Rs Love Quotes

Love will make you reckless. It can drag out parts of you that common sense and fear usually keep hidden away. Because love is selfless and selfish.

Cue dream sequence of Liam running slowly on a beach carrying me in his arms. I love how he's strong enough to carry me with one arm while using the other arm to feed the seagulls. He's such an animal lover like that.

That’s not surprising to hear. Your daughter is definitely in love with me, Mrs. Bryant. She hasn't told me yet, but she will soon.

The most profound, life-altering gift you can offer the Indie writer you love is to TELL as MANY avid readers as you are able.

Oh good, apparently when you have sex with Brooklyn Heart, you leave with a fruit basket. What a lovely experience.

He was the northern star. I had no choice but to become enveloped in his brightness and let it coax me toward him. Wanting him was an unconscious impulse, like taking my next breath.

Oh!” said the voice. “Well. How lovely to meet you. What did you say your name was? I’m Roger Malory.” He was doing something extremely complicated with his r’s that made him difficult to understand. “Blue. My name’s Blue Sargent.” “Blair?” “Blue.” “Blaize?” Blue sighed. “Jane.” “Oh, Jane! I thought that you were saying Blue for some reason. It’s nice to meet you, Jane.

For the second time in my life I walk away from Tucker not wondering if I’ll ever see him again or wishing that I won’t but wishing that when I do see him again he finally feels the same way that I do.

I came for you. I love you, Beck. I needed you to follow your dreams so that I could follow mine alongside you.

He seemed like the type that kept people at arm's length, maybe out of arrogance or maybe from personal choice- either way, I wanted to know him so that those eyes were narrowed and focused solely on me.

We have a peppy slogan over the front gate. We Focus on the Three R’s: Rigor, Relevance, and Relationships. Really? Then, why do I feel so empty?

I'm not going to let you walk out on me again.” “I'm not walking out on you Tucker. I'm walking out on us.

Georgie, have you gone insane?” I smiled. “No, brother. All is well.” “Then why on Earth are you in Italy?” “To find love, of course.

I’ve been deprived of this kiss for so long, and now that it’s happening, I’d like it to last for at least one to two decades. We’ll barricade the windows and door. We’ll tear the pages from the English textbooks stacked against the back wall and make a cozy sex nest. We’ll survive by taking little nibbles of each other every now and then, like little love cannibals.

Something about you caught me by surprise Though I always knew you’d be my demise. “I didn’t want you to love me Didn’t want you thinking of me   So I kept my distance Tried to ignore your existence I was blinded by my pride With you, the Jekyll to my Hyde   But that’s where you found me Baby, that’s where you unwound me   Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath But to look at you, that’s a dance with death   I’d risk it all, For you I would You’d make me fall, And fall I would   Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath But to be by you, that’s a dance with death. “I thought once was enough You turned to me and called my bluff, Maybe I should have walked away but I couldn’t resist, I needed replay after replay   Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath But to give you up, that’s a dance with death   We were over from the start I never said I’d give my heart So now it’s time for this to end After all, a friend is just a friend   Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath But to give you up, that’s a dance with death   So now it’s time for this to end After all, a friend is just a friend.

Because he’s the love of my life. And he’s my dog. Well,

No, I assure you. I have yet to have a relationship in real life, but I've read lots of Cosmo and I used to take a ton of those quizzes about love." "Wow... that's really reassuring. NOT.

Love is supposed to make us fools.

When I was with him, there were no consequences

- Do you want to know why I followed you into that funeral parlor? - You said you followed me on a whim. - That´s the truth, but there´s more to it. I was parking at the gas station across the street and I saw you get out of your car. I didn´t think much of it until you pausen on your way inside the shop. You tilted your head toward the sun and closed your eyes, like a prisoner stepping outside after years of being locked away. It seemed so odd. No one just stops and appreciates life like that, but you did. I could see your smile from across the street and I couldn´t look away. I knew in that moment that I was completely uninterested in pursuing a life in wich I didn´t cross that street and meet you.

After that, he turns back to me, locks his gaze with mine, and asks simply, “How is someone supposed to confess their love? Should I have ordered up dinner or dessert for us? Have you eaten? I haven’t even thought to ask.” What?!

It wasn't until I found the courage to look inthe mirror and say, 'I Love You' with conviction that I felt truly amazing! If no one loves you, love yourself!

all we have left are broken memories of drunken nights, where I told you I loved you and you lied and said you loved me too.

I need to breathe” I manage to get out, his hold on me loosens slightly. “I need you

No one has the capacity to judge the value of human life.

To love is to settle, to feel calmed by a lover’s embrace. It’s why people often define home as a person, not a place.

Remind me to never let you wear red unless it’s in our bedroom,” he smirked, taking my appearance in with a confident air. “Like the dress?” “I love the woman wearing the dress,

Where other girls would have a framed picture of a boy band, she has a photograph of Jean-Luc Picard on her nightstand. I love her.

No. Love shmove—I don’t care about that. Promise me you’ll always be my best friend.” He laughs, tips his head down, and kisses my cheek. “I thought that was obvious, Hot Lips. Best friends, forever.

He stares down at me with a cocked brow. “I won’t give you what you want.” “And what’s that?” “A reaction.” I feign an overly dramatic sigh. “I wish you would. God, I’d love to see it. Do you ever get truly mad? Sad? Happy?

I want him to tell me that he still loves me. That he can't imagine life without me, the way I can't imagine my life without him. But he doesn't. And he won't. Because he's Finn. And Finn doesn't need anybody. And Finn doesn't beg.

You should know I never intended to fall in love again. I never imagined I’d have a reason to move on, and when you came along, I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t know how to handle you. You were… a lot to take in at once. I tried to keep my wall up, but you blew right past it.” She grinned. “Tramontana.” Her Italian accent had improved dramatically. “Exactly.” I leaned forward and cupped her cheek, stroking my thumb across her skin. “You’re the woman I love now, Georgie. The only woman.

...the white man's God was a lot like him. He never for a second figured there was anyone else already here. He figured it was all just here waiting for Him to do whatever He wanted to with it. And boy, do white people love to do stuff, jut to do it.

For 18 years, I loved you. Now, I've loved you for 28.

He was still having a hard time understanding how anyone thought getting the accounting department together to get drunk and throw axes was a good idea but whatever.

Did I mention how much I’ve missed you?

Am I allowed to love you?

I guess you were right—the only people who don’t know Lucas loves Daisy are Lucas and Daisy,” my mom says, and Mrs. Thatcher agrees.

Loving you would be as easy as taking a breath But to look at you, that’s a dance with death

You know I’m in love with you, right?

I get that you’re drunk and injured, and I love you— but this is too much,” she said, throwing a towel at me. “I just saw your entire vagina.” I smiled, drunk with self-pity. “Pretty good, right?

I love you, Kinsley Bryant. I love you because you aren't afraid to go for your dream. I love you because you had the balls to ask me to show you my tattoos when you didn't even know me. I love you because you're so talented and yet so humble. You've been given this tremendous gift and you push yourself every day to become even better. You're inspiring to be around and I love you. Please, believe that.

I love Auggie very, very much,” she said softly. I can still remember her Portuguese accent, the way she rolled her r’s. “But he has many angels looking out for him already, Via. And I want you to know that you have me looking out for you. Okay, menina querida? I want you to know that you are number one for me. You are my ...” She looked out at the ocean and spread her hands out, like she was trying to smooth out the waves, “You are my everything. You understand me, Via? Tu es meu tudo.” I understood her. And I knew why she said it was a secret. Grandmothers aren’t supposed to have favorites. Everyone knows that. But after she died, I held on to that secret and let it cover me like a blanket.

The fact is, I was given a heart. I was given this gift of life that few receive and I had to decide how I wanted to use it. Not how others deem noble. So I finally stripped away the fear and anxiety, and suddenly life become crystal clear.

Three months before I met you, I was looking for the next thrill, the next party, the next girl. And then I walked in and found you perched in my kitchen like the most beautifully confident creature I'd ever seen, and I knew you'd be a wildfire.

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Brie wasn’t a woman that would try to fit whatever ideal mold I thought I had for a partner; she was a woman that shattered the mold and made me feel the excitement of young love again— the kind of love where you never know what to expect next and you can’t wait to find out.

It's just- we were reading that Tennyson poem in your class the other day, the one that ends with 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'" "Oh, Tennyson? He's a quack." "But you said they made him a lord because of the strength of his poetry." "Did I say that?

you, not riot grrrl, but rolling all of your R’s. less betty paige, more betty la fea. less zoey deschanel, more chilindrina. not trying to be more white—just more loved. just trying to find a song that is about the girl who is always fixing, snipping away at the bits of herself that are always becoming

She had. She’d touched him, washed him. The words came easier under his dark brown gaze. “Master R’s.” “Good. Kimberly, are you afraid of Master R?” “Sometimes.” His laugh rang out, the darkly male one she loved that meant she’d surprised him—delighted him. His grin flashed at her. “There’s an answer to warm a dom’s heart.

I Love Thee I love thee, as I love the calm Of sweet, star-lighted hours! I love thee, as I love the balm Of early jes'mine flow'rs. I love thee, as I love the last Rich smile of fading day, Which lingereth, like the look we cast, On rapture pass'd away. I love thee as I love the tone Of some soft-breathing flute Whose soul is wak'd for me alone, When all beside is mute. I love thee as I love the first Young violet of the spring; Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd, To scented blossoming. I love thee, as I love the full, Clear gushings of the song, Which lonely--sad--and beautiful-- At night-fall floats along, Pour'd by the bul-bul forth to greet The hours of rest and dew; When melody and moonlight meet To blend their charm, and hue. I love thee, as the glad bird loves The freedom of its wing, On which delightedly it moves In wildest wandering. I love thee as I love the swell, And hush, of some low strain, Which bringeth, by its gentle spell, The past to life again. Such is the feeling which from thee Nought earthly can allure: 'Tis ever link'd to all I see Of gifted--high--and pure!

Oh, a wan cloud was drawn o’er the dim weeping dawn As to Josie’s side I returned at last, And the heart in my breast for the girl I lov’d best Was beating, ah, beating, how loud and fast! While the doubts and the fears of the long aching years Seem’d mingling their voices with the moaning flood: Till full in my path, like a wild water wraith, My true love’s shadow lamenting stood. But the sudden sun kiss’d the cold, cruel mist Into dancing show’rs of diamond dew, And the dark flowing stream laugh’d back to his beam, And the lark soared aloft in the blue: While no phantom of night but a form of delight Ran with arms outspread to her darling boy, And the girl I love best on my wild throbbing breast Hid her thousand treasures with cry of joy.

Because music is like hope. Between the strings in this box," he ran his fingers along the keys of the piano and began to play once again, "and the strings in the heart, there is nothing but air and magic. Songs can lead men laughing into battle, lay strong men low, make you fall in love, let you visit with the dead. Ain't nothing real to it - just words and rhythm - but it's got power, all the same.

Belial came last, than whom a spirit more lewd, Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love Vice for itself: to him no temple stood Or altar smoked; yet who more oft than he In temples and at altars, when the priest Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled With lust and violence the house of God. In courts and palaces he also reigns And in luxurious cities, where the noise Of riot ascends above their loftiest tow'rs

Noah prodded her with a cold finger. “Tell him who you are.” “I’m working with Gansey,” Blue added. “On the ley line.” “Oh!” said the voice. “Well. How lovely to meet you. What did you say your name was? I’m Roger Malory.” He was doing something extremely complicated with his r’s that made him difficult to understand. “Blue. My name’s Blue Sargent.” “Blair?” “Blue.” “Blaize?” Blue sighed. “Jane.” “Oh, Jane! I thought that you were saying Blue for some reason. It’s nice to meet you, Jane.

And the good, good people of the small town of Golgotha, many of them, when they saw the Stained, saw what they did to those they caught up to; they forgot to love their neighbor, forgot to lend a helping hand, forgot to do unto others as they would have them do unto themselves. They ran, ran like animals frightened by the storm. Pushing, shoving, the weak, the innocent, the frail, all falling under their feet. Many of the souls Golgotha called, called to across the desert, across the plains and the oceans and the night sky, many of them were not good people.

The Dawning Ah! what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry, The Bridegroom’s coming! fill the sky; Shall it in the evening run When our words and works are done? Or will Thy all-surprising light Break at midnight, When either sleep or some dark pleasure Possesseth mad man without measure? Or shall these early, fragrant hours Unlock Thy bow’rs, And with their blush of light descry Thy locks crown’d with eternity? Indeed, it is the only time That with Thy glory doth best chime; All now are stirring, ev’ry field Full hymns doth yield; The whole Creation shakes off night, And for Thy shadow looks the light; Stars now vanish without number, Sleepy Planets set and slumber, The pursy Clouds disband and scatter, All expect some sudden matter; Not one beam triumphs but from far That morning-star; O at what time soever thou (Unknown to us,) the heavens wilt bow, And, with Thy angels in the van, Descend to judge poor careless man, Grant, I may not like puddle lie In a corrupt security, Where if a traveller water crave, He finds it dead, and in a grave. But as this restless, vocal spring All day and night doth run, and sing, And though here born, yet is acquainted Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted; So let me all my busy age In Thy free services engage; And though (while here) of force I must Have commerce sometimes with poor dust, And in my flesh, though vile and low, As this doth in her channel flow, Yet let my course, my aim, my love, And chief acquaintance be above; So when that day and hour shall come, In which Thyself will be the sun, Thou’lt find me drest and on my way, Watching the break of Thy great day.

He asked you not to like me, So why did you, Neera? Even now, I perform breaststrokes in caterpillar-stuffed north eastern clouds He didn’t ask me for any poems for 50 years, So why are you asking now, Neera? Even now, standing in 10-foot-deep water, I wield icy rods He wrote an editorial on my sub-judice case, Turning an editor, why are you asking for my writing, Neera? Even now, I love flatbreads stuffed with smoked penguin fat He did not confess to being my anthology’s publisher Why did you confess, Neera? Even now, I have family-pack yawns in the face of families, He didn’t like pronouncing my name So why are you telling it to youths, Neera? Even now, in bloody waters, I join the Bollywood chorus of tiger sharks He had said I have nothing of a true writer So why do you think I do, Neera? At Imlitala, I knew rat roasts don’t taste too good without charcoal smoke He said I have nothing creative in me So why do you think I do, Neera? Having burnt bank notes worth Rs 5,000 crore, I smelt death He said I’ll never write poetry So why do you think I have, Neera? On the banks of Amsterdam’s canals I have heard doddering old men sing limericks He transcended from sorrow to anger and anger to hate Why are you so generous Neera? Please don’t tell my grandmother.

And who might this delicate flower be?" Rhett teases, beaming up at Maren as we descend the final few stairs together. "His name is Nicholas," Maren quips, stepping away from me. I have no choice but to let go of her hand. "Be careful though - he's not a delicate flower. More like a Venus flytrap if you ask me." Rhett barks out a laugh. "I like you. You're Maren, aren't you? You have to be." "Yes. And you are...?" "Rhett," I answer for him. "My oldest friend, who surely won't forget where his loyalties lie." Rhett extends his elbow to Maren so he can pick up where I left off. "Do you hear something, Maren? An annoying gnat?" "Nothing at all.

With contradict’ry aim I stand, Rent in twain between two lands. One is lit with flowers bright, The other by sublime starlight. “A searing fire is one way felt. The sting of ice that does not melt Upon the other path is found. To both I am forever bound. “My mind is called to what I’ve known, And mem’ries of what once was home. Yet calls the road that leads to where I breathe now more familiar air. “In her is found the now and then, The song of hope, the sighed amen, Both fire and ice, both flow’rs and stars, The future, past, the near and far. “Where e’er the path that guides her feet, In what far clime her heart doth beat, Howe’er oft I depart or bide, Home is where my love resides.

The Garden" How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their uncessant labours see Crown’d from some single herb or tree, Whose short and narrow verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all flow’rs and all trees do close To weave the garlands of repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, And Innocence, thy sister dear! Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men; Your sacred plants, if here below, Only among the plants will grow. Society is all but rude, To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen So am’rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress’ name; Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed! Fair trees! wheres’e’er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found. When we have run our passion’s heat, Love hither makes his best retreat. The gods, that mortal beauty chase, Still in a tree did end their race: Apollo hunted Daphne so, Only that she might laurel grow; And Pan did after Syrinx speed, Not as a nymph, but for a reed. What wond’rous life in this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons as I pass, Ensnar’d with flow’rs, I fall on grass. Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find, Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that’s made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain’s sliding foot, Or at some fruit tree’s mossy root, Casting the body’s vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide; There like a bird it sits and sings, Then whets, and combs its silver wings; And, till prepar’d for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light. Such was that happy garden-state, While man there walk’d without a mate; After a place so pure and sweet, What other help could yet be meet! But ’twas beyond a mortal’s share To wander solitary there: Two paradises ’twere in one To live in paradise alone. How well the skillful gard’ner drew Of flow’rs and herbs this dial new, Where from above the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run; And as it works, th’ industrious bee Computes its time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckon’d but with herbs and flow’rs!

I still felt a little bit sick for needing the help of a Librarian. It was frustrating. Terribly frustrating. In fact, I don’t think I can accurately—through text—show you just how frustrating it was. But because I love you, I’m going to try anyway. Let’s start by randomly capitalizing letters. “We cAn SenD fOr a draGOn to cArry us,” SinG saId As we burst oUt oF the stAirWeLL and ruSHED tHrough ThE roOm aBovE. “ThAT wILl taKe tOO Long,” BaStiLlE saiD. “We’Ll haVe To graB a VeHiCle oFf thE STrEet,” I sAid. (You know what, that’s not nearly frustrating enough. I’m going to have to start adding in random punctuation marks too.) We c! RoS-Sed thrOu? gH t% he Gra## ND e ` nt < Ry > WaY at “A” de-aD Ru) n. OnC $ e oUts/ iDE, I Co* Uld sEe T ^ haT the suN wa + S nEar to s = Ett = ING—it w.O.u.l.d Onl > y bE a co@ uPle of HoU[ rs unTi ^ L the tR} e} atY RATiF ~ iCATiON ha, pPenEd. We nEeDeD!! to bE QuicK?.? UnFOrTu() nAtelY, tHE! re weRe no C? arriA-ges on tHe rOa ^ D for U/ s to cOmMan > < dEer. Not a ON ~ e ~. THerE w + eRe pe/\ Ople wa | lK | Ing aBoUt, BU? t no caRr# iaGes. (Okay, you know what? That’s not frustrating enough either. Let’s start replacing some random vowels with the letter Q.) I lqOk-eD arO! qnD, dE# sPqrA# te, fRq? sTr/ Ated (like you, hopefully), anD aNn | qYeD. Jq! St eaR& lIer, tHqr ^ E hq.d BeeN DoZen! S of cq? RrIqgEs on The rQA! d! No-W tHqRe wA = Sn’t a SqnGl + e oN ^ q. “ThE_rQ!” I eXclai $ mqd, poIntIng. Mqv = Ing do ~ Wn th_e RqaD! a shoRt diStq + + nCe aWay < wAs > a sTrANgq gLaSs cqnTrAPtion. I waSN’t CqrTain What it wAs >, bUt It w! qs MoV? ing—aND s% qmewhat quIc: =) Kly. “LeT’s G_q gRA? b iT!

at the seat. Instead of blowing his top, he picked me up in his arms and said, "You did it?" I nodded, "Yes I did it!" "But, look son." He tried to explain, "I can't go out with a bottomless pajama — I am a man". I whispered, "And so am I". He just stared, and embraced me. And from that day I got proper pajamas to wear. Dad was a great friend, a very understanding and loving person. Time flies fast — my father's leave was almost over, but the construction work still remained incomplete. He had to go back to Amritsar to resume his duties, and my mother badly needed more money. Two days before his departure he took a loan of Rs. 1,500 from a friend, a Zargar (ornament maker), to somehow finish the construction work, and mortgaged our part of the haveli for this amount. This Rs. 1,500 brought a lot of trouble and hardship to the family as the interest for the loan went on adding. My father resigned his job as a postman and searched for a new clerical job. He did his best to pay off the loan; he but could not. Destiny's smile had changed into a fearsome frown. Soon my little sister Guro was born. While my father slogged in Amritsar to support the family and pay the monthly interest, my mother and grandmother somehow managed to survive. I fell sick, very very sick and the chubby child was soon a bundle of bones. The fair skin was tarnished and looked quite dusky. The handsome Kidar Nath became an ugly urchin. Lack of nourishment also made me a dull boy. The only thought that kept me alive was that my father was my best friend, and that I must stand by my best friend and help him to surmount his difficulties. Having found a tenant for the rebuilt Haveli, we all moved to Amritsar. Across our house lived a shop-keeper known for being a miser. He called a carpenter to fix the main door to his dwelling, because the top of the frame had cracked. A robust argument ensued because the shop-keeper would pay only half a rupee, while the carpenter wanted one. His reason being that an appropriate piece of wood had to be cut to match the area being repaired and then he would have to level the surfaces at a very awkward angle. But the owner was adamant and said, "Just nail the piece of wood, do not level it or do any fancy work, because I shall pay you only half a rupee", as he walked away in a huff.

Georgie was more than any man could hope for in life. To have her love and attention was like standing beneath the scorching sun on a summer day: suffocating and sustaining all at once

R.’s chemotherapy is going better than expected. Total loss of hair, though. We are praying together for the first time since the early part of our marriage, and I am more filled with love for her than ever. She seems so broken and helpless; but God’s love will give her and both of us strength.

he loved her in oceans she loved him waves

whether we fall in or completely fall out you and I will always have a story

You can't save people. They have to save themselves. You can only love them.

You can only do so much. You can't save people. They have to save themselves. You can only love them." "I haven't shown them love, because I've grown to dislike them." "You don't have to like someone to love them, Logan.

How many times can you tell someone you love them before they realize there is only peace so long as they’re by your side, before they realize in the simplest way possible, their mere existence in your life has changed the shape of you forever so that any other heart, any lips, any hand will forever feel wrong.

My love for her hinges on absolutely nothing. Her mere existence is enough.

Secrets make up the backbone of a small town. Secrets, gossip, and lies. No one cops up to it. Sweet-looking old biddies talk shit about their friends, but follow it up with a “bless her heart” and everyone pretends it's all right. It doesn’t matter if you try and dress it up with a pretty bow; gossip is gossip is gossip, and I loved every juicy piece I could get.

Love is the cruelest myth of all.

You challenged me from the very beginning and I tried to resist you, but I knew even then that I wasn't going to walk away without you by my side.

Scenes from the Playroom Now Lucy with her family of dolls Disfigures Mother with an emery board, While Charles, with match and rubbing alcohol, Readies the struggling cat, for Chuck is bored. The young ones pour more ink into the water Through which the latest goldfish gamely swims, Laughing, pointing at naked, neutered Father. The toy chest is a Buchenwald of limbs. Mother is so lovely; Father, so late. The cook is off, yet dinner must go on With onions as her only cause for tears She hacks the red meat from the slippery bone, Setting the table, where the children wait, Her grinning babies, clean behind the ears.

Yeah. Uh, I work here and I don’t think I fully understand what’s going on.” She popped her hip out with a touch of attitude. “Martín is down a model, so he’s enlisted your help. We’ll get you fitted and push you through hair and makeup as quickly as possible.” “No. No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “So you’re turning down $3,000 and the chance to model in New York Fashion Week? What, do you love your current gig that much?” Hold the phone. No one said anything about three grand! I’d do a whole hell of a lot for three grand and most of it was illegal in Texas and New York. Walking in a fashion show for money hadn’t even seemed like an option.

I’m Nikki,” she said, giving me a onceover, much like the other guy had just done. “Josephine,” I said, pressing my hand to my chest. “Are you like a custodian or something? What’s with the hat?” I reached up to feel the brim. I knew the bright white NYFW letters illuminated my lower-middle class status. “Yeah. Uh, I work here and I don’t think I fully understand what’s going on.” She popped her hip out with a touch of attitude. “Martín is down a model, so he’s enlisted your help. We’ll get you fitted and push you through hair and makeup as quickly as possible.” “No. No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “So you’re turning down $3,000 and the chance to model in New York Fashion Week? What, do you love your current gig that much?” Hold the phone.

If only she and I could shut up for ten minutes, the sex would be the best of our lives. Angry. Hard. Fast. Not love. Not even close. War.

If he loved me so much, couldn’t he have spelled out the word you?

I asked the Lord that I might grow In faith, and love, and every grace; Might more of His salvation know, And seek, more earnestly, His face. I hoped that in some favored hour, At once He'd answer my request; and by His love's constraining pow'r, Subdue my sins, and give me rest. Instead of this, He made me feel The hidden evils of my heart; And let the angry pow'rs of hell Assault my soul in every part. Yea more, with His own hand He seemed intent to aggravate my woe; Crossed all the fair designs I schemed, Blasted my gourds, and laid me low. "Lord why is this," I trembling cried, "Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?" "'Tis in this way," the Lord replied, "I answer prayer for grace and faith." "These inward trials I employ, From self and pride to set thee free And break thy schemes of earthly joy, That thou may'st find thy all in Me.

If you expect love to come when it's convenient, you'll be waiting your entire life.

I love you.” I said it to Vyxen, to Bubba, Luc, my berserker family, my allies, my friends, but most especially I said it to Asher. I filled every one of those three words with all the passion and soul that beat within me.

In a black and white world, Chase and I would never end up together—our mothers had ensured that—but in that small bathroom, under the harsh fluorescent lights, we dragged each other deeper into the gray—the messy, guilt-ridden space that sat between right and wrong.

It was an I-hate-you kiss. Haven’t you ever had one of those?” “I have no idea what that is.” “It’s a kiss not born out of love, but out of hate.” “Yeah, thanks. That’s evident in the name. I’m just confused because I don’t go around kissing people I hate.

Wanda, whatever she says, rides the same long breath whether she is greeting us or asking the existential questions no one else will dare. On sentences stripped of refinement and planed as smooth as wood, she does her best to navigate the changing currents in her yard and in ours. In this, she is true to her name as we pronounce it. In this part of America, “R’s” are the dissidents of the alphabet. They won’t be ruled. Behind closed doors, they conspire and print leaflets. They make love to many women. They smoke cigarettes in place of eating food. Then, in front of witnesses with no recourse to justice, they are pulled from their beds in the middle of the night. Some are imprisoned. Some silenced. Others go missing. A few reappear sealed up in the wall of another word if they are found at all. Thus, a thought that is valued is truly an “idear.

So you read my text messages?” I ask, sounding pissed. “Like I said, I couldn’t help it. Also, I was a little curious. Who would possibly want to text you? Finding out it was a woman wanting to know where you were was shocking to say the least. She should count her blessings that she can’t find you. I’d love to be in that predicament.” I’m grinning now, utterly annoyed and yet entertained nonetheless.

His brown hair needs a trim, but I secretly love the extra length. With it so disheveled, he looks like a farmhand about to drag me into a barn and have his wicked way with me. Oh right, I’m supposed to be angry. Why is that again?

To me, they’re lovely, and I think that’s the first time I’ve used that word in my adult life without a single note of sarcasm.

You couldn’t possibly love her so soon, says the world. Fuck the world.

nerves. It hurts to love someone so much, to have your exposed heart walking around on two legs all day.

the love within them had never stopped smouldering.

As if she were falling backwards from a precipice, arms flailing, the ground rushing up to shatter her body and bones, the love had struck her, broken her, and infected her with a mystical sense of vertigo. All the sonnets that she had read, and all the poems, and tragedies and romances—they all took on a new colour, a new shade of light, a new clarity and poignancy. Everything made sense because she loved him, and within the space between their bodies, between their lips, the agonizing, most minute hair’s breadth that separated them, there lurked a multitude, there lurked a thousand years of time and a limitless space, there lurked Truth. She loved him. That was all. She loved him but could do nothing about it.

Indeed, while the rest of us worry about German invaders, you write poetry and chase a ghost. I love it. You’re very curious, and earnest, and not only very sweet but very strong—perhaps you’re not even aware of how monstrously brave you are.” Maude slid her hands around Ruth’s waist. “You’ve stolen my heart, you silly girl, that’s all. Now be a dear and get that blinding light off. I’m deathly tired.

Prejudice is a pervasive disease. I have an overwhelming fear that I will always be painted by a stained brush, that no matter how I dress or talk or smile…to cover the mold in the group home, there’s no denying that I’m Maren Mitchell- less than…

He gave me my first kiss, patted my head, and told me there would be someone much better for me down the line." "Was there?" "Oh yes, though it would be years before I found him." "Nicholas' grandfather?" She smiles fondly and nods. "Edward was not at all my type when we first met. In fact, I thought he was a little rude. He didn't like me much either. I wasn't afraid to speak my mind in an age when most women would have happily zipped their lips and married a nice boy from a nice family." "What happened?" "Oh, he fell hopelessly in love with me, of course.

Isn’t it obvious? I’m totally mad about you! You’re so handsome and sweet and not at all how a professional foosball player should be.” “Football player,” I correct. “What’s the difference?” she asks before rising up and pressing her mouth to mine.

I am worthy of love and being loved.

You've been a puzzle I can't solve... an egg I can't crack." "Have you tried?" I laugh under my breath. "Desperately, and yet I can't seem to give up - can't give you up. You've changed me." "And how do you think you've changed me." "Me?" "Yes, can't you see?" he asks, bending to pull the blanket off my shoulders completely so it pools around my hips on the bench. "Haven't you managed to discover the truth? I live by your breath.

What have you just said?!” She sounds a little hysterical. “I love you,” I repeat, holding her gaze. “Oh my god!” She throws a roll at me so it bounces off my head and lands with a dull thud on the floor. “You’ve just said it now—here, of all places?! I’ve got mascara running down my cheeks from laughing so hard.” “Yes, well, you’re always laughing. It would be hard to find a time to tell you when you’re being serious,” I say, yanking her back toward me. “But that’s just it—it’s part of the reason I can’t get you out of my head. You’re crazy,” I say, wiping her cheeks. “And I love you.

I know people make poor decisions when they're grieving. It's not exactly an excuse, but maybe it's a reminder that we're all just humans trying our best.