Reynolds Quotes

If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.

You can't run away from who you are, but what you can do is run toward who you want to be.

It's amazing", he whispered, "to know that my purpose in life is sitting in front of me.

When there is no way, you must make a way.

What did I tell you, son?” he says, looking at Asher. “When it happens – BOOM!” He makes a motion with his hands of an explosion

A city's only ever three hot meals away from anarchy.

I like my coffee with cream and my literature with optimism.

I think I've reduced the amount of blood in my caffeine system to an acceptable level.

Had our hearts really become so numb that we needed dead bodies in order to feel the beat of compassion in our chests? Who am I if I need to be shocked back into my best self?

ANOTHER THING ABOUT THE RULES They weren't meant to be broken. They were meant for the broken to follow.

It’s the people who don’t worry—those who never have any doubts that what they’re doing is good and right—they’re the ones that cause the problems.

People always love people more when they're dead.

Or maybe go sci-fi. You sorta look like that guy who roamed outer space everybody's so crazy about." "Malcolm Reynolds?" asked Rook.

Energy is neither created nor destroyed. It just changes shape.

but if blood inside you is on the inside of someone else, you never want to see it on the outside of them

Dreams don't have timelines, deadlines, and aren't always in straight lines.

You don't have to be part of a couple to be happy, you know.

As usual, when she has her Kindle in her hand, the world could crumble around her and she wouldn't have a clue.

It's my estimation that every man ever got a statue made of him was one kind of a son of a bitch or another. --Malcolm Reynolds

History can only teach its lesson if it is remembered.

Do you think my Cyn would like a souvenir?" he asked Duncan. Duncan leaned sideways to study the dripping organ. "probably not, My lord.

Marginalia Sometimes the notes are ferocious, skirmishes against the author raging along the borders of every page in tiny black script. If I could just get my hands on you, Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien, they seem to say, I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head. Other comments are more offhand, dismissive - Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" - that kind of thing. I remember once looking up from my reading, my thumb as a bookmark, trying to imagine what the person must look like who wrote "Don't be a ninny" alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson. Students are more modest needing to leave only their splayed footprints along the shore of the page. One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's. Another notes the presence of "Irony" fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal. Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers, Hands cupped around their mouths. Absolutely," they shout to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin. Yes." "Bull's-eye." "My man!" Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points rain down along the sidelines. And if you have managed to graduate from college without ever having written "Man vs. Nature" in a margin, perhaps now is the time to take one step forward. We have all seized the white perimeter as our own and reached for a pen if only to show we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages; we pressed a thought into the wayside, planted an impression along the verge. Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria jotted along the borders of the Gospels brief asides about the pains of copying, a bird singing near their window, or the sunlight that illuminated their page- anonymous men catching a ride into the future on a vessel more lasting than themselves. And you have not read Joshua Reynolds, they say, until you have read him enwreathed with Blake's furious scribbling. Yet the one I think of most often, the one that dangles from me like a locket, was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye I borrowed from the local library one slow, hot summer. I was just beginning high school then, reading books on a davenport in my parents' living room, and I cannot tell you how vastly my loneliness was deepened, how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed, when I found on one page A few greasy looking smears and next to them, written in soft pencil- by a beautiful girl, I could tell, whom I would never meet- Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love.

When you’ve found the right one - when you see him, when you’re with him - you’ll feel like you’re coming home.

There is no expedient to which a man will not resort to avoid the real labor of thinking.

AND YOU KNOW it's weird to know a person you don't know and at the same time not know a person you know, you know?

MY MOTHER USED TO SAY, I know you're young, gotta get it out, but just remember, when you're walking in the nighttime, make sure the nighttime ain't walking into you.

Cyn stopped, drawing a deep breath. "Will you answer the fucking question or not? There's more at stake here than Raphael's Dick" Duncan choked back a laugh.

Did you ever find it?" Cyn asked. "What's that?" "Something he wouldn't give you?" "You know, Cynthia, I did. Very recently,in fact. "What was it?" "You

Having you wrapped around me all night, feeling you coming around my fingers, now wrapped in a towel and knowing what’s under that shit and not being able to do a damn thing about it is my worst fucking nightmare.

Don’t be afraid. Take chances. And when those don’t work out, take more.

When he tears his mouth from mine, he moves his lips near my ear and whispers, “You’re mine. Every inch of you belongs to me. From your sweet mouth to your even sweeter pussy and when I want it, you better give it to me.

All my life I have been reading romance novels. Those stupid books ruined me. I’ve always wanted that fire that every book I ever read talks about.

Experience is the hardest teacher. It gives you the test first, and the lesson afterward.

I swear by my pretty floral bonnet, I will end you.

The things is, you don't forfeit your whole world to prove your feelings to someone. You bring your worlds together. You get more world, not less.

Maybe it’s not how something ends that matters. Maybe it’s about having something good, even for a little while.

Trouble is, you can't run away from yourself." Coach snatched the towel from his shoulder, folded into a perfect square, and set it in the space between us. "Unfortunately," he said, "ain't nobody that fast.

You are mine, November. Until the day you leave this earth, you are mine.

Little. Don't ever let someone call your life, your dreams, little. Hear me?

I love you. Don't ever doubt that you're the best thing that has ever happened to me.

When bad things happen we can usually look up and see the moon, big and bright, shining over us. That always made me feel better. Like there's something up there beaming down on us in the dark.

You need to kiss me. All night you slept cuddled into me. You can’t do that to a man without at least kissing him.

Life is short and often stingy; feast the heart with what it craves, short of cruelty, and let the world wonder.

Why is life so complicated....?' I asked. 'To keep us from being bored,' he said.

Jesus. I love you so fucking much; you would think I was growing a vagina.

Hey,” his fingers went to my chin, lifting my eyes to his, “we can take this slowly.” “What is this?” I asked. His eyes went warm, making my pulse speed up. “This…is the beginning of us.

Because racism was alive and real as shit. It was everywhere and all mixed up in everything, and the only people who said it wasn’t, and the only people who said, “Don’t talk about it” were white. Well, stop lying. That’s what I wanted to tell those people. Stop lying. Stop denying. That’s why I was marching. Nothing was going to change unless we did something about it. We! White people!

It is hard to talk about a middle ground for something that is a fundamental right.

This is going to happen." "What?" I ask, my eyebrows drawn together in confusion. His finger comes up and skims down the center of my face, forehead to chin. "You and I, , we're going to happen.

I have been mastered at last, sweet Cyn, helpless in the face of that most human of failings, I love you.

Your truth may not look like mine, but that is not what matters. What matters is this: You can look at a scar and see hurt, or you can look at a scar and see healing.

Sometimes, when people get treated as less than human, the best way to help them feel better is to simply treat them as human. Not as victims. Just you as you. Rashad Butler, before all this.

I’m going to be your best friend.

ALIVE = A VEIL

I wanted him to know that I saw him, a guy who, even with a tear-streaked face, seemed to have two tiny smiles framing his eyes like parentheses, a guy on the ground pantomiming his death to remind the world he was alive.

There are evil people, but they still came weeping from someone's vagina.

You worry that we're becoming monsters. Merlin, we already were monsters. You didn't make us any worse.

Saying hello to something new means saying good-bye to something old and loved.

If you are embarrassed about your sex, it must mean that you feel there is something demeaning or disgusting about being female. You are all wondrously made, girls. Remember that: wondrously made, and you should carry your sex proudly, a badge of honor.

At the cross, Jesus subjects himself to disability, and his resurrected body continues to bear his scars as a sign of God's solidarity with humanity.

No one really knows why humans do what they do.

Nothing good in life comes easy, but it’s about deciding each day that you will stick with it.

I SWEAR SOMETIMES it feels like God be flashing photos of his children, awkward, amazing, tucked in his wallet for the world to see. But the world don't wanna see no kids, and God ain't no pushy parent so he just folds and snaps us shut.

Soometimes when you have something that seems too good to be true, you start waiting for it to crumble to pieces around you.

Just make a mark and see where it takes you

I used to think that when I grew up there wouldn't be so many rules. Back in elementary school there were rules about what entrance you used in the morning, what door you used going home, when you could talk in the library, how many paper towels you could use in the rest room, and how many drinks of water you could get during recess. And there was always somebody watching to make sure. What I'm finding out about growing older is that there are just as many rules about lots of things, but there's nobody watching.

Sometimes she wished for someone she could tell about her problems, just to be able to say, ‘I’m in love with a man and I can’t have him.’ But that would only lead to questions she couldn’t answer, so she kept the secret and the pain inside, hoping someday she would no longer feel as if half of her were missing.

Nobody says the words anymore, but somehow the violence still remains. If I didn’t want the violence to remain, I had to do a hell of a lot more than just say the right things and not say the wrong things.

Devour life without chewing, and pray that you don’t choke

Strength just comes in one brand— you stand up at sunrise and meet what they send you and keep your hair combed.

So that means you are almost old enough to be my grandfather." Raj laughed, Your great, great, grandfather, more likely, but whose counting?

His other tattoo runs down his side along his ribs, and says, ‘Experience is the hardest kind of teacher. It gives you the test first, and the lesson afterward.

Buck laughed, and laughter, when it's loud and heavy and aimed at you, I think can feel just as bad as a bullet's bang." -Will

May have been the losing side. Still not convinced it was the wrong one.

It looked like a biology lesson for gods, or a snapshot of the kind of pornography which might be enjoyed by sentient planets.

Mercy is the mark of a great man! (stabs defeated opponent) I guess I'm just a good man. (stabs opponent again) Well ... I'm alright.

Don't get me started on the whole Doctor-Amy-Rory thing. It's kind of like... I dunno. Suppose you'd always fancied Ryan Reynolds. That's fine, yeah. You meet someone else, who is maybe not Ryan Reynolds, but perhaps he's got the same goofy smile. And you think, 'Yeah, that's it, I'm happy.' Then Ryan Reynolds himself roars up in a camper van and says 'Hey guys! Let's all go on a road trip. Bring the boyfriend! It'll be fun.' Only Ryan Reynolds doesn't save the universe. Well, not at weekends. So I guess that's my life. Crammed in a camper van, sneaking the odd glance at Ryan, squeezing the hand of my lovely husband...

There's only so much room in one heart. You can fill it up with love or you can fill it with resentment. But every bit of resentment you hold takes space away from the love. And the resentment don't do no good noway, but look what love can do.

She looks like a fucking wet dream sitting on that bike. Her legs are covered in tight denim with black boots laced up to mid-calf. She has a leather jacket on and it’s zipped up half way, showing off a good amount of cleavage.

I don't know." That was typical Sajaki; like all the genuinely clever people Sylveste had met he knew better than to feign understanding where none existed.

...death isn't bad. It's not. It's just that life is so good. So damn good that you just wanna hold on to it, and everybody in it. But we can't. But what we can do, is appreciate it more. Y'know, smell the flowers.

Your dream is the mole behind your ear, that chip in your front tooth, your freckles. It's the thing that makes you special, but not the thing that makes you great. The courage in trying, the passion in living, and the acknowledgement and appreciation of the beauty happening around you does that.

No man wants to give a woman the power to crush his ego, and baby, I hate to tell you this, because I like that you don’t realize how beautiful you are, but you are the kind of woman that could make a man feel like he has it all or make him feel like he has absolutely nothing.

I’m the lucky one. I didn’t think that I would ever want someone to have the kind of power over me that you hold. I know my future is going to be amazing because you’re going to be by my side; and with you, everything is better.

ANAGRAM is when you take a word and rearrange the letters to make another word. And sometimes the words are still somehow connected ex: CANOE = OCEAN. Same letters, different words, somehow still make sense together, like brothers.

…and I’m thinking how nothing is as simple as you guess-not right or wrong, not Judd Travers, not even me or this dog I got here. But the good part is I saved Shiloh and opened my eyes some. Now that ain’t bad for eleven.

We can't attack a thing we don't know. That's dangerous. And...foolish. It would be like trying to chop down a tree from the top of it. If we understand how the tree works, how the trunk and roots are where the power lies, and how gravity is on our side, we can attack it, each of us with small axes, and change the face of the the forest.

if human beings really grasped how synthetic their world was - how much of it was stitched together not from direct perception, but from interpolation, memory, educated guesswork - they would go quietly mad.

Well, the man who first translated the bible into English was burned at the stake, and they've been at it ever since. Must be all that adultery, murder and incest. But not to worry. It's back on the shelves.

I don’t know what that is. I don’t have Facebook.” “You don’t have Facebook?” I gasp. “How in the world do you know what’s going on with your friends if you don’t have Facebook?” “I call them and say ‘hey, what’s going on? How are things? Anything new?’” “Oh, yeah, I guess you could do that.” He squeezes my hand and chuckles.

...Please tell me it's not like eighty degrees in Malibu." "It's not. It's raining, which means the natives are convinced the end is near and are engaged in ritual auto pileups in an attempt to appease the angry gods.

One way to tell if you're really comfortable with a person is if you can be quiet together sometimes and not feel awkward. If you don't feel obligated to say something brilliant or funny or surprising or cool. You can just be together. You can just be.

In 2012, in the United Kingdom, the number of people (regardless of race) shot and killed by police officers: 1 In 2013, in the United Kingdom, the number of times police officers fired guns in the line of duty/the number of people fatally shot: 3/0 In the United States, in the seven year period ending in 2012, a white police officer killed a black person nearly two times a week. “I’m not much of a talker,” she finished up. “You know that. But I know numbers. The numbers don’t lie, kids. The numbers always tell a story.

To see something marvellous with your own eyes - that’s wonderful enough. But when two of you see it, two of you together, holding hands, holding each other close, knowing that you’ll both have that memory for the rest of your lives, but that each of you will only ever hold an incomplete half of it, and that it won’t ever really exist as a whole until you’re together, talking or thinking about that moment ... that’s worth more than one plus one. It’s worth four, or eight, or some number so large we can’t even imagine it.

You can try your hardest to change something - exhaust every possibility- and sometimes it's still not enough. But almost means you were there. You did all you could. In the end, it's the smallest decisions that matter the most. The seemingly insignificant choices we make every day- To be honest with the people we love and ourselves- To let go of the things we can't control, and appreciate the things we can. Sometimes it's hard to see how much these things mean. But they add up. They mean everything.

There was something heartbreakingly beautiful about the lights of distant ships, I thought. It was something that touched both on human achievement and the vastness against which those achievements seemed so frail. It was the same thing whether the lights belonged to a caravel battling the swell on a stormy horizon or a diamond-hulled starship which had just sliced its way through interstellar space.

Raphael came through the door like a child's nightmare, his eyes glowing an almost solid silver with wrath, his gleaming fangs fully extended, blood painting his mouth a brilliant red, dripping from his chin to shine wetly against the tattered remains of his black shirt. His huge chest was heaving with the fury of his breath, and his hands curled into claws as his gaze found her and he growled a warning. 'Release her, human.' 'Who are you? the man rasped, fear taking away his breath, coarsening his voice. 'Release her.' The man tightened his grip, 'Come closer and she dies.' Rachael's mouth widened in a terrifying smile, 'You think to bargain with me?

She knew the minute HE arrived. Felt the warm blanket of comfort reach out to her frozen soul....He made his way down the isle and sat next to her...he didn't reach out, didn't touch her...a single tear slid out from her closed lids and she blindly reached for his hand. He took her hand in more, gathering her close, arms coming around her warm and strong as her head sank down unto his shoulder and the tears finally came soaking the lapel of his wool suit. He offered her a perfectly white handkerchief...she stared at it and wondered who carries that type of thing anymore? He looked back at her and explained, "I'm old fashioned.

I've seen marvelous things, Sunday. I've looked back from the edge of the system and seen this planet, this Earth, reduced to a tiny dot of pale blue. I know what that feels like. To think that dot is where we came from, where we evolved out of the chaos and the dirt. And I know what it feels like to imagine going further. To hold that incredible, dangerous thought in my mind, if only for an instant. To think: what if I don't go home? What if I just keep traveling? Watching that pale-blue dot fall ever further away, until the darkness swallowed it and there was no turning back. Until Earth was just a blue memory.

You were in business making meth? Do you have any idea what that drug does to people?" We weren't givin' it away," Concise snaps. "If someone was fool enough to mess himself up, that was his problem." I shake my head, disgusted. "If you build it, they will come." If you build it," Concise says, "you cover your rent. If you build it, you pay off the loan sharks. If you build it, you put shoes on your kid's feet and food in his belly and maybe even show up every now and then with a toy that every other goddamn kid in the school already has." He looks up at me. "If you build it, maybe your son don't have to, when he grow up." It is amazing -- the secrets you can keep, even when you are living in close quarters. "You didn't tell me." Concise gets up and braces his hands against the upper bunk. "His mama OD'd. He lives with her sister, who can't always be bothered to take care of him. I try to send money so that I know he's eatin' breakfast and gettin' school lunch tickets. I got a little bank account for him, too. Jus' in case he don't want to be part of a street gang, you know? Jus' in case he want to be an astronaut or a football player or somethin'." He digs out a small notebook from his bunk. "I'm writin' him. A diary, like. So he know who his daddy is, by the time he learn to read." It is always easier to judge someone than to figure out what might have pushed him to the point where he might do something illegal or morally reprehensible, because he honestly believes he'll be better off. The police will dismiss Wilton Reynolds as a drug dealer and celebrate one more criminal permanently removed from society. A middle-class father who meets Concise on the street, with his tough talk and his shaved head, will steer clear of him, never guessing that he, to, has a little boy waiting for him at home. The people who read about me in the paper, stealing my daughter during a custody visit, will assume I am the worst sort of nightmare.