Ryder Best Quotes

Imitation is not inspiration, and inspiration only can give birth to a work of art. The least of man's original emanation is better than the best of borrowed thought.

Guess where that left me? That's right: between Ryder, my boyfriend, who hated Lucian with the proverbial fiery passion and J, my best friend, who wanted Lucian around, so, basically in hell.

The things you don’t know or realize are an ocean, and your mind is a tiny boat upon its waves.” Ancient disses were the best.

I feel my best when I am happy.

The palest ink is better than the best memory. —CHINESE PROVERB

because in the morning, the neon glow would be gone, and Clementine Ryder would look like my best friend’s little sister again. Hopefully.

How do we best harness our curiosity while reducing the risk of failure? We set goals. When set with intention, goals can provide structure, direction, focus, and purpose.

People shouldn’t be afraid of monsters. They’re predictable, and always follow their instincts. It’s men we should fear because they are so easily swayed by evil, and they follow no pattern. The best of men could suddenly snap and be the enemy. It’s for this reason that the greatest evil in my stories is never the scariest or most detestable of creatures; it’s the hearts of men and the terrible struggle to remain good in an evil world.

Ben is Ryder’s cousin--second cousin, to be specific--and one of his best friends, even though they couldn’t be any more different. Ben is sweet, thoughtful. Kind. Whereas Ryder, well…I’ll tell you about Ryder. He’s the star quarterback of our Division 1A state-championship football team. Top student in our class, and he doesn’t even have to work at it. He plays the piano like some kind of freaking prodigy, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he composed sonatas or something in his spare time. Oh, and did I mention that he’s gorgeous? Of course he is. Six foot four, two hundred ten pounds of swoon-worthy good looks. Spiky dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, and full-on dimples. And his future? Right now half the SEC is courting him hard, and the other half is wishing they were. It’s a foregone conclusion that he’ll play for Ole Miss--Mississippi’s golden boy, kept right here at home.

Tell me again why we’ve hated each other all these years?” “Because we’re both stubborn as mules?” he offers. I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’d say that about covers it.” “I love you, Jemma. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to feel the same. I’ll wait forever if I have to.” I suck in a breath. He doesn’t know. How would he? He’s said it to me, but I’ve never once said it back. “Trust me, you had me at ‘prettiest girl in all of Magnolia Branch,’ and then you sealed the deal with that whole ‘best shot’ thing.” “Wait…Are you saying…I mean--” “Shhh.” I put my finger against his lips. “Though you’re really cute when you’re stuttering like that.” “Hey, I don’t stutter.” “Neither do I. I love you, Ryder Marsden. See?” I rise up on tiptoe and press my lips against his. His arms encircle my waist, drawing me closer, till there’s no space whatsoever between our bodies, till I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. His mouth moves against mine, and he kisses me hungrily. Thoroughly. Expertly. And so very hotly. This kiss is somehow different from the ones that have come before it. It’s a promise that he is mine, that I am his. It’s an acceptance of our fate. It’s the ultimate acknowledgement of something that’s been there all along, just waiting for us to discover it. To enjoy it. To celebrate it. So we do.

What are people saying about me and Rosie?” Ryder asks, his brows drawn. I throw one hand up in the air. “Never mind. It’s not like I care, anyway.” “No, ’course you don’t,” he snaps back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He shakes his head. “Nothing, Jemma. Just…go to bed, why don’t you?” “What, are you my dad now? How about this? I’ll go to bed when I’m ready to go to bed.” “Wow, that’s real mature.” “You’re such a jerk, Ryder.” “A jerk? That’s the best you’ve got? You’re really off your game tonight.” “You are really getting on my nerves,” I say, my skin flushing hotly. He just shrugs, looking entirely unmoved. “What else is new? I’ve always gotten on your nerves.” “Not always,” I say, and my heart catches a little. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back the memories. When I open them again, he’s still standing there, glowering at me. “Great, here we go again.” He starts to walk away and then turns back to face me. “You know what? I have no idea what I did to piss you off, but--” “Seriously?” I sputter. “I’ll give you a hint--eighth grade.” “You’re mad at me about something I did in eighth grade, Jem? That was four fucking years ago. Whatever it was, why don’t you grow up and get over it?” “Why don’t you go to hell,” I shoot back. “I’m leaving now,” he says, turning to stalk away. “Good!” I shout, tears burning behind my eyelids. “Go. I hate you, Ryder Marsden!” “Yeah, well…the feeling’s mutual,” he throws back over one shoulder. Even though I know it’s childish of me, I storm back inside and slam the French doors with as much force as I can muster, nearly rattling them off their hinges. Charming, right?

I awake with a start, shaking the cobwebs of sleep from my mind. It’s pitch-dark out, the wind howling. It takes a couple seconds to get my bearings, to realize I’m in my parents’ bed, Ryder beside me, on his side, facing me. Our hands are still joined, though our fingers are slack now. “Hey, you,” he says sleepily. “That one was loud, huh?” “What was?” “Thunder. Rattled the windows pretty bad.” “What time is it?” “Middle of the night, I’d say.” I could check my phone, but that would require sitting up and letting go of his hand. Right now, I don’t want to do that. I’m too comfortable. “Have you gotten any sleep at all?” I ask him, my mouth dry and cottony. “I think I drifted off for a little bit. Till…you know…the thunder started up again.” “Oh. Sorry.” “It should calm down some when the eye moves through.” “If there’s still an eye by the time it gets here. The center of circulation usually starts breaking up once it goes inland.” Yeah, all those hours watching the Weather Channel occasionally come in handy. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Wow, maybe you should consider studying meteorology. You know, if the whole film-school thing doesn’t work out for you.” “I could double major,” I shoot back. “I bet you could.” “What are you going to study?” I ask, curious now. “I mean, besides football. You’ve got to major in something, don’t you?” He doesn’t answer right away. I wonder what’s going through his head--why he’s hesitating. “Astrophysics,” he says at last. “Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes. “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me…” “I’m serious. Astrophysics for undergrad. And then maybe…astronomy.” “What, you mean in graduate school?” He just nods. “You’re serious? You’re going to major in something that tough? I mean, most football players major in something like phys ed or underwater basket weaving, don’t they?” “Greg McElroy majored in business marketing,” he says with a shrug, ignoring my jab. “Yeah, but…astrophysics? What’s the point, if you’re just going to play pro football after you graduate anyway?” “Who says I want to play pro football?” he asks, releasing my hand. “Are you kidding me?” I sit up, staring at him in disbelief. He’s the best quarterback in the state of Mississippi. I mean, football is what he does…It’s his life. Why wouldn’t he play pro ball? He rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head. “Right, I’m just some dumb jock.” “Oh, please. Everyone knows you’re the smartest kid in our class. You always have been. I’d give anything for it to come as easily to me as it does to you.” He sits up abruptly, facing me. “You think it’s easy for me? I work my ass off. You have no idea what I’m working toward. Or what I’m up against,” he adds, shaking his head. “Probably not,” I concede. “Anyway, if anyone can major in astrophysics and play SEC ball at the same time, you can. But you might want to lose the attitude.” He drops his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Jem. It’s just…everyone has all these expectations. My parents, the football coach--” “You think I don’t get that? Trust me. I get it better than just about anyone.” He lets out a sigh. “I guess our families have pretty much planned out our lives for us, haven’t they?” “They think they have, that’s for sure,” I say.

I’m really not in the mood for your bullshit, Patrick. Go, before Ryder sees your car in the driveway or something.” “Oh, you expectin’ Ryder?” he slurs. “He gonna ride in on his white horse like a knight and save you? Is that what your hopin’ for? Maybe that’s why you been holdin’ out on me. You wanna give it to him instead.” His eyes are glassy, slightly unfocused. It’s obvious I can’t let him drive home like this. Shit. Ignoring his drunken little tirade, I reach for his hand and drag him into the living room, pushing him toward the velvet sofa. “C’mon, Patrick, you need to lie down. I’m going to call someone to come pick you up.” His legs buckle the minute they hit the cushions, and he crumples into a heap--half on the floor, half on the sofa. He starts to make a retching noise, and I hurriedly slip off my hoodie and shove it under his face. “I swear, if you puke on my sofa, I’m going to freaking kill you.” Mercifully, he doesn’t. Instead, he starts making a quiet, snuffling noise. Like he’s passed out cold. I run upstairs and grab my cell from my bedroom, trying to decide who to call. Obviously, Ryder makes the most sense, since he lives just up the road and can be here in a matter of minutes. But what if he mentions it to his mom? I mean, I can tell him not to, but then it makes me look guilty, like I’m trying to hide something. It’s not my fault that Patrick showed up on my doorstep unannounced. I run through the other options in my head. Calling Ben or Mason is about the same as calling Ryder. They’re his best friends. They talk. I could try Tanner. He is my cousin, so I could invoke some sort of family loyalty oath of silence or something. Only problem is, Tanner lives on the far side of town--about as far away from here as anyone can be and still live in Magnolia Branch. Which means leaving a passed-out, about-to-puke Patrick on my couch for a good twenty minutes, waiting for a ride. Nope. Not gonna happen. With a sigh of resignation, I dial Ryder’s number. Exactly seven minutes later, he knocks on the door. Ryder to the rescue. I resist the urge to look around for his white horse.

You and Patrick looked awfully cozy,” Ryder says, setting Mama’s note back on the counter. So I was right--he had been watching us. “So?” “So, nothing.” He shrugs. “Just making an observation.” “Yeah, you never just make an observation. Oh, and you and Rosie looked pretty cozy, too. I sure hope you’re not leading her on. You know she likes you.” A muscle in his jaw works furiously as he shoves his cell phone back into his pocket. “That’s the kind of guy you think I am? Seriously, Jem?” I swallow hard, unable to reply. Because the truth is, I don’t know. “I’ll see you later,” he says, his voice cold and clipped. He turns and stalks out. For some unknown reason, I follow him--down the hall, out the front door. “Don’t walk out on me,” I holler as he rounds the Durango and opens the driver’s-side door. “If you have something to say to me, then say it.” He gets in and slams the car door shut, but I throw it open again. “C’mon,” I taunt, motioning with one hand. I’m totally losing it now--white spots dancing before my eyes, tears streaking down my cheeks. I can barely catch my breath, like I’m about to hyperventilate. This isn’t about Ryder, I realize. It’s about Nan. The sudden realization hits me hard. What if I never see her again? My knees buckle, and I start to go down. Somehow, Ryder manages to catch me just before I hit the ground. “Shit, Jemma! What’s the matter with you?” He drags me to my feet and presses me against the side of his truck. “Take a deep breath. Jesus!” I do what he says. By the third, I’ve slowed my heart rate to something nearing normal. Only, my cheeks are burning with mortification now. This is the second time I’ve broken down in front of Ryder. He must think I’ve lost my mind--that I’ve totally gone off the deep end. “Just go,” I say, my voice shaking. He rakes both hands through his hair. “Are you kidding me? I can’t leave you alone like this.” “Go,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. “Just get in your car and leave, okay?” “C’mon, Jemma. You know I can’t.” “I swear I’m okay.” I straighten my spine and lift my chin, trying my best to look calm, collected, and reasonably sane. “Seriously, Ryder. I just need to be alone right now.” “Fine,” he says, shaking his head. “If you say so.” I step away from the car, feeling queasy now as he slips inside and starts the engine. But before he pulls out, he rolls down his window and meets my gaze. His dark eyes look intense, full of conflict. For a split second, I wonder what’s going on inside his head--if he’s judging me. If he has any idea what I’m going through. If he even cares. “She’s going to be okay, Jemma,” he says, then slides his sunglasses on and drives away. I guess he does get it, after all.

For Kerouac, the embodiment of American Zen was Gary Snyder, the Pulitzer Prize-winning Buddhist poet and essayist, who he fictionalized as Japhy Ryder in The Dharma Bums. Snyder was a practicing Buddhist and a translator of classic Chinese texts before Kerouac met him. He was the Zen guru of the Beats at the same time that Alan Watts popularized Buddhism for middle-class Americans in best-selling books and magazine articles of the late 1950s. Snyder had studied with Watts for a while but thought him 'square.' 'He was cool in relation to the people around him,' Snyder once said, referring to 'middle class, needy' Americans, but he was 'never actually cool.' Then Snyder added with a wink, '[and] you know what I mean, as the Big Bopper says,' invoking the rock-and-roll classic 'Chantilly Lace' for those hip and in-the-know.

This is me. I'm your best friend, and I had to hear it from Jesse Ryder, who said he saw you two kissing in your car. How do you think that made me feel?

Train was the absolute best was to travel, of that Beatrice Adams had a high opinion.

Find the best stocks in the worst sectors.

swear to God, Mia di Angelo is wearing those jeans to fucking torture me. Penelope Ryder’s best friend is a lot of things, but right now, ‘vixen’ is the only descriptor that comes to mind.

Ryder shifts his weight. “According to my contact, he does the best woodwork on this side of the state.” Strike two. That fact, along with the way he smiles at Dahlia, has me scowling. Strike three. “Get rid of him.

Maybe not, Luke thought. He said, “Yoda spoke of another.” Ben returned his gaze to Luke, studying him, trying to decide whether the young man was ready for another revelation, or if it were best for everyone if Luke remained ignorant. Ben made a decision, and said, “The other he spoke of is your twin sister.” Bewildered, Luke said, “But I have no sister.” “To protect you both from the Emperor, you were hidden from your father when you were born. The Emperor knew, as I did, if Anakin were to have any offspring, they would be a threat to him. That is the reason why your sister remains safely anonymous.” Incredibly, Luke was suddenly aware of his sister’s identity. “Leia! Leia’s my sister.” “Your insight serves you well,” Ben said. “Bury your feelings deep down, Luke. They do you credit. But they could be made to serve the Emperor.

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t push it, Morgan.” He took half a step closer. “I can’t help it. Whenever I look at you, I’m overcome.” “I can help you get over that.” “Really?” When she stepped closer, he smelled fresh soap. He liked that. No flowery scents for Siv. Her face softened, her gaze on his lips. “Yes, I can.” He breathed her in, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Her lips were full and sexy, and gave him all sorts of ideas. All he could think about was Siv. Her fist landed in his gut, driving the air out of him. Ryder bent over. Siv smiled. “See. Now you’re thinking of something else.” He huffed out a laugh. Fuck. It was probably best not to tell her that he was hard. Just the thought of tussling with her turned him on.

Sunday dinner at the Marsdens’ is more than a meal--it’s an occasion. I’m dressed accordingly, wearing a pale green sundress with a sweater to ward off the chill of the air-conditioning. “Well, I blame my mama, God rest her soul,” Laura Grace says with a sigh. “She never taught me how to cook. You have no idea how lucky you are, Jemma--you and Nan both. Your mama’s a great cook, and she made sure to teach you. You girls’ husbands are surely going to thank her one day.” It’s impossible to miss the pointed look she gives Ryder. He ignores her and continues to attack his own roast. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, but his tie is neat and his khakis perfectly pressed. He cuts off a slice of rare meat and brings it to his mouth. Chewing slowly, he fixes his gaze on the wall directly above my mother’s head. It’s clear that he, too, would rather be anywhere else right now--anywhere but here, a helpless victim of our mothers’ machinations. Laura Grace glances from him to me and back to him again. “Next year, when the two of you are off at Oxford, you better promise to drive over together each week for Sunday dinner, you hear?” “Now, c’mon, Laura Grace,” Mr. Marsden chides. “You know Ryder hasn’t made his decision yet. You’ve got to give the boy some space to figure it out.” She waves one hand in dismissal. “I know. But a mama can hope, can’t she? I’m sorry, but I just can’t imagine the two of them going off in different directions.” “There’s only one choice for the both of them, as far as I’m concerned,” my mom says. “It’s about time the Rebels get their football program back on track, and Ryder’s just the boy to do it--with Jemma cheering him on.” I can’t help but cringe, staring down at my plate. I mean, is this really what my mom dreams about? Is this the best she can imagine for me? For a moment, everyone continues to eat silently. The tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but I doubt Mama or Laura Grace even notice.

At his core, Weston Ryder was gentle, and I thought that was the best thing that a man could be.

This is it,” Orion breathed and we turned to read the words as he held out the book. A spell was laid out to strip the newly acquired Elements from King, the answer right there before us. We needed Vampire blood to pull it off as part of a potion which Ryder immediately started writing down the ingredients to. To speed the process up, a Vampire could feed on the vessel once the Elements had been stripped away while the spell was being chanted to draw the stolen magic out of them faster, but it wasn’t necessary. But if a Vampire didn’t do that then it would take a lot longer to rip the stolen magic out of the host and that would give King more time to fight back. One glance at Elise told me she was fully planning to drain every last drop of stolen power out of King the moment she could and I swallowed down the fear that sparked in me. “There’s a warning here,” Orion said gravely, pointing to a small footnote at the base of the page. “It says that though a Vampire can drain the stolen power faster, they must act quickly to release it into the sky where it belongs. If not, the power will work to corrupt them, feeding into their bloodlust and making a demon out of them.” “We shouldn’t risk it,” I said, reaching for Elise’s hand. “We can just contain King and use the spell to force the magic out of them without you draining it.” “And what if that takes too long?” Elise demanded. “Our girl won’t be corrupted by the power,” Leon said confidently, reaching out to brush his fingers through her hair. “I just have to release it the moment I steal it. Simple,” she agreed but as I cast a look at Orion he didn’t seem at all convinced. “Dark magic lures you in unlike anything you could possibly understand without having experienced it,” he warned. “I’d think very carefully about doing this before you charge in and attempt it.” “Okay,” Elise agreed, raising her hands in surrender. “I won’t bite the fucker to drain them unless everything starts going to shit and I don’t have any other choice.” “I think that’s for the best, bella,” Dante agreed.