Ok Bye Quotes

Goodbye Darcy, goodbye Jean, goodbye stone cottage, scratchy towels, fields of wildflowers; good bye gorgeous Peak District ... OK English People, for your own good, get off the roads, here we come!

Crying is ok, you know why?.. Because if you cry a lot when you say good-bye, it means you love a lot.

What do you want to do forever?' He shrugged. 'I used to want to be a lawyer.' 'Used to?' She nudged him. 'I think you could be great at that.' 'Hmm, not when the only GCSEs I got spell out the word DUUUDDEE.

we’re not helping. So now we’re helping. Me: (Standing in doorway, looking bewildered.) Thanks, I guess. Joey: (Takes away Stevie’s hand.) But that’s not fair! Alex: What’s not fair? Stevie: (Striking Shakespeare pose.) All’s fair in love and sisters. Me: You guys are weird, you know that? Stevie: Go ahead. Take it. Go. (Makes shooing-dog motion with hands.) OK. Bye-bye, then. Joey: (Calling after Alex.) Bye-bye, Birdie! Me: (Leaves room, taking list. Sisters behind me mumbling and grumbling — Joey

I can't sleep. The pills don't work anymore. I'm just saving them up now. It's no good imagining gardens and garden gates, that used to help. Now I lie for hours staring at the ceiling. Human life is a scene of horror. I hope you enjoyed the cheese soufflé. Nothing could be more important than that Mozart died a pauper, except that Shakespeare stopped writing. A scene of horror. You'd better go home.' 'But what were you saying?' 'Nothing. What you can't say you can't say and you can't whistle it either, as my old philosophy tutor used to observe. Bugger off, will you.' 'OK,' I said. 'Good-bye, in case you should decide to kill yourself tonight.' 'Good-bye.

When I walked across a room I saw myself walking as if I were someone else, when I picked up a fork, when I pulled off a dress, as if I were in a movie. It’s what I thought you saw when you looked at me. So when I looked at you, I didn’t see you I saw the me I thought you saw, as if I were someone else. I called that outside—watching. Well I didn’t call it anything when it happened all the time. But one morning after I stopped the pills—standing in the kitchen for one second I was inside looking out. Then I popped back outside. And saw myself looking. Would it happen again? It did, a few days later. My friend Wendy was pulling on her winter coat, standing by the kitchen door and suddenly I was inside and I saw her. I looked out from my own eyes and I saw: her eyes: blue gray transparent and inside them: Wendy herself! Then I was outside again, and Wendy was saying, Bye-bye, see you soon, as if Nothing Had Happened. She hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t known that I’d Been There for Maybe 40 Seconds, and that then I was Gone. She hadn’t noticed that I Hadn’t Been There for Months, years, the entire time she’d known me. I needn’t have been embarrassed to have been there for those seconds; she had not Noticed The Difference. This happened on and off for weeks, and then I was looking at my old friend John: : suddenly I was in: and I saw him, and he: (and this was almost unbearable) he saw me see him, and I saw him see me. He said something like, You’re going to be ok now, or, It’s been difficult hasn’t it, but what he said mattered only a little. We met—in our mutual gaze—in between a third place I’d not yet been.

As I approached the elevators, a familiar man passed me, pausing to say, "You will—" "Stop it right there!" I yelled, interrupting Paolo the Diviner before he could cause any more trouble for me. People in the area turned to look at us. I lowered the volume of my voice, but kept my tone as mean as I could. "I have no idea why you've decided to become my personal voice of doom, but I would appreciate it if you would stop telling me that I'm going to trip, or spill stuff on myself, or be arrested, or any of the thousand other disasters I'm sure you behold in my future, because frankly, I don't want to know. OK?" Paolo looked offended. His nostrils flared. He backed up a step, looking down his long nose at me, his lips pressed together tightly. "I'm sorry to be so brusque," I said, realizing I had insulted him. "And I want you to know that I appreciate your concern for my well-being"—a little white lie never hurt anyone—"but I will take my chances with life on my own." He said nothing, just raised a supercilious eyebrow at me. "Thank you," I said, figuring that he might leave me alone if I thanked him for his effort. "Uh ... have a nice day." Paolo continued to stare silently at me as I made a little good-bye wave and walked toward the elevator.

When someone says to you, “I’m a Reiki Master,” it’s supposed to sound impressive. But what does it mean? It may simply mean that he or she has paid money to train for a few days with someone who trained with someone else over a few days – and so on. You get the picture. All of a sudden we have an explosion of ‘Masters’ – Reiki Masters, IET Masters, Tantric Masters, Seventh Level Ascended Violet Flame Masters of the Black Star. OK, I made the last one up! But we do have to laugh at ourselves if we believe we’re Masters of something after a few weekends, or now after doing an online course! Who are we fooling? Real Masters don’t need to tell you that they’re Masters. You’ll know just bye being around them. A real Master is someone who has spent a lifetime getting to know themselves in all their darkness and all their light, without needing to identify with either aspect of the opposite poles that live inside us all. Real Masters are ordinary people, like you, like me, humbled by the immensity of the mystery we are living. They radiate a presence, not a personality. There’s a world of difference.

Mum sat on the end of my bed, her hair in a shower cap. I was home sick from school and rereading old magazines. Mum looked around the room. ‘It’s a mess in here.’ ‘That’s why we made a path.’ Mum smiled and I felt amusing. ‘Instead of making a path through the shite, could you not pick up the shite?’ ‘It’s Jacinta’s stuff too.’ Pete called out something and shut the front door before Mum could respond. She shouted out anyway: ‘Bye, pet!’ She stood up and collected the clothes from the floor, sitting back down at the end of my bed to fold everything, whether it was clean or not. I continued to read a magazine and was surprised she didn’t ask me to help her fold. I worried she might tell me to do my homework or change the duvet cover. She said, ‘What was happening last night? When I came in?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Come on now.’ The quiz I was reading seemed to spin on the page. ‘Nothing.’ ‘You see, if something was happening and Pete found out, do you know what he’d do?’ ‘Leave.’ ‘He’d murder someone, Dolores. So whatever didn’t happen stays between us, OK?’ ‘OK.’ ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘No.’ ‘And you understand what I’m talking about?’ ‘I think so.’ ‘I’ll talk to him.’ ‘OK.’ ‘OK. Now if you’re feeling a bit better, you can come downstairs and help me with the dinner.

Beamer?” Sophie whispered, trying to flag him down. He put a finger up to her, then made that hand into a what-are-you-gonna-do hand, trying to make like he couldn’t get out of this call. But Sophie whisper-mouthed anyway: “Your mother!” “Well, that’s just terrible,” he said to no one as his pretend phone call took a turn and he began to walk into the office’s en-suite bathroom. “Just awful. No, no. I’d never do that.” Sophie’s contemptuous eyes were on him as he finished his fake phone call. As he entered his office, he yelled into the phone, “I can’t make these decisions for you!” in case Sophie could still hear. “I fucking hate being asked, honestly. You know that? OK, goodbye. OK, fine, bye.” Beamer made it to the bathroom; he was safe. He took his clothes off and turned on the water. He screamed beyond the bathroom to Sophie that he would be out in a second. He waited for the hot water to beat down on him and make him feel human again, and clean, like he could start his whole life over again, but now he was irritable, having gotten into an argument with no one.