Phillip Sweet Quotes

When male authors write love stories, the heroine tends to end up dead.

I sure do miss that woman. Smart. Funny. Sweet. She never gave me a moment's trouble." "Gosh, I'm sorry about that. I knew it was boring between you two, but not that bad.

It runs in the family. And don't expect me to be ashamed. Yankees lock away loony relatives, but down here, we prop 'em up on parade floats and march 'em through the middle of town.

We’re all works in progress, honey. And believe me when I tell you that I’ve had to work harder than most.

You try spending six months sitting at somebody's bedside, waiting for them to die and then tell me that the happy-ending love story isn't one of God's good gifts.

The question is… How did a girl like Annabelle manage to talk a man like you into joining our silly little family party?” Annabelle smiled sweetly. “I promised he could tie me up afterward and spank me.

Now, now. Southern ladies don’t French-kiss and tell.

[Colin to Sugar Beth] I put my heart on every page.

There's a part of you, Gemma, that's so fucking sweet, and I want to steal that part of you, even though I know I shouldn't.

If you were a sane woman, I would, of course, behave in a more rational fashion. Since you are a lunatic, however, this is the only way.

Save your sweet talk for later, Daphne. The garbage guys just drove up with the new Dumpster." "Shut the lid after you climb in.

Sugar Beth detected the movement and shot him a look that challenged not only his manhood but also his very right to exist on the planet.

When he overheard the boys whispering that he was a queer, he said he regarded that as a compliment since so many of the world’s great men had been homosexual. Alas, I’ve been sentenced to a life mundane heterosexuality. I can only hope that a few of you will be more fortunate.

You don’t live life. You act it.

There was something about a man with a shovel, and the sweat on his neck might as well have been chocolate sauce. It wasn't fair. Brains and brawns should be two separate categories, not bundled into one irresistible package. She needed to pull herself together before she went after him with a spoon. But where to start?

Colin : “Perhaps now is the time to tell you that I have a weakness for agreeable women.” Sugar Beth : “Well, that sure does leave me out.” Colin : “Exactly. With agreeable women, I’m unendingly considerate. Gallant even.” Sugar Beth : “But with tarts like me, the gloves are off, is that it?” Colin : “I wouldn’t exactly call you a tart. But then, I tend to be broad-minded.” She suppressed the urge to dump her porridge in his lap.

When that bastard calls back, you tell him he’s won this round. I’ll marry him. But I don’t take well to being blackmailed, and tell him I intend to spend the rest of my life making him miserable, got that?

Something snapped inside her. “Of course I’m afraid! Relationships do bad things to me.” He started to respond, but the pain had gone on long enough, and she didn’t want to hear it. “You know what I want? I want peace. I want a good job and a decent place to live. I want to read books and listen to music and have time to make some female friendships that are going to last. When I wake up in the morning, I want to know that I have a decent shot at being happy. And here’s what’s really sad. Until I met you, I was almost there.

They reached the carriage house. When she turned the knob, he got all critical again. “Why isn’t this door locked?” “It’s Parrish. There’s not much point.” “We have crime here, just as any other place does. Keep this door locked from now on.” “Like that’s going to stop you. All you’d have to do is give it one good kick, and – “ “Not from me, you ninny!” “I hate to be the one to break the bad news, but if they find my body, you’re the one with the biggest grudge.” “It’s impossible to hold a rational conversation with you.

Mummy’s coming home late tonight. It’ll be just we guys, so we can get drunk and watch porn.

He’d lapped at her ankles like a lovesick pup, and she’d been exactly what she was now, a woman born too beautiful and too rich to worry about a small thing like integrity.

In case you’re not bright enough to figure it out, there’s a real upside to having a sinner like me answer your phone. I lie, and your conscience stays clear.

It was one of the two questions people most frequently asked writers, and if he invited her to join him, it wouldn’t take her long to get around to the other one. “I’ve always wanted to know, Colin. Where do you authors get your ideas?” We steal them. From extraterrestrials. There’s a warehouse outside Tulsa…

The Cinderella story in reverse. I only wish there were ashes in the fireplace so I could order you to sweep them out.

Hold it right there. The only agreement we ever had was that you intended to make me as miserable as possible, and I intended to courageously make the best of an intolerable situation like valiant Southern women have always done.

His gaze was a lot steadier than her heartbeat. “She’s the reason for those whispered phone calls I used to overhear, isn’t she?” “Don’t be silly. I was talking to my lover.” “She told me she lives at a place called Brookdale. After I hung up, I did a little research on the Web. Your talent for obfuscation continues to amaze me.” “Hey, I haven’t obfuscated in weeks. Makes you go blind.

And he discovered, finally, the source of the honey-sweet sound. The sound was music. The sound was King Phillip playing his guitar and singing for his daughter, the Princess Pea, every night before she fell asleep. Hidden in a hole in the wall of the princess's bedroom, the mouse listened with all his heart. The sound of the King's music made Despereaux's soul grow large and light inside of him. Oh," he said, "it sounds like heaven. It smells like honey.

Damn, I love you," Dallie murmured. "My sweet little Fancy Pants, driving me half crazy, nagging me to death." He kissed her again, long and slow. "You're almost the best thing that ever happened to me." "Almost?" she murmured against his lips. "What's the best?" "Being born good-looking." And then he kissed her again.

People will always try to steal your power. When you do well, they’ll say it’s only because you’re rich and your parents are big shots. People who care about you will try to steal your power, too, but they’ll go about it differently. When you fail at something, they’ll try to make you feel better by saying that nobody’s good at everything, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. They might tell you not to feel bad about screwing up a math test because math’s hard for girls. Or they’ll say you shouldn’t worry so much about injustice in the world because you’re only one person. And even though they mean well, they’ll be making you less than what you can be.

A couple of nights ago I had an erotic dream about Edward Norton.

When it’s your fourth marriage, you tend to lose faith in superstitions.

Él rezaba para que sus alas de ángel la mantuvieran a salvo.

It was over. The world will continue to turn and there will still be jobs and seasons and kissing and chocolate; there just won’t be any music in it any more. We can bite the fruit and understand that it is sweet but not taste it.

It was a bitch living with your old English teacher, especially when your old English teacher wasn’t old at all, and he had exactly the kind of body that most appealed to her, tall and lean, broad in the shoulder, narrow at the hip. Then there was his brain. It had taken her a lot of years to find that particular part of a man appealing, but she’d finally gotten in the habit, and she couldn’t seem to give it up.

His loss. I know a hell of a lot more about headstrong teenage girls than he does.” Colin gave her his most quelling look. “You’re baiting him again.” Ryan studied first one of them and then the other. “What’s going on with you two?” “Nothing.” Unfortunately, they spoke together, automatically making them look like liars. Sugar Beth recovered first and handled the situation in her own way. “Relax, Ryan. Colin’s done his best to get rid of me, but I’m blackmailing him with some unsavory facts I’ve unearthed about his past, which may or may not involve the ritual deaths of small animals, so if my body ends up in a ditch somewhere, tell the police to start their interrogations with him. Plus you might warn everybody to be careful with their cats.

The first week of school they spotted him using a tortoise-shell cigarette holder. When he'd overheard some of the boys whispering that he looked like a queer he'd gazed down his long nose at them and said he regarded that as a compliment since so many of the world's great men had been homosexual. Alas I've been sentenced to a life of mundane heterosexuality. I can only hope a few of you will be more fortunate.

A Colin el whisky se le removió en el estómago. Ella se quebraría antes que doblegarse un ápice. Tuvo ganas de sacarla a rastras del salón y quitarle su obstinación a besos.

-Somos todos obras inacabadas, pequeña. Y créeme cuando te digo que he tenido que trabajar más duro que la mayoría. -Creo que ha hecho un buen trabajo.

There was a sweetness about her that was as unexpected as it was disturbing because it made her so much more vulnerable than he wanted her to be.

I finished reading, not from the sweet, low pathos of the tale, but from the knowledge of the writer’s success. It is so difficult to do anything well in this mysterious world.

Honey, when I look at you, you're right, I don't see anything similar to those other women. But don't you see? That's what makes you so special. That's why I love you.

Todo el mundo comenta cómo salvaste la vida de Winnie anoche _ Lo que hice fue hacerle una zancadilla cuando llegamos a la puerta y luego arrastrarla a la calle, para que todos pensara que la había salvado. Él sonrió y levantó su tazón en señal de brindis. _ Bien hecho. _ Veo que has pasado demasiado tiempo en mi poco recomendable compañía.

Mientras recogía las bolsas de la compra, un familiar Lexus berlina color coñac se detuvo a su lado. La ventanilla del conductor bajó apareció el rostro del Duque del Infierno en persona, sonrisa burlona incluida. _ Pareces una vagabunda. Sugar Beth supuso que lo decía por las bolsas, no por sus tejanos o su cazadora de motera. _ Gracias, que tengas un buen día tú también. Él la contempló a través de unas gafas sin montura. _ ¿Quieres que te lleve? _ ¿Dejas subir plebeyos a tu carruaje? _ Hoy me siento benevolente. _ Es mi día de suerte.

No, amor mío, no estás embarazada, y yo me niego a ser manipulado. Esta conversación ya me resulta insoportablemente tediosa. Te quiero con todo mi corazón y... ¿Estás llorando, cariño? Sí moqueó Sugar Beth_ . Casi no he hecho otra cosa desde que te fuiste ¿ Es eso cierto? Me temo que sí. Espléndido Y colgó.

Tonterías. Soy el hombre más adecuado. Nadie puede serte menos peligroso que yo. El cuerpo de obrero desnudo que se apretaba contra ella no parecía poco peligroso. _ ¿Cómo has llegado a esta conclusión? _ Nos entendemos perfectamente. Yo soy sarcástico y desagradable. Tú eres terca y manipuladora. _ Que Dios nos bendiga.

Has creado esta personalidad alternativa, una mujer tan dura que no le importa la opinión de los demás. Tan dura que se enorgullece de proclamar sus defectos a los cuatro vientos, sólo que estos defectos (no te lo pierdas, ésta es tu auténtica genialidad), estas taras que exhibes a la vista pública, nada tienen que ver con tu verdadera personalidad.

A veces un muro no es más que un muro, Sugar Beth. En tu caso, sin embargo, la erección de barreras es una ocupación preocupante. No vives la vida, sólo finges vivirla.

Intenta pasar seis meses junto a la cama de un moribundo y luego dime que las historias de amor con final feliz no son una bendición de Dios.

Que una persona tenga conciencia de determinados rasgos de su carácter no significa necesariamente que sea capaz de ponerles remedio

Sweet spoils won on a silken battlefield. Every inch belonged to him, and he would take it as he wished.

We all have a lot of rubbish in our pasts. At some point, we need to step over the piles and get on with it.

Escúchame bien, Ryan Galantine. Cuando ese bastardo te vuelva a llamar, dile que ha ganado este asalto. Me casaré con éL Pero no me gusta que me chantajeen, y dile que pasaré el resto de mi vida haciendo miserable la suya. ¿Lo has entendido? Ryan se incorporó sobre las almohadas. Parecía soñoliento y vertido. Sugar Beth insistió. _ Hablo en serio. Si tanto quiere este matrimonio, lo tendrá pero más le vale estar preparado para sufrir las consecuencias. _ Se dio la vuelta, se dirigió hacia la puerta, bajó las escaleras y se marchó. Ryan miró a su mujer. _ Se merecen uno al otro.

A deep acceptance of life “just as it is” allows you to be more fully present in your life moment by moment, no matter how difficult or how sweet it is, and it empowers you to act more from your deepest values. Regardless of the circumstances of your life at any given time, your experience is richer, more alive.

She wasn’t going to let them make her cry. She’d cried enough self-pitying tears in her life to drown a goat, and all it had gotten her was a big fat nothing. She made herself take a deep breath, but it didn’t help break the traffic jam in her throat. Might as well call a spade a spade. That traffic jam came from shame. There was a big difference between knowing people still hated your guts and seeing it in their faces.

La gente siempre intentará quitarte el poder. Si las cosas te van bien, dirán que es porque eres rica y tus padres son unos peces gordos. También la gente que te aprecia intentará quitarte el poder, aunque éstos lo harán de otro modo. Si fracasas en lo que sea, intentarán alentarte diciendo que nadie es perfecto y que no deberías ser tan exigente contigo misma. Te dirán, por ejemplo, que no debes preocuparte por haber suspendido un examen de matemáticas, porque las mates son difíciles para las chicas. O que no debes indignarte tanto por la injusticia que reina en el mundo, porque no podrás remediarla. Y por muy buenas que sean sus intenciones, de esa manera estarán pidiéndote menos de lo que puedes ser. _ Sintió una opresión en el pecho y trató de librarse con otra respiración profunda_ . Una manera de afianzar tu poder es aprendiendo cuándo hay que dar un paso adelante, cuando reconocer que estabas equivocada y cuándo plantear batalla.

woman like you?” Despite her relation to his sworn enemy, Beck couldn’t deny the fact that the girl he’d met in college was all grown up and one hell of a knockout. “You’re sweet.” She sniffed and he was afraid he’d triggered a crying jag, but she forced a smile instead. “He found someone who completes him,” she said, using quotation marks with her fingers. “And he hopes I find the love and excitement he has.” She finished with more finger quotes. She sniffed again. “But the bastard did it by text. And I’m celebrating because everything is paid for, and I think just maybe he did me a favor. Even if I sometimes want to cry.” She fluttered her thick black lashes, and Beck was afraid she’d do just that. He didn’t know what to make of Chloe or what to do with her. On the one hand, he wanted to beat the crap out of the man who’d hurt her. On the other, he needed to remember she was Linc’s sister and he ought to stay far away. “Anyway.” Chloe interrupted his

Beatriz breathed in the sweet aromas that lately appealed to her. Those at the forefront were of various honeys in the wooden honey pots anchoring the tablecloth: lavender, orange blossom, and eucalyptus. But the room was a cornucopia of visual and olfactory treats. Marcona almonds were roasting in Reuben's old wood oven, and from the kitchen downstairs wafted scents of all the spices they would be offering their customers fresh over the counter in cloth bags: cinnamon stalks, cloves, anise, ground ginger, juniper berries, finely grated nutmeg. Nora and Beatriz packaged all the spices themselves. They would also offer ribbon-tied bags of Phillip's tea creations served in the café: loose leaves of lemon verbena, dried pennyroyal, black tea with vanilla. All around the room, on the floor, shelves, and counters, were baskets and baskets and baskets of irresistible delights: jars of marmalades and honeys and pure, dark, sugarless chocolate pieces ready to melt with milk at home for the richest hot chocolate. Customers could even buy jars of chocolate shavings, to sprinkle over warmed pears and whipped cream, or over the whipped cream on their hot chocolates. They sold truffles white and dark, with or without rum, biscuits with every variation of nuts and spices, bars small or large of their own chocolate, and dried fruits dipped in chocolate.

IN HIS 2005 COLLECTION of essays Going Sane, Adam Phillips makes a keen observation. “Babies may be sweet, babies may be beautiful, babies may be adored,” he writes, “but they have all the characteristics that are identified as mad when they are found too brazenly in adults.” He lists those characteristics: Babies are incontinent. They don’t speak our language. They require constant monitoring to prevent self-harm. “They seem to live the excessively wishful lives,” he notes, “of those who assume that they are the only person in the world.” The same is true, Phillips goes on to argue, of young children, who want so much and possess so little self-control. “The modern child,” he observes. “Too much desire; too little organization.” Children are pashas of excess. If you’ve spent most of your adult life in the company of other adults—especially in the workplace, where social niceties are observed and rational discourse is generally the coin of the realm—it requires some adjusting to spend so much time in the company of people who feel more than think. (When I first read Phillips’s observations about the parallels between children and madmen, it so happened that my son, three at the time, was screaming from his room, “I. Don’t. Want. To. Wear. PANTS.”) Yet children do not see themselves as excessive. “Children would be very surprised,” Phillips writes, “to discover just how mad we think they are.” The real danger, in his view, is that children can drive their parents crazy. The extravagance of children’s wishes, behaviors, and energies all become a threat to their parents’ well-ordered lives. “All the modern prescriptive childrearing literature,” he concludes, “is about how not to drive someone (the child) mad and how not to be driven mad (by the child).” This insight helps clarify why parents so often feel powerless around their young children, even though they’re putatively in charge. To a preschooler, all rumpus room calisthenics—whether it’s bouncing from couch cushion to couch cushion, banging on tables, or heaving bowls of spaghetti onto the floor—feel normal. But to adults, the child looks as though he or she has suddenly slipped into one of Maurice Sendak’s wolf suits. The grown-up response is to put a stop to the child’s mischief, because that’s the adult’s job, and that’s what civilized living is all about. Yet parents intuit, on some level, that children are meant to make messes, to be noisy, to test boundaries. “All parents at some time feel overwhelmed by their children; feel that their children ask more of them than they can provide,” writes Phillips in another essay. “One of the most difficult things about being a parent is that you have to bear the fact that you have to frustrate your child.

She gazed around the kitchen. Where was the junk food? The bags of tortilla chips and tubs of Ben & Jerry’s? Where was the stockpile of potato chips, the stash of peanut butter cups? No salty, crunchy things. No sweet indulgences. In its own way, this kitchen was as creepy as the other one.

Stay true to yourself, yet always be open to learn. Work hard, and never give up on your dreams, even when nobody else believes they can come true but you. These are not cliches but real tools you need no matter what you do in life to stay focused on your path.

Sign Up Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Follow Us: Phillip Sweet Quotes Stay true to yourself, yet always be open to learn. Work hard, and never give up on your dreams, even when nobody else believes they can come true but you. These are not cliches but real tools you need no matter what you do in life to stay focused on your path.

I like 'Rose' better, I think. 'Aurora' implies something ethereal and unattainable. Not like a beautiful, sweet-smelling flower.

I feed off men. I lure them with my sexual tricks, then bite off their heads while they sleep.” “Ain't She Sweet?.

His muscles twitched in anticipation, but he moderated his steps, determined not to let his absolute weakness for the woman propel him into an unmanly display of emotion. Especially here, under her father’s scrutiny. She, on the other hand, began a jog. Then she broke into a skirt-lifting sprint—as she’d done outside the burning fort. Except this time, she was not running to Phillip, and the only object in flames was Totka’s throat as it burned with the effort to swallow. He braced himself to receive her all-out run, but when she loosed his name on a jagged cry, he dropped his bow, quiver, and decorum and hastened to meet her. She flew hard into his arms, laughing and crying at once, knocking the wind from his chest and the good sense from his brain. His rogue mouth went in search of hers. Despite her happy little murmurings and the sighs hot at his ear, he regained himself and angled away, pressing his cheek to hers, unable to draw her close enough. Her body was softer than he recalled, warmer, more eager. And Little Warrior was right—she smelled as sweet as honey. Nose buried in his shirt, she inhaled until her ribs strained against his hold. “Tell me you’ve come to take me home,” she said on a contented discharge of breath.

Ryan’s a very special man, and the sad fact is . . . if you’re not careful, Sugar Beth’s going to steal him from under your nose.” “Leeann’s right,” Merylinn said. “Ryan is special. You can’t let her take him away from you. You have to fight for him.” “I’m special, too,” Winnie heard herself say. “And I think it’s about time Ryan Galantine fought for me.

Take a break for a second.” I gingerly sit down next to him. He scoots closer until his hip touches mine. I scoot away from him, but he scoots even closer. I look up, and I can’t keep from grinning at him. “You’re in my space,” I warn. “I like being in your space. I kind of want to be all up in your space,” he says, his voice teasing and playful. But then he pats his shoulder. “God didn’t give me broad shoulders just to hold up my T-shirts.” He uses his hand to push my head onto his shoulder. He’s quiet for a moment, but then he says, “Let me take some of your burden, Sky. Tell me what’s wrong.” He sits quietly and just breathes. He doesn’t say anything more. I sit there and take in the scent of him. It’s woodsy and manly and clean. It’s Matt, and I like it. I don’t want to cry anymore. I want to climb into his lap and kiss him. “Oh God,” I moan. “Nope. I’m just Matt,” he says with a chuckle. I punch his shoulder playfully. He pretends to fall to the side, but he pops right back up, getting even more in my space. “Is this about your boyfriend?” he asks quietly. I shake my head. I had almost forgotten about Phillip. “No,” I start. But I can’t get the words together. “Never mind.” He sits quietly, and then he starts to whistle. He’s not letting me off without an explanation. “It’s just that I never had a family.” There. I said it. Now he can pity me. “So when Seth was worried, not just about his sisters but about me too, it made me feel a little emotional.” I shrug. It sounds even more stupid now that it’s out of my mouth. “That’s all. I know it’s stupid.” He doesn’t say anything. He just nods. “I just am having a hard time finding my place in this situation. But I think I’m finding it, and it feels good.” He arches his brow. “So, that was a good cry?” he asks. “That was a very good cry.” A grin tugs at the corners of my lips even though I’m still feeling really emotional. “Okay,” he says with a nod. He pats his shoulder. “You want to cry on me some more? I kind of like having you touch me.” He grins and opens his arms in invitation. “I’m really good at hugs, too.” I bite my lower lip, trying not to grin. “I’ll pretend it’s a chore if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll even groan out loud.” This time I laugh. I can’t help it. He’s so damn sweet. “Is that a no?” he asks, deadpan. “I’m not usually this emotional,” I say. He shrugs. “All women say that. It usually precedes an episode of batshit craziness.” “Are you calling me crazy?” He shakes his head vehemently. “Definitely not.” He smiles. “There are a lot of words I would call you. Crazy isn’t one of them.” Now I’m intrigued. “Do tell.” “You’re fucking gorgeous as hell,” he says. His eyes drag up and down my body. Heat creeps up my cheeks. “And you’re smart. And loyal. And you’ve bitten off more than you can chew by taking on three kids that aren’t even yours.” I like that he thinks I’m smart. And loyal. “And you’re not mine.” He gets to his feet and reaches down to take my hand. “So we had better get out of the stairwell before I do something stupid like kiss you.

Everything in the bathroom was white. I sat on the toilet and looked at my thighs nostalgically. Soon they would be perpetually entwined in his thighs, never alone, not even when they wanted to be. But it couldn’t be helped. We had a good run, me and me. I imagined shooting an old dog, an old faithful dog, because that’s what I was to myself. Go on, boy, get. I watched myself dutifully trot ahead. Then I lowered my rifle and what actually happened was I began to have a bowel movement. It was unplanned, but once begun it was best to finish. I flushed and washed my hands and only by luck did I happen to glance back at the toilet. It was still there. One had to suppose it was the dog, shot, but refusing to die. This could get out of hand, I could flush and flush and Phillip would wonder what was going on and I’d have to say The dog won’t die gracefully. Is the dog yourself, as you’ve known yourself until now? Yes. No need to kill it, my sweet girl, he’d say, reaching into the toilet bowl with a slotted spoon. We need a dog. But it’s old and has strange, unchangeable habits. So do I, my dear. So do we all. I flushed again and it went down. I could tell him about it later.

You’re so pretty, sugar.

How at first a sweetness; how, by turns, a gift, a darkness.

Facts don't change. How we see them does.

People will always try to steal your power. When you do well, they'll say it's only because you're rich and your parents are big shots. People who care about you will try to steal your power, too, but they'll go about it differently. When you fail at something, they'll try to make you feel better by saying that nobody's good at everything, and you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. They might tell you not to feel bad about screwing up a math test because math's hard for girls. Or they'll say you shouldn't worry so much about injustice in the world because you're only one person. And even though they mean well, they'll be making you less than what you can be.

One way to grab your power is to learn when you need to step up to the plate and admit you're wrong, and when you need to dig in your heels because it's the right thing to do." -- Sugar Beth, Ain't She Sweet

The oversize jar that held Regan’s collection of beach glass was stored at the back of his closet, shoved there years ago because, like so much else in the house, it triggered bad memories. But as he pulled it out and carried it downstairs, the edges of his dark mood lifted for the first time all day. The sweet, generous side of Regan’s nature would have loved passing on her precious beach stones to Livia, one little girl to another. As he descended the stairs that his sister had raced up and down a dozen times a day, something brushed past him. Something warm. Invisible. He stopped where he was and shut his eyes, the glass jar cool in his hands, his sister’s face vivid in his mind. Regan smiling at him. A smile that said Be happy.