atkins turns two separate pages. Anand Singh turns a page. R. Jarvis Brown uncrosses his legs and turns a page. Latrice Theakston turns a page. The slow squeak of the cart boy’s cart at the back of the room. Ken Wax places a file on top of the stack in the Cart-Out box to his upper right. Jay Landauer turns a page. Ryne Hobratschk turns a page and then folds over the page of a computer printout that’s lined up next to the original file he just turned a page of. Ken Wax turns a page. Bob Mc-Kenzie turns a page. Ellis Ross turns a page. Joe ‘The Bastard’ Biron-Maint turns a page. Ed Shackleford opens a drawer and takes a moment to select just the right paperclip. Olive Borden turns a page. Sandra Pounder turns a page. Matt Redgate turns a page and then almost instantly turns another page. Latrice Theakston turns a page. Paul Howe turns a page and then sniffs circumspectly at the green rubber sock on his pinkie’s tip. Olive Borden turns a page. Rosellen Brown turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page. Devils are actually angels. Elpidia Carter and Harriet Candelaria reach up to their Cart-In boxes at exactly the same time. R. Jarvis Brown turns a page. Ryne Hobratschk turns a page. ‘Type of Thing’ Ken Hindle looks up a routing code. Some with their chin in their hand. Robert Atkins turns a page even as he’s crosschecking something on that page. Ann Williams turns a page. Ed Shackleford searches a file for a supporting document. Joe Biron-Maint turns a page. Ken Wax turns a page.