Penny Reid Quotes

« Quote of the day: “Friendship is like peeing your pants; everyone can see it but only you can feel it».

With you there are only two distances that matter:  Here. Not here. You are not here.

Don’t set yourself on fire trying to keep others warm.

You underestimate how deeply you cut when your intentions carry no knives.

I decided, as I succumbed to sleep, that men should come with manuals, subtitles, and reset buttons.

You make me want to be less of an asshole.

Stay away from the normals, the small-minded people who fill their brains with small-minded pursuits, who blend in and keep up with the Joneses. Those people will tear you down and make you boring. Instead, surround yourself with the weirds. With the misfits, oddballs, and outcasts. Because the normals, bless their hearts, have no idea how to have fun.

There are only 10 types of people in the world. Those who understand binary, and those who don't.

We see the strengths and faults in others that we do not or cannot recognize in ourselves.

have you ever seen someone and thought to yourself, Whoa, he’s hot! I’d like to screw his brains out. And then, you talk to the guy and realize someone already has?

You’ve shown me joy where before I saw only despair. You’ve taught me hope where before I knew only hopelessness. I may be broken, but all my pieces are yours. And I’ll work every day of my life to deserve you.

Apathy between family members makes the blood they share turn to water.

Is a chameleon a coward because it can change its color? No. It’s evolved and awesome. I like to think of myself in a similar fashion. There is nothing wrong with having a strong sense of self-preservation.

I have no desire to cherish each person's bullshit and call it a beautiful snowflake.

I don’t like to judge people. I love it. Writing people completely off was liberating

We all know that light travels faster than sound. That's why certain people appear bright until you hear them speak.” ― Albert Einstein

She said I owned the clothes of a radiologist and the shoes of an OBGYN; which is like the medical doctor equivalent of saying that I dressed like a librarian with a propensity of fuckmeboots.

Boy bands are sent by God to aid women of all ages in their quest to avoid reality, but specifically to trick young women into believing that males think about topics other than sex.

Proposing is like giving someone your dick and a sharp knife, then waiting to see what they do next.

When you cried, I learned what helplessness tastes like. Because all I could do was swallow.

No. Since I first saw you. Since I first laid eyes on you and felt sorry for every beautiful thing that was made no longer resplendent—nullified by your being.

If we were in Victorian England I would have called him dashing;but, since we lived in the 21st century I would have to settle for the wordier GQ model hot.

Blame is a thief. It robs us blind while it wastes our time, time we could be spending as a family, making memories, supporting each other.

It means my brain finds you more interesting than all the really interesting trivial facts I could be contemplating or researching at present.

If I were a function, you would be my asymptote. I always tend toward you.

I don’t want a beautiful week with you. I want a beautiful lifetime.

Almost immediately I told that voice to go eat shit and die.

Think of how much better the world would be if people craved compliments about the beauty of their heart rather than the beauty of their face.

You’ll have to read the book, and don’t interrupt me. It’s distracting enough looking at you. You’ve already derailed my brain train with your face several times.

I've learned that the more people I love — and I mean really, really, completely, unconditionally love — the happier I am.

The best stories, I feel, are those that are self-deprecating and involve some thread of irony.

Saying someone would make a great politician is like saying someone would make a great serial killer. It’s not a compliment.

No one expects an eighty-five-year-old Navy SEAL stripper. No one. And that was the beauty of George.

Sorry, sometimes when I try to rhyme I end up sounding like Yoda.

This came from Sandra. "Roses are red, violets are blue, rhyming is hard. Wine.

Be beautiful for yourself, Janie. And only if you want to. If a man is worthy of you, he’ll see more beauty in who you are than in what you look like.

The true paradises are the paradises that we have lost.” ― Marcel Proust

I had an odd thought just then, that I should only ever whisper her name, and that she should always be close enough to hear it.

I hadn’t seen Jennifer in a week. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Whoever said that was a damn fool. Absence makes the heart suicidal. Take my heart for example. It hadn’t stopped hurling itself against my ribs—at odd times, day or night—for a week.

Love was never enough, not without mutual respect and a great deal of drudgery and effort. And even then, it wasn't enough. Wanting each other, being open to change, pushing each other to improve and grow--for the better--working to deserve each other, was the key.

You’re my beginning, middle, and end.

My hair is ridiculous. It's been misbehaving since birth.

I had reclusive tendencies for a reason, I couldn’t be trusted to live in the world and make decisions on my own.

Let's clear one thing up: Introverts do not hate small talk because we dislike people. We hate small talk because we hate the barrier it creates between people.” ― Laurie Helgoe, Introvert Power   ~Jennifer~

My upstairs brain and my downstairs brain engaged in a game of risk and it was downstairs’ turn to roll the dice.

God, Quinn, you have no idea how permanent I’d like this to be. I’d like us to be Twinkies and cockroaches, death and taxes. But I…

There is boring. There is sensational. There is mediocre. There is lazy. There is good. There is evil. People do implausible things all the time, and they run the gamut of moderately weird to truly extraordinary. But there is no normal. The world is an unbelievable place full of unbelievable people doing unbelievable things.

Fire burns blue and hot. Its fair light blinds me not. Smell of smoke is satisfying, tastes nourishing to my tongue. I think fire ageless, never old, and yet no longer young. Morning coals are cool: daylight leaves me blind. I love the fire most because of what it leaves behind.

Alex the waiter was on my Spank Naughty list in third place, right after Henry Calvill the actor, then Henry Calvill as Superman. He was proof that God existed, and that God loved straight women.

To friendscorts. Like escorts, but without the cash.

I might cry later, at home, while watching Steel Magnolias and dressed like a homeless person. Sometimes I applied mascara before crying just to heighten the experience.

Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

If they don’t learn about launching rockets at home, then they’ll just learn about it on the streets.” I glowered at him. “That sounds like something Hitler would say.

My previous outlook could be summed up as follows: Life is shit. Math makes sense. Fictional characters are superior to real people because real people are equal parts pitiful and predictable.

If I told you I love you now How many seconds would it take How long would you allow All that I am to break I turn away Before you can see How badly I need you to stay With me

We are most awake to the world and to our own longings and desires when we suffer.

He was so handsome I felt like filing a civil lawsuit against his parents, claiming punitive damages, pain and suffering to my psyche.

Maybe love, at its essence, is being a mirror for another person—for the good parts and the bad. Perhaps love is simply finding that one person who sees you clearly, cares for you deeply, challenges you and supports you, and subsequently helps you see and be your true self.

Does he give you zings in your things?

We can't change the past. But we can change how much importance we allow it to have over our future.

Parker, what are you doing?” “Making a funny face in an effort to make you stop staring at me like I murdered your beloved goldfish.

I was determined to stay off the see-saw of crazy

This is just your penis having the feels for my vagina. Your penis is making prank calls! and every single time your penis makes a prank call, my vagina answers the phone. And then you hang up. Or your penis claims wrong number or misdial or no hablo Ingles. It's infuriating, and it's called genital call me maybe.

With enough use, practice, and honing of skill, words were the weapons of choice used by exceptional writers and poets. Minds can be changed, hearts can be lost and broken, souls can be surrendered given the right words.

You’re a siren who doesn’t need to sing.

He was hot like lava and sexy like cake. Wait, like lava cake. Yum.

The thing is, if you can’t tell how a person feels about you, then you probably don’t want to know.

My heart keeps finding new ways to love you.

Martin wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were warm and interested. “Do you always talk like that?” “Like what? Like awesome?” “Yeah, like awesome.

Greg’s eyes narrowed on me, but this mouth curved to one side. “I don’t know . . . that feels like something Hitler would say.

Road trips can either suck monkey balls or, with the right person, they can be awesomesauce with cheesy fries.

Italians who speak Italian should be illegal, or at least come with warning labels - may make your panties explode.

Do ever respond to a question without asking another question? Does it bother you? No. But it does confirm my hypothesis. What hypothesis? He let out a heavy sigh, and with it, all the residual warmth from our flirty banther evaporated. " You're a shrink," he said. He might as well have accused me of being a traitor or a murder or a Kardeshian.

You want to know what you are to me? Fine. You’re my beginning, middle, and end.

I didn’t like trusting, I didn’t like setting greater than mild expectations

Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won’t come in.” ― Isaac Asimov

Fuck a fucking fuck of fucking ducks.

Old things have soul. Then to me she’d add on a whisper, ‘And young things have spirit.

I didn't tell her, because I didn't think it would help, but all people are lost, to varying degrees. I suspected that it’s only when we love others—through purpose, friendship, romance, or any combination thereof—that we become found.

There’s no reason to be uncomfortable.” “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just feeling weird, and I don’t know how to un-weird myself.” “Well, don’t un-weird yourself on my account. I like you weird.

That’s right. You seize that woman, Cletus. You make her yours. And then after,” still grinning, Duane dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little shake, “you give that woman your sausage.

He didn’t save us ; haven’t you been listening?” Elizabeth held an icepack to her chin where she’d been hit by an meaty elbow . “Fiona stabbed one of them with a Susan Bates needle, Marie was wielding a tequila bottle, Sandra pistol-whipped the other, and I shot the third.” “Where were Janie and Kat?” Ashley looked from me to Kat. “Hiding behind the couch like sane people!” Kat said before anyone else could speak.

My type has a romantic soul. He’ll make my brain and my heart fight over who gets him first. He does what’s right, even when it’s not easy—actually, especially when it’s not easy. He knows the value of discipline, education, honor, and restraint. And his strength of character is the only thing that outweighs the strength of his love for me.

And, when it was time for Meg to give her statement, I punched her in the face.

Where I'm from," Tom tilted his head to the side, "they call your kind a hipster or a lumbersexual, with the beard and flannel and such." Without missing beat, Jethro responded, "Ah. See, where I'm from, they call my kind a man.

I changed my mind.” “You changed—” “My. Mind.” I stopped short and faced him, placing my hands on my hips. “It’s like underpants, Jethro.” “Dirty and dark?” He smirked. “No.” I scowled at his facial expression. “A mind is like underpants because people change them all the time.” “But you don’t.” “I do change my underpants all the time, Jethro. And, for the record, I think it’s mighty rude of you to assume I don’t.” He almost rolled his eyes, but caught the urge. “I meant your mind, Cletus. You don’t change your mind.

Since I spent much of my childhood being left behind and ignored, one might think that, as an adult, moments of perceived abandonment would feel old hat. The truth is, as an adult, I am always waiting to be left behind. I’m always ready to be discarded and, therefore, I spend a significant amount of time preparing for this eventuality. I lower my expectations, I don’t seek out meaningful relationships, and I don’t engage in any sort of real intimacy, physical or otherwise. Engage is the key word here. Except, when I engage, when it happens, when I’m left behind it doesn’t feel old hat. It feels like it did the first time and it takes me by surprise. So, I don’t let it happen.

I might have been a little mesmerized for a moment as I took in the sight of her shapely backside. It was incredible. I just wanted to spank it and bite it and worship it and completely fucking defile it.

In that moment, I finally figured out what kind of handsome he was. He was fiction-handsome. Romance novel handsome; but not the clean-cut (billionaire) alpha male or even the tattooed (billionaire) bad boy archetype. He was the Scottish highlander, Viking conqueror, bodice-ripper historical romance kind of handsome; an unshaven, lion wrestling, mountain man recluse, toss you over his shoulder and plunder your goodies kind of handsome. He was both scary and swoony. I wanted to braid his beard. I also wanted to run away.

marriage is an ultimate sport in emotional multitasking. I’m never only mad at Greg. I’m mad and madly in love; angry and concerned for his wellbeing; he frustrates and delights me in the same second. We were arguing, but we were still a team.

I would not always be joy, nor would I want inert contentment. Sorrow and struggle bring gravity to the soul and to the mind, a gravity that cannot be achieved through mere happiness. We are most awake to the world and to our own longings and desires when we suffer.

Everything is temporary, Duane. This,” he gestured to our surroundings, “this is temporary. Even mountains fall. Nothing lasts forever. You got a chance at happiness, even for a week, a month, a year? You grab it and you hold on to it for as long as it lasts.

I know what you’re going to say.” “Then we can skip it and you can admit you’re wrong.” “I can’t admit I’m wrong about two things in the same day.” I brought my attention back to him, found him smirking at me. “It might bring about the apocalypse.” “Then admit it tomorrow

Ashley, I caught a bear today in the new trap. We’re taking it a hundred miles north. That’s a hundred miles closer to where you are. I’ve decided units and measurements of distance are bullshit. With you there are only two distances that matter: Here. Not here. You are not here. - Drew

I’d learned from my mother that when someone gives you a subjective compliment—meaning one that can’t be disproven and is based on opinion—but that you find to be completely false, rather than argue, it’s much better to just say thank you, or I appreciate that and strive to be that compliment. Fools fight compliments, she’d said, and sometimes other people see you better than you can see yourself.

We fought over the bill when it came. By fought I mean: I insisted loudly on paying half and he responded with beleaguered silence. Instead of discussing it or attempting to engage in my one-sided conversation, he wordlessly put his credit card in the holder; he kept it carefully out of my reach as I continued to list all the reasons we should split the check, not the least of which was that we’d agreed earlier that this was not a date, then handed it stealthily to the waiter as he passed. I was still oblivious, making my case, when Quinn signed the receipt.“Wait- what are you doing?” I looked from him to the paper slip.Silence. Scribble. Silence. “Did you just sign that? Was that the check?” My voiced hitched, my eyes wide with pseudo outrage. He glanced up at me, something like mock innocence lighting his features, and said, “I’m sorry. Did you want to split that?

I dream of your voice, daydream about it. I spend a good part of my day thinking up ways to make you laugh, counting the hours before I can hold you—just hold you—to feel you breathe, feel your heartbeat. I've memorized your walk. I even look forward to your butchering of the German language and discovering which T-shirt you'll wear. I want to tell everyone about you, how brilliant you are, how generous and kind and amazing you are, and I will keep you safe. I want to know everything about you so I can be what you need—give you what you need.

This is the tattoo of life decisions." "Tattoo of life decisions?" "Yes. Tattoo. Marriage is the forever and permanent branding of one person to another. Sure, you can get it removed - but it's expensive, it's a process, and you're never the same after. You're scarred. It's always a part of you, visible or not. You get a tattoo with the intention of a life-long commitment. You have to defend its existence and take ownership of it in front of others for the rest of your life regardless of how it sags or droops or changes shape and color - because it will! It will change and fade, and not in an aesthetically pleasing way.

The phone in my hand buzzed, demanding my attention, and a text flashed on the screen. It was from Cletus and the sight made my heart lurch and twist, a pining ache stealing my breath. As I scrolled through my notifications, I noticed several texts. Cletus: I’m sorry. I was wrong, you were right. Cletus: I just realized you probably don’t have your phone. Cletus: I think I’m going to make myself useful by retrieving your phone. Cletus: I just left your parents’ house. I have your phone. Cletus: Clearly I had your phone, if you’re reading these messages.

Reading for me, was like breathing. It was probably akin to masturbation for my brain. Getting off on the fantasy within the pages of a good novel felt necessary to my survival. If I wasn't asleep, knitting, or working, I was reading. This was for several reasons, all of them focused around the infititely superior and enviable lives of fictional heroines to real-life people. Take romans for instance. Fictional women in romance novels never get their period. They never have morning breath. They orgasm seventeen times a day. And they never seem to have jobs with bosses. These clean, well-satisfied, perm-minty-breathed women have fulfilling careers as florists, bakery owners, hair stylists or some other kind of adorable small business where they decorate all day. If they do have a boss, he's a cool guy (or gal) who's invested in the woman's love life. Or, he's a super hot billionaire trying to get in her pants. My boss cares about two things: Am I on time ? Are all my patients alive and well at the end of my shift? And the mend in the romance novels are too good to be true; but I love it, and I love them. Enter stage right the independently wealthy venture capitalist suffering from the ennui of perfection until a plucky interior decorator enters stage left and shakes up his life and his heart with perky catch phrases and a cute nose that wrinkles when she sneezes. I suck at decorating. The walls of my apartment are bare. I am allergic to most store-bought flowers. If I owned a bakery, I'd be broke and weigh seven hundred pounds, because I love cake.