Pinky Promise Quotes

I deleted your number. Although I know the tired digits by heart, scout's honor, pinky promise. I am trying to talk myself out of every emotion I'm having, and of course, it is failing to a fault. I'm still sad, I'm still mad, I'm still heartbroken, I miss you.

I want you to fucking pinky promise me you won't do it. No fan of mine will kill themselves. Don't do it, for me. I love you.

Grief, regret, pain, and of course anger. Another loss. And when you compare this one loss to the hundreds and maybe thousands that occur people stop thinking they matter. It does matter though. Every loss matters.

She stretched out her arm and locked her little finger around mine to signify the most solemn vow a six year old could make. 'I won't tell anyone. Pinky-promise.

Staring at my outstretched pinky questioningly his perfect lips twitched into a smile. Pinky promise?

Jace and I had been like that, two towers, soaring through the sky side by side, looking and feeling indestructible while we were together.

There had been a computer he had also built himself on the farthest corner of the room, but he had sold that a couple of months ago to buy me a necklace. I wore it then, it was two silver hearts linked as one. That’s what he and I were, we we’re one.

Apabila sudah cinta, hati sudah cukup untuk memandang.

His voice is deep. Soft. I know in that moment, even though it could not be more ridiculous, that if I die in there, I won’t die without falling in love. “Promise?” I ask. He nods and stretches his arm out, holding up a gloved pinky across the distance. I take it and we pinky promise. The smallest contact, but the first time we’ve ever touched. And right now that doesn’t scare me.

Do you really love me?” “Yes.” “Do you promise?” “Yes.” “Pinky swear?” “Pinky swear?” She chuckled. “Where on earth did you learn that?” “From TV. Now do it. Give me your pinky swear, hayati.

I’ve pinkie-promised myself that I’d see everything my mum wanted to but couldn’t, and what better way for her to see it than through the eyes of her grown-up (still chubby) daughter living the best life in the fucking world?

Pinky promise?” Ever rolled her eyes. “That’s so dumb.” Nan looked a little hurt at her words, but Ever saw and changed her tune. “How about Pixie promise?

Pinky promise, because afterall, pinkys never break." She laughed and took his extended pinky in her own. "I pinky promise.

Your pinky promises sit on a throne of lies,

We make a pretty good team, huh?" "The best. In fact, I was planning to do this when we got back to the Fairmont, but suddenly I don't want to wait." "For what?" Reaching into the pocket of his black pinstripe suit coat, he retrieved a huge square-cut diamond ring and slid it onto her left hand. "What do you say we make this partnership official?" Tears flooded her eyes. "Do you promise to love me forever?" His blue eyes went dark with desire and love as he nodded. "Forever and ever." "Pinky swear?" He smiled and wrapped his little finger around hers. "Pinky swear" She leaned in to kiss him. "Then you've got yourself a deal.

As for us,Etienne was right.Our schools are only a twenty-minute transit ride away.He'll stay with me on the weekends, and we'll visit each other as often as possible during the week. We'll be together.We both got our Point Zero wishes-each other.He said he wished for me every time.He was wishing for me when I entered the tower. "Mmm," I say.He's kissing my neck. "That's it," Rashmi says. "I'm outta here.Enjoy your hormones." Josh and Mer follow her exit,and we're alone.Just the way I like it. "Ha!" Ettiene says. "Just the way I like it." He pulls me onto his lap,and I wrap my legs around his waist.His lips are velvet soft,and we kiss until the streetlamps flicker on outside. Until the opera singer begins her evening routine. "I'm going to miss her," I say. "I'll sing to you." He tucks my stripe behind my ear. "Or I'll take you to the opera.Or I'll fly you back here to visit. Whatever you want.Anything you want." I lace my fingers through his. "I want to stay right here,in this moment." "Isn't that the name of the latest James Ashley bestseller? In This Moment?" "Careful.Someday you'll meet him, and he won't be nearly as amusing in person." Etienne grins. "Oh,so he'll only be mildly amusing? I suppose I can handle mildly amusing." "I'm serious! You have to promise me right now,this instant,that you won't leave me once you meet him.Most people would run." "I'm not most people." I smile. "I know.But you still have to promise." His eyes lock on mine. "Anna,I promise that I will never leave you." My heart pounds in response.And Etienne knows it,because he takes my hand and holds it against his chest,to show me how hard his heart is pounding, too. "And now for yours," he says. I'm still dazed. "My what?" He laughs. "Promise you won't flee once I introduce you to my father.Or, worse, leave me for him." I pause. "Do you think he'll object to me?" "Oh,I'm sure he will." Okay.Not the answer I was looking for. Etienne sees my alarm. "Anna.You know my father dislikes anything that makes me happy.And you make me happier than anyone ever has." He smiles. "Oh,yes. He'll hate you." "So....that's a good thing?" "I don't care what he thinks.Only what you think." He holds me tighter. "Like if you think I need to stop biting my nails." "You've worn your pinkies to nubs," I say cheerfully. "Or if I need to start ironing my bedspread." "I DO NOT IRON MY BEDSPREAD." "You do.And I love it." I blush,and Etienne kisses my warm cheeks. "You know,my mum loves you." "She goes?" "You're the only thing I've talked about all year.She's ecstatic we're together." I'm smiling inside and out. "I can't wait to meet her.

I could tell him I love him, but love seems too cliché, too overdone. I feel love, but I also feel jokes and front porch fights, pinky promises and friendship bracelets. I feel rolling my eyes when he made fun of my favorite songs, yelling at him when he paired up with Ashley Olson on our seventh-grade field day. I feel love, but I also feel our history, years and years of choosing him, the good and bad, highs and lows. Choosing to love. Not despite the flaws. Because of them. Because the mistakes prove we were together long enough to make them. Because we knew each other at our worst and even then, no one else compared.

Val hooks her pinkie finger through his. A child’s promise, the only kind they could ever make to each other. The most powerful kind, though, made with their whole hearts.

Her holding out a pinkie finger to make a promise: "What if I don't want this one?" And touches her ring finger, "What if I want this one?

What would it take to get you to leave me alone?" "I think you know exactly what it would take." "What if I make you a deal?" His eyebrows wrinkled. "A deal?" Lowering my voice,I said, "What if I promise to go with you,but not until right before the Tunnels come?" I took a step closer in my sudden enthusiasm, and he backed up. "As long as I go with you before the Tunnels actually come, it will work.If you give me these last moments with Jack alone, I'll go with you." I tried not to let my face show the lie I was telling. His face went blank,then it broke out in a wide grin. "Golly, do you pinky swear?" he said sarcastically. When I didn't answer,he continued, "Your little plan would involve me taking quite a bit of faith.You're not exactly a safe bet." I guess I wasn't surprised. But I was so tired of Cole. I looked him directly in the eye. "If you can tell when I'm lying, you should know without a doubt when I'm telling the truth." I put my face even closer to his. "Here's the truth. I.Will.Never.Ever.Go with you." Cole's eyes became tight,and then I saw something on his face I'd never seen before.Genuine pain. I took in a short breath of surprise, but I stood my ground. If the hurt on his face was as real as it looked, maybe that's what it would take to get him to back down.

Will you think about the kissing?” he asks, and I laugh again and mimic his shrug. If only he knew how much I think about the kissing. “Will you reconsider hand-holding?” he asks, instead of answering, I move my arm so it’s next to his, so we are lined up, seam to seam. He reaches out his pinky finger and links it around mine and a warm, delicious chill makes its way up my arm. We stay that way for a minute, in a pinky swear, which feels like the smallest of promises. And then I grab his whole hand and link his fingers in mine. A slightly bigger promise. Or maybe a demand: Please be part of my tribe. It’s pretty simple, really. For once, things are not complicated. Right now, right here, it’s just us, together, like this. Palm to palm. The most honest of gestures. One of the ways through. Maybe the best one.

Did you already forget how to promise?” I worm my pinkie around his and squeeze. He squeezes back and lowers our joined hands to the bed. My heartbeat is strong in my ears. Do I pull away first? Do I wait for him to? What if he doesn’t? What if we fall asleep like this? “I promise I don’t write mushy, girly stuff,” he says. “I just like to keep track of what’s going on, you know? The places I go, the things I find. The people I meet.” I could be imagining it, but the hold on my hand seems to be tighter. “I know one day I’ll want to look back,” he continues, “and I don’t trust my memory alone to remember everything. What’s important to me right now might not be later, but that doesn’t mean I want to forget it.” He yawns and his eyes get watery, tired. I fight the temptation to yawn myself. “I think you’ve just made an excellent case for diaries. Maybe I’ll start keeping one.” He yawns again and his grip on my pinkie loosens, but we’re still mostly hooked together. “It looked like you already were,” he says in a fading whisper. His eyes drift closed. I stare at his relaxed face, pale in the dim light. Nearly asleep, he looks vulnerable. Like I could tell him anything I wanted and he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. When I first met him, I thought he was attractive but not in an omg-he’s-the-most-gorgeous-thing-I’ve-ever-seen way. But somehow, now that I know him, how his light brown eyes can sear right through me, how the corner of his mouth turns up when he laughs, how he blushes when he’s caught wearing a headband, I can see that he really is beautiful. His hand twitches and his breathing slows, deep and heavy. In an instant he’s fallen asleep, and I’ve fallen even harder for him.

When everyone is seated, Galen uses a pot holder to remove the lid from the huge speckled pan in the center of the table. And I almost upchuck. Fish. Crabs. And...is that squid hair? Before I can think of a polite version of the truth-I'd rather eat my own pinky finger than seafood-Galen plops the biggest piece of fish on my plate, then scoops a mixture of crabmeat and scallops on top of it. As the steam wafts its way to my nose, my chances of staying polite dwindle. The only think I can think of is to make it look like I'm hiccupping instead of gagging. What did I smell earlier that almost had me salivating? It couldn't have been this. I fork the fillet and twist, but it feels like twisting my own gut. Mush it, dice it, mix it all up. No matter what I do, how it looks, I can't bring it near my mouth. A promise is a promise, dream or no dream. Even if real fish didn't save me in Granny's pond, the fake ones my imagination conjured up sure comforted me until help arrived. And now I'm expected to eat their cousins? No can do. I set the fork down and sip some water. I sense Galen is watching. Out of my peripheral, I see the others shoveling the chum into their faces. But not Galen. He sits still, head tilted, waiting for me to take a bite first. Of all the times to be a gentleman! What happened to the guy who sprawled me over his lap like a three-year-old just a few minutes ago? Still, I can't do it. And they don't even have a dog for me to feed under the table, which used to be my go-to plan at Chloe's grandmother's house. One time Chloe even started a food fight to get me out of it. I glance around the table, but Rayna's the only person I'd aim this slop at. Plus, I'd risk getting the stuff on me, which is almost as bad as in me. Galen nudges me with his elbow. "Aren't you hungry? You're not feeling bad again, are you?" This gets the others' attention. The commotion of eating stops. Everyone stares. Rayna, irritated that her gluttony has been interrupted. Toraf smirking like I've done something funny. Galen's mom wearing the same concerned look he is. Can I lie? Should I lie? What if I'm invited over again, and they fix seafood because I lied about it just this once? Telling Galen my head hurts doesn't get me out of future seafood buffets. And telling him I'm not hungry would be pointless since my stomach keeps gurgling like an emptying drain. No, I can't lie. Not if I ever want to come back here. Which I do. I sigh and set the fork down. "I hate seafood," I tell him. Toraf's sudden cough startles me. The sound of him choking reminds me of a cat struggling with a hair ball. I train my eyes on Galen, who has stiffened to a near statue. Jeez, is this all his mom knows how to make? Or have I just shunned the Forza family's prize-winning recipe for grouper? "You...you mean you don't like this kind of fish, Emma?" Galen says diplomatically. I desperately want to nod, to say, "Yes, that's it, not this kind of fish"-but that doesn't get me out of eating the crabmeat-and-scallop mountain on my plate. I shake my head. "No. Not just this kind of fish. I hate it all. I can't eat any of it. Can hardly stand to smell it." Way to go for the jugular there, stupid! Couldn't I just say I don't care for it? Did I have to say I hate it? Hate even the smell of it? And why am I blushing? It's not a crime to gag on seafood. And for God's sakes, I won't eat anything that still has its eyeballs.

They say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Oh, it is not just paved but more engraved with our pinky promises and solemn vows. We give our word to be more frugal with our credit cards, to commit to those yoga classes in the morning or to finally reach the appointment for sight testing scheduled one month ago. Well, I think some black magic is going around or dementors have been knocking on our doors lately because all these promises become vanished over night. Giving up our long-term projects and ideas for that sweet flavor of immediate gratification, my friends, this is not called Alohomora but procrastination. Seriously now, why do we lose the battle against procrastination leaving the lava flow of emotions taking over our plans so frequently?

They sealed this promise by hooking pinkies, the way they used to, long ago, when promises didn't hurt as much.

Within a week of this call, my brother and I embarked on our 1-week book writing journey. We used this method to write our first book. The Result: We cranked out a 200+ page book in 1 week. What I am going to share with you in the next three chapters are the shortcuts that my mentor shared with me and the ones that helped me and my brother write our book in just 7 days. It is simple and super easy … but boy, oh, boy, is it effective. It’s so simple that I’m almost embarrassed so share it. Even though it works like crazy, this method is ignored by 99% of first-time authors. That’s why they never finish their books. I’m about to share it, but I need something from you first: Can you pinky promise you won’t laugh at how simple it is? I’m serious. Did you imaginary pinky promise me yet? I guess I’ll just have to take your word on it. In a nutshell, here’s the 3-step process he taught me: Mind map → Outline → Write

...with children, promises are pinky sworn solemn, and unbreakable. They mean something.

FRIEND: Well we can still be friends. ME: Promise? FRIEND: PINKY ☺ ME: Okay ☺ can I ask you for a favor? FRIEND: Anything ☺ ME: Go shove that pinky promise up your ass. You broke my heart asshole.

Your pinky promises sit on a throne of lies,” Tony said.

I’m taking a shower,” he announces, not sparing me a glance as he moves past me and into the bathroom. This is way above my pay grade. I don’t possess the necessary training to make sense of this behavior. Twenty minutes later, I’m tucked into the cozy bed, reading glasses on, Delia’s latest manuscript on Dane’s iPad when he steps out of the bathroom. Aaaand I instantly turn into Joan of Arc, burned at the stake. Except the heat doesn’t start at my feet. Noooo. It starts between my legs and spreads forth. By the time it reaches my face, there’s a veil of sweat above my lips. Not attractive. A wall of finely sculpted flesh walks further into the room with only a scrap of towel to hide the extra good parts. There’s so much razzle dazzle to take in my mind locks onto one area. His abdominal muscles. Mother of gee oh dee, what kind of torture must one endure to get those? So cut they don’t even look real. Mentally, I’m poking them with my index finger to see if they poke back. Until something intrudes in the periphery of my vision. South of these spectacular ab muscles, the towel wrapped around his waist starts to rise. That’s when I hear a snapping of fingers. A large hand immediately comes into view and more snapping of fingers. “Eyes up, Shorty. Or you’ll get more of a show than you bargained for.” My gaze makes a swift trip back up to his face. His mouth is twisted in a grimace and his eyebrow arched. He’s not happy I was looking…whatever. “Don’t look so scared. I pinky promise not to molest you.” His eyes widen while his lips thin. “You know what, it’s still early. I’m gonna get a workout in. I’ll be back later.” A workout? At 9 p.m.? He doesn’t even wait for me to respond. He grabs his clothes in a hurry, and a moment later he’s gone. I know I don’t have a ton of experience with men but this can’t be normal behavior. This has got to be far from normal behavior.

Stop that,” Spencer said. “You’re eating a dead person’s marshmallows.” “Don’t say that. She’s dearly departed,” I said, and ate another marshmallow. “Pinky, put down the marshmallows,” he said, like he was talking me off a bridge. “That’s dead person’s marshmallows. I’ll get you your own marshmallows. I promise.” We locked eyes, and something clicked in my brain. I spit out the marshmallow. “Oh my God, you’re right. I’ve been eating dead person marshmallows. I mean, dearly departed marshmallows. Cadaver sweets. Corpse dessert.” I clutched at my throat as something else occurred to me. “What if the marshmallows are poisonous?” Spencer shrugged. “Then, I guess I’ll become the town’s most eligible bachelor, again.

If you lie, cut off the tip of a finger! Pinky promise!" ~ Nao Tomori "That's a scary promise" ~ Yu Otosaka "I felt it was better than swallowing a thousand needles.

Rowe never lets her disability get in the way, so by damn, never tell this girl she has down syndrome.

Zeus was big and strong and I was pretty sure he was half angel, half monster, which meant that all the other monsters in the hospital wouldn’t hurt me if I stayed with him. “Will you stay here all night and fight the monsters if they come to get me?” I asked him, looking around his little curtained room. “Do you have your lightning bolts with you?” “I got the bolts. You don’t worry, kid. I’ll stand watch.” “Promise?” I asked and my voice was stupid and small like a baby. Zeus held out his pinky. It was four times the size of mine and for some reason, I thought that was really cool. I linked mine onto it. “Pinky swear,” he swore. Then he hooked his thumb over our tangled little fingers to shake it against my thumb. I giggled and for the first time in a long time, when I went to sleep, I didn’t dream of monsters, I dreamt of him.

He sets his fork down and holds out his pinky. "Promise?" I lock mine in his "Promise" That's been our dealmaker for as long as we've been together. Pink promises may be old-school, but for us, they are sacred.

You promise?” I asked, the outrage making my voice break. “Pinky swear and everything? How can I trust you’ll come?” Her smile disappeared. My throat squeezed shut. The edges of my vision blackened. I tried to suck down a breath, and a bolt of hot anguish struck my chest. “Don’t question my word, Elena Brandt.” Marlowe said softly. “I don’t like it.

Promise you’ll marry me.” She holds out her pinkie. I curl mine around hers. “I promise.

Promise you'll marry me." She holds out her pinkie. I curl mine around hers. "I promise.

But in Westbrook, I have no idea what might come at us, but I know something is already in the works for both of us. I just need her to stand with me. “Why does it feel like this is just the beginning of a war?” She sniffles in my sweatshirt but I don’t fucking care. “That’s because we are in the middle of it and the enemy just showed up.” “She doesn’t want us together.” “They want us to dance to their tune for the sake of the great land.” “What do we do, Ace?” She questions, looking up at me. I lift my hand and wipe the remaining tears that fall on her cheek and my fingers. Her tears burn into my skin and I just want them fucking gone. I wish I had better words to tell her. I wish I had the courage to tell her that everything is going to be alright but I’m not going to lie to her. Everything is going to go to shit, but I refuse for that to include us. “We do what we do best.” “And what’s that?” I lean down and kiss her forehead, lingering there as I take a whiff of her. She smells like a heaven and temptation at the same time, I might just die in her scent. “We fuck shit up.” I groan, as I look down at her, feeling the tenseness of my entire body. She smiles then, a sad, tired smile. Tonight has been too much but I don’t think it’s over. Not for us anyway. “Promise me something.” She starts, looking up at me, with the wind blowing her hair into her face. I move the silky strands away, staring into her eyes—hard eyes filled with so much confusion right now. “Anything.” The entire world if you want it. The moon and the stars are yours, you rule them all. Me, baby. I promise you me. . . “Promise me that you will never lie to me. Or keep anything from me.” I had a feeling this was coming. At this point, I’m not sure if lying will keep her safe or if it will make things worse. Something tells me that the latter is much more probable now with the stench of war in the air. Will she lie to me too? “So long as you promise to do that too . . .” She nods her head, then reaches for my hand that cups her cheek. She loops our pinkies, mirroring something we used to do whenever the boys were around. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her with the boys watching but sometimes, I could sense she was sad or she could sense that something was happening with me. So, she would come stand close to me, but we wouldn’t look at each other as our pinky fingers interlocked under the table, or at our backs where no one could see. God, I’m a sucker for this girl. Been a fool for her my whole life. “I promise.” We whisper at the same time.

My Hailey. I wondered if she thought I was dumb. I wondered if she thought it bothered me. It didn't. Because I knew that Hailey and I were more than friends. We were an amalgam of pinkie promises and inside jokes and hundreds of phone calls and shared lip balms and deep confessions. We had survived puberty together. I could list every crush she'd ever had, every person she'd ever kissed. I was there when her parents split up and I held her as she cried. I knew the taste of her tears. I knew the pitch of her laugh; it lived in me. We were sisters. So Bri could get fucked.

Pinky promise me,” he said, jabbing his pinky in the vicinity of my eye.

Are you writing in your diary?” Even through the whisper I can tell he’s laughing. “No.” I feel in the dark for my backpack and cram the journal inside. “Please. Just admit you were drawing hearts around someone’s name.” “I didn’t even do that in junior high,” I say, my high-pitched whisper threatening to break into full voice. “Like I believe that.” He whisper-laughs again. A mattress spring creaks and I can hear movement near the head of his bed. A second later I can just make out Darren’s outline as he folds a pillow in half and lies on his side, facing me. I grab my own pillow and mirror him. Nina’s snoring deepens and Tate rolls over. I hold my head perfectly still and sense Darren do the same. It feels like we’re about to get caught breaking some kind of rule, lying on our beds the wrong direction. We’re quiet for so long, I’m sure Darren’s fallen back to sleep. I let my eyes close and start counting my toes again. “I keep a journal too.” His whisper seems much closer than I expected. In the soft light from above, I can see the glisten of his eyes looking right at me. I swallow and my throat makes an embarrassingly loud gurgling noise. “Is it full of hearts?” I manage to ask. The corner of his mouth pulls up. “That’s pretty much all I put in there. Hearts and flowers and more hearts.” My bed shakes from the chuckle I’m containing. “Hey, as long as it’s not poetry.” “What’s wrong with poetry?” “Nothing.” I bite my lip, worried I offended him. “You write poems?” “Sure. I’ve won awards for it.” “Oh. Wow. That’s…cool,” I manage, reluctant to admit that poetry’s one of those things I don’t understand. At all. And people who do “get” it enough to write their own make me nervous with their intellectual prowess. “Kiddiiiiing,” he draws out in a gravelly breath. “Make up your mind,” I tease, secretly hoping he really is kidding. “Do you or don’t you?” Eyes completely adjusted now, I can see him raise his hand and cross his fingers. “Don’t. Scout’s honor.” “Funny,” I say, snatching his hand and yanking it down. “Did you already forget how to promise?” I worm my pinkie around his and squeeze. He squeezes back and lowers our joined hands to the bed. My heartbeat is strong in my ears. Do I pull away first? Do I wait for him to? What if he doesn’t? What if we fall asleep like this?

And I promise you, when it’s right, you won’t ever want to lose her. Not for an hour. Not for a second. Not for a nanosecond. Because it’s the people we make our lives with that make our lives. Not our careers or titles or bank accounts. I have nothing without her, even though from the outside it looked like I had everything. I am nothing without her. An empty shell of a man with a stupid crown and some shockingly big crown jewels. But because of her, I have everything. I have two children who will have their dad wrapped around their little, tiny pinky fingers forever, I have someone to share my life with, someone to laugh with and fight with, someone to make up with, and someone to love. And the very best thing in the world is if you love someone intensely and wildly and unconditionally, and she loves you right back.

He held his hand out, his pinkie extended. “Promise?

But you’ll be back,” she states. “I’ll be back—for you and your mommy.” “Pinky promise?” She holds out her pinky with a wobbly smile. I lock our pinkies together and shake on it. “Pinky promise.