Nowhere Else I D Rather Be Quotes

When I am with you, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. And I am a person who always wants to be somewhere else.

Nobody or Nowhere? Fern: I'd rather be nobody at home than somebody somewhere else. Ambrose: I'd rather be nowhere. Being nobody when you're expected to be somebody gets old. Fern: How would you know? Have you been nobody? Ambrose: Everybody who is somebody becomes nobody the moment they fail.

Because there's nowhere I wouldn't go for you. And if you get out to Montana and realize there's somewhere else you need to be, there's nothing I'm not willing to do to make it work. I'd rather have you five days a year than anyone else all the time.

I want him to choose me over everyone and everything else because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

When I am with you, there is nowhere else I’d rather be. And I am a person who always wants to be somewhere else.

I’ll speak for all ten of us when I say, there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.  

I thought, There is nowhere else in the universe I would rather be at this moment. I could count all the places I would not rather be. I’ve always wanted to see New Zealand, but I’d rather be here. The majestic ruins of Machu Picchu? I’d rather be here. A hillside in Cuenca, Spain, sipping coffee and watching leaves fall? Not even close. There is nowhere else I could imagine wanting to be besides here in this car, with this girl, on this road, listening to this song. If she breaks my heart, no matter what hell she puts me through, I can say it was worth it, just because of right now. Out the window is a blur and all I can really hear is this girl’s hair flapping in the wind, and maybe if we drive fast enough the universe will lose track of us and forget to stick us somewhere else.

It’s 11:11. Make a wish! What are you doing? Make a wish.” “I don’t have one.” “Of course you do. Just think of something you really want. Anything. Quick!” I pause for a long moment, and I realise why my mind is blank. The reason sits in front of me with a special smile and shimmering eyes. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with her. “Summer, I already have you.

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I hope every day you take each other’s breath away. I hope every kiss feels like the first but ends like the last. I hope you always see the best versions of yourselves reflected in each other’s eyes. But mostly, I hope you wake up every morning next to each other because there’s no place in this world you’d rather be, instead of having nowhere else to go. May you always be each other’s home.

I didn’t have to be out there making a difference for thousands of people in order to matter. I could make my difference one person at a time. Starting with me. There was nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. And that was the secret, I realized. It didn’t matter what my salary was. Whether or not I had a corner office and an assistant. This feeling, this contentment, was what mattered most.

You think I’m a prisoner here. That I’m trapped, that you’re trapped. And in a way, maybe we are. But I can’t quite call it a prison when there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

He’s just asking me to stay close. And honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

There's nowhere else I'd rather be. I will always be there when you need me." Adam

There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side.

For this world of readers and writers. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here with you. May we all have an adventure just like Lille’s, in the pages and in our minds.

I’m tired of being a stopover, I want to be the destination. I want to be the person you rush home to every night because there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

I may have a potty mouth, but I do not get caught in illicit sexual encounters in Marriotts, for fuck’s sake. I guess I could be open to a Ritz-Carlton or a Four Seasons, but a Marriott, no fucking way! Yet here I am. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. What spell has this boy cast on me? I

[This] beautiful girl asleep on my chest, her ear over my heart, needs me right now. So I hold her close and let me eyes shut as the sun lowers over “the greatest mountain.” I don’t really know her. I don’t have any right to her. I shouldn’t get attached to her. In a handful of days she will be gone. But right now, there is simply nowhere else on earth I’d rather be.

. . . waves of desert heat . . . I must’ve passed out, because when I woke up I was shivering and stars wheeled above a purple horizon. . . . Then the sun came up, casting long shadows. . . . I heard a vehicle coming. Something coming from far away, gradually growing louder. There was the sound of an engine, rocks under tires. . . . Finally it reached me, the door opened, and Dirk Bickle stepped out. . . . But anyway so Bickle said, “Miracles, Luke. Miracles were once the means to convince people to abandon reason for faith. But the miracles stopped during the rise of the neocortex and its industrial revolution. Tell me, if I could show you one miracle, would you come with me and join Mr. Kirkpatrick?” I passed out again, and came to. He was still crouching beside me. He stood up, walked over to the battered refrigerator, and opened the door. Vapor poured out and I saw it was stocked with food. Bickle hunted around a bit, found something wrapped in paper, and took a bottle of beer from the door. Then he closed the fridge, sat down on the old tire, and unwrapped what looked like a turkey sandwich. He said, “You could explain the fridge a few ways. One, there’s some hidden outlet, probably buried in the sand, that leads to a power source far away. I figure there’d have to be at least twenty miles of cable involved before it connected to the grid. That’s a lot of extension cord. Or, this fridge has some kind of secret battery system. If the empirical details didn’t bear this out, if you thoroughly studied the refrigerator and found neither a connection to a distant power source nor a battery, you might still argue that the fridge had some super-insulation capabilities and that the food inside had been able to stay cold since it was dragged out here. But say this explanation didn’t pan out either, and you observed the fridge staying the same temperature week after week while you opened and closed it. Then you’d start to wonder if it was powered by some technology beyond your comprehension. But pretty soon you’d notice something else about this refrigerator. The fact that it never runs out of food. Then you’d start to wonder if somehow it didn’t get restocked while you slept. But you’d realize that it replenished itself all the time, not just while you were sleeping. All this time, you’d keep eating from it. It would keep you alive out here in the middle of nowhere. And because of its mystery you’d begin to hate and fear it, and yet still it would feed you. Even though you couldn’t explain it, you’d still need it. And you’d assume that you simply didn’t understand the technology, rather than ascribe to it some kind of metaphysical power. You wouldn’t place your faith in the hands of some unknowable god. You’d place it in the technology itself. Finally, in frustration, you’d come to realize you’d exhausted your rationality and the only sensible thing to do would be to praise the mystery. You’d worship its bottles of Corona and jars of pickled beets. You’d make up prayers to the meats drawer and sing about its light bulb. And you’d start to accept the mystery as the one undeniable thing about it. That, or you’d grow so frustrated you’d push it off this cliff.” “Is Mr. Kirkpatrick real?” I asked. After a long gulp of beer, Bickle said, “That’s the neocortex talking again.

I thought, There is nowhere else in the universe I would rather be at this moment. I could count the places I would not rather be. I’ve always wanted to see New Zealand, but I’d rather be here. The majestic ruins of Machu Picchu? I’d rather be here. A hillside in Cuenca, Spain, sipping coffee and watching leaves fall? Not even close. There is nowhere else I could imagine wanting to be besides here in this car, with this girl, on this road, listening to this song. If she breaks my heart, no matter what the hell she puts me through, I can say it was worth it, just because of right now. Out the window is a blur and all I can really hear is this girl’s hair flapping in the wind, and maybe if we drive fast enough the universe will lose track of us and forget to stick us somewhere else.

Or are you suggesting you'd rather exchange passionate letters by candlelight? Should I tell you that when we're apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I've just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all? I think perhaps Hamilton said it better in a letter to Eliza: You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else- you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream- and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness.

Or are you suggesting you'd rather exchange passionate letters by candlelight? Should I tell you that when we're apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I've just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all? I think perhaps Hamilton said it better in a letter to Eliza: You engross my thoughts too intirely to allow me to think of any thing else- you not only employ my mind all day; but you intrude upon my sleep. I meet you in every dream- and when I wake I cannot close my eyes again for ruminating on your sweetness. We can't change the world, and a lot of time we can't even change people. No more than one bit at a time. So we do what we can to help whenever we get the chance, sweetheart. We save those we can. We do our best. Then we try to find a way to convince ourselves that that will just have to...be enough. So we can live with our failures without drowning.

Lord Gareth?" He froze. It was she, staring out at him with an expression of astounded disbelief on her lovely face. Gareth was caught totally unprepared. He knew he must look like an arse because he certainly felt like one. But the comic ridiculousness of the situation suddenly hit him, and his lips began twitching uncontrollably. He gazed up at her with perfect innocence. "Hello, Juliet." A chorus of out-of-tune voices came up from below. "Romeo, O Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?" Gareth flung his crop down at their heads. Cokeham let out a yelp, then fell to laughing. The girl's smooth, high brow pleated in a frown as she took in the scene. Perry down there with the horses. The other Den of Debauchery members all gathered below, beaming stupidly up at her. And Gareth, grinning, sprawled full-length along a tree branch just outside her window. "Just what on earth are you doing, Lord Gareth?" The way she said it made his cheeks warm with embarrassment. So he was a pillock. Who cared? Instead, he gave her his most devastating grin and said with cheerful earnestness, "Why, I have come to rescue you, of course." "Rescue me?" "Surely you didn't think I'd allow Lucien to banish you into obscurity, now, did you?" "Well, I —  The duke didn't ban—"  She gave a disbelieving little laugh and leaned out the window, grasping the blanket tightly at her breasts. Her hair, caught in a long, dark braid, swung tantalizingly out over her bosom. "Really, Lord Gareth. This is ... highly irregular!" "Yes, but the hour is late, and as it took me all day to find you, I was feeling rather impatient. I do hope you'll forgive me for resorting to such desperate measures. May I come in and talk?" "Of course not! I — I cannot have a man in my bedroom!" "Why not, my sweet?" He pushed aside a small, leafy twig in order to see her better and grinned cajolingly up at her. "I had you in mine." She shook her head, torn between what she wanted to do — and what she ought to do. "Really, Lord Gareth ... your brother will never approve of this. You should go home. After all, you're the son of a duke and I'm just a — " " — beautiful young woman with nowhere else to go. A beautiful young woman who should be a part of my family. Now, do collect Charlotte and your things, Miss Paige — I fear we must make haste, if we are to marry before Lucien catches up to us." "Marry?!" she cried, forgetting to whisper. He gazed at her in blank, perfect innocence. "Well, yes, of course," he said, clinging to the branch as it dropped another few inches. "Surely you don't think I'd be hanging out of a tree for anything less, do you?" "But —" "Come now."  He smiled disarmingly. "Surely, you must see there is really no other option for you. And I won't have my niece growing up without a father. What kind of a man do you think I am? Now, gather up Charlotte and get your things, my dear Miss Paige, and come outside. I am growing most uncomfortable." Juliet

Her smile chased away the gloom with its brightness. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." And right then, he knew he'd forgive her just about anything so long as she looked at him that way.

He catches me around the waist. “Say it. Say you’re mine.” I smile up at him, tears clouding my vision. Noah was never the prince in my story. Ours was never a fairytale, but fairytales are boring. Maybe our once upon a time was dark and dirty and raw, but it was ours. It led us here, and I can honestly say, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. “I’m yours.

I kissed her because, in that moment, there was nowhere else I’d rather be, nothing else I’d rather be doing. And no one else I’d rather be doing it with.

You shoulder too much. You never ask for help. I want to help you carry your burdens, Cassandra. Not because I feel an obligation but because it means I’m standing at your side and there’s nowhere else in this world I’d rather be.

His reaction makes me want to tell him every dream I ever have for the rest of my life. I like that he rolls toward me and looks at me like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

this woman has me wrapped around her little finger, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Because in English we have a saying: home is where the heart is. YOu have my heart, Nico. You are my home. So, if the man I love is in Paris, then there's nowhere else I'd rather be

I’m crazy about you, Carter. There is nowhere else I’d rather be than standing next to you, wherever that might take me.

The Guildhall was in the middle of Plano, Texas. Plano Texas, is brown and not much else. They have a Frito-Lay factory, parking lots, and a videogame school. At the time, I kept a strict vegan diet and didn’t drive. There was nothing to eat and nowhere to go. But the latter didn’t matter; when you were at the Guildhall you had no life outside the Guildhall. I remember the first day of orientation, sitting in a lecture hall with my future classmates and the spouses they’d brought with them to this wasted brown land. One of the other level design students had his wife and their year-old child with him. “Give her a kiss and say good-bye,” the director of the school told him in front of the assembly. “You’re not going to see her for two years.” I was in Plano, Texas, for six months. You’re at school from nine to five. You stay after and do your work with the teams they’ve assigned you to. Late at night you drag yourself home and do your actual homework. Maybe you get a few hours of sleep. The idea behind the school is that you’re always in what the Big Games Industry calls “crunch time”: unpaid overtime. Your masters want the game done by Christmas, so you don’t leave the office until it’s done. This is why people in the industry aren’t healthy; this is why they burn out and quit games within a few years. This is why you miss the second year of your daughter’s life. This is their scheme: you put up with crunch time all the time while you’re in school, so when you work for a big publisher—or, rather, a studio contracted by a big publisher—you won’t complain about being told you can’t see your daughter until the game’s done. The Guildhall boasts an over 90 percent employment rate, and it’s true: they will get you a job in the games industry. That’s because they will make you into exactly the kind of worker the games industry wants. It’s that kind of school. And it works; that’s the horrifying thing. My classmates were all self-identified gamers and game fans and were willing to put up with anything in order to live their dream of making videogames. That’s the carrot the industry dangles, and it’s what we take away from the industry when we create a form to which anyone can contribute. As long as the industry is allowed to continue acting as the gatekeeper to game creation, people will continue to accept the ways in which the industry tramples the lives and well-being of the creative people who make games, rather than challenging the insane level of control that publishers ask over developers’ lives.

In the picture, Natalya is dressed all in pink with her back pressed against my chest and my hands wrapped snuggly around her stomach and butt because I was terrified I was going to drop her. Lev’s wrong, though. I don’t look terrified in the photo. She’s gripping my finger and looking up at me, and I’m looking down at her. I look puzzled and slightly surprised, if anything. I’d expected Natalya to scream, but she’d just smiled up at me like there was nowhere else she’d rather be. When I look away from the photo, the first thing I see is Natalya staring at me. The same blue eyes meet mine, but everything else has changed about her. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s a woman, a beautiful woman, but she’s also completely and absolutely off-limits.

Naturally,” I whisper. But knowing I’ll regret it doesn’t stop me from wanting it—wanting him. Regretting is a problem for future Violet. “Fuck it.” One second he’s out of reach and the next his mouth is on mine, hot and insistent. Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need. I’m trapped between the immovable stone of the wall and the hard lines of Xaden’s body, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

When I’m with you, even on bad days, even on perfectly ordinary days, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. That’s never happened to me before. I spent most of my life dreaming about places I’d rather be. But with you, I realized it has nothing to do with location…if I’m with you, it doesn’t matter where we are. When I’m with you, I see all the colors. And I’m not scared of the darkness, because there’s so much light inside you too. When you let me see you, really see you, there’s nothing in this world more beautiful than you, Killian.

Yeah, this woman has me wrapped around her little finger, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Saints Cross might be one fucked-up town, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I thought, There is nowhere else in the universe I would rather be at this moment. I could count the places I would not rather be. I’ve always wanted to see New Zealand, but I’d rather be here.

Just give me a minute.” I’d give him eternity. Standing there safe in his arms, there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

I like that he rolls toward me and looks at me like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

You belong to me,” he says, his deep voice vibrating with solemnity as well as demand. “You’re mine now, Melanie.” … His gaze burns into mine. “Let me hear you say it.” “I am,” I whisper, barely staving off the emotion that swells inside me. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, and with no one else, Jared. I’m yours.

I hope you wake up every morning next to each other because there’s no place in this world you’d rather be, instead of having nowhere else to go. May you always be each other’s home.

Tell me something true,” … “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you, tonight.

The thing is, he liked to go into a deep reverie, liked to daydream ... not the sort of daydream like he was remembering a woman from his past or something, but say we were in that pine forest of ours, he'd suddenly get this dreamy look and drop into a squat and rest his chin in his hand and his elbow on his knee, and he could squat there like a Bedouin for a whole hour, eyes closed, smiling, intently focused on what he was seeing there in his mind s eye... And I absolutely hated this, I thought my husband was a nitwit. And out of the blue I shouted and startled him and he went pale and couldn't utter a word, as if woken from a trance .. And I said, If you'd rather do something useful, then the doorsill needs fixing, there's a draft, and mice will get into the cottage... And leaning against a tree, or down in his squat position, my husband looked at me and I saw that the arrow had hit its mark, that he despised me... I have nowhere else left to run, he said sadly, voice breaking..

nowhere else I'd rather be because if I'm not careful, he's sure to kick me the fuck out as quick as he called me.

I hope every day you take each other’s breath away. I hope every kiss feels like the first but ends like the last. I hope you always see the best versions of yourselves reflected in each other’s eyes.” I look at Alex while my own emotions derail my thoughts. “But mostly, I hope you wake up every morning next to each other because there’s no place in this world you’d rather be, instead of having nowhere else to go. May you always be each other’s home.

The band started a new song and I pulled Everly close. I lifted her chin and leaned down, kissing her. Not because we were supposed to. Not to sell everyone in the room on the veracity of our relationship. I kissed her because, in that moment, there was nowhere else I’d rather be, nothing else I’d rather be doing. And no one else I’d rather be doing it with.

The Curiosity Principle The best broadcast interviewers earn trust by displaying genuine interest, as if there is nowhere else they’d rather be. They demonstrate this by maintaining an engaged facial expression. One of the reasons viewers loved the former Meet the Press anchor Tim Russert was because you could see on his face how much he really loved his job. He exuded an “I can’t believe I get paid to do this” demeanor. He could ask tough questions but seemed warm rather than obnoxious as he did so. As a result, his questions never seemed low-blow- or gotcha-style.

He smiles down at me, and it feels like a fist on my heart, a tight hug that verges on a heart attached. 'Because there's nowhere I wouldn't go for you. And if you get out to Montana and realize there's somewhere else you need to be, there's nothing I'm not willing to do to make it work. I'd rather have you five days a year than anyone else all the time. I'd rather argue with you than not talk, and whether we're together or we're not, I'm yours, so let's be together, Harriet. As much as we can. As long as we can. As soon as we can. Everything else, we'll figure out later.

I’d miss you,” he told me. “And if you left, I’d follow you. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than on your bumper, Dream.

Besides Indy, we’re all a bunch of transplants from other places who found a home in the windy city…and with each other.  I’ll speak for all ten of us when I say, there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.  

I’ll speak for all ten of us when I say, there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.