Sloan Quotes

Walking the stacks in a library, dragging your fingers across the spines -- it's hard not to feel the presence of sleeping spirits.

Sloane slipped an arm around my waist. "There are fourteen varieties of hugs," she said. "This is one of them.

You must remember what you are and what you have chosen to become, and the significance of what you are doing. There are wars and defeats and victories of the human race that are not military and that are not recorded in the annals of history. Remember that while you're trying to decide what to do.

Your life must be an open city, with all sorts of ways to wander in.

Neel takes a sharp breath and I know exactly what it means. It means: I have waited my whole life to walk through a secret passage built into a bookshelf.

Axel Reid, you wake up right now!” I yell. “Get your paws off my tit and call your dick off its search for my pussy, he found it asshole, now back off.

After that, the book will fade, the way all books fade in your mind. But I hope you will remember this: A man walking fast down a dark lonely street. Quick steps and hard breathing, all wonder and need. A bell above a door and the tinkle it makes. A clerk and a ladder and warm golden light, and then: the right book exactly, at exactly the right time.

He looked right at me as he gave me a half smile. "You're the brightest thing in the room", he said. He lifted his hand from my waist, and slowly, carefully brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek. "You shine". My breath caught in my throat. People said those kinds of things about Sloane-not about me. "What?" frank asked, his eyes on mine. "Just..." I took a shaky breath. "Nobody's ever said something like that to me." "Then they don't see what I see," he said.

I would kill for you, and I have. I would do it again, every damn day. I’d turn myself inside out for you. I would die for you. I don’t just like you, Sloane, and you fucking know it.

He has the strangest expression on his face- the emotional equivalent of 404 PAGE NOT FOUND.

You are mine. Do you hear me? You are mine, Della Sloane. I will take care of you. Nothing is taking you away from me. Nothing.

You know, I'm really starting to think the whole world is just a patchwork quilt of crazy little cults, all with their own secret spaces, their own records, their own rules.

Life starts out with everyone clapping when you take a poo and goes downhill from there.

She was mine. She is mine. She will always fucking be mine.

Here’s a thing I believe about people my age: we are the children of Hogwarts, and more than anything, we just want to be sorted.

After all, suicide is contagious.

Life is a book waiting to happen.

All the secrets of the world worth knowing are hiding in plain sight.

None of us had normal childhoods," Sloane said quietly. "If we had, we wouldn't be Naturals.

Fate might hate me, but that doesn't stop me from hoping one day she forgets about her favorite chew toy. When that day comes I hope karma has some fun with that bitch fate

I am fucking charming!” Dex shouted, his entire face going beet red. “I am the most charming motherfucker you will ever know, so kiss my perfectly perky ass!” After some consideration, Sloane cocked his head to one side and shrugged. “I’ve seen better.” “Oh, now you’re insulting my ass?

The ability to keep your mouth shut is usually a sign of intelligence

...this is exactly the kind of store that makes you want to buy a book about a teenage wizard. This is the kind of store that makes you want to be a teenage wizard.

When you care about other people, it takes the spotlight off your own drama.

For someone grieving, moving forward is the challenge. Because after extreme loss, you want to go back.

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who know where their high school yearbook is and those who do not.

Sloane: But what if it doesn't work out? Emily: But what if it does?

Times have changed, Sloane. I’m not scared anymore. You’re not my fucking friend. You’re just mine.

I've never listened to an audiobook before, and I have to say it's a totally different experience. When you read a book, the story definitely takes place in your head. When you listen, it seems to happen in a little cloud all around it, like a fuzzy knit cap pulled down over your eyes

But I kept at it with the help-wanted ads. My standards were sliding swiftly. At first I had insisted I would only work at a company with a mission I believed in. Then I thought maybe it would be fine as long as I was learning something new. After that I decided it just couldn't be evil. Now I was carefully delineating my personal definition of evil.

It's possible that all labels are curses. Unless they are on cleaning products.

I love the recklessness of faith. First you leap, and then you grow wings.

Some of them are working hard indeed." "What are they doing?" "My boy!" he said, eyebrows raised. As if nothing could be more obvious: "They are reading.

I want to be me, and yet I'm not sure who I am.

...I can’t stop squirming. If fidgets were Wikipedia edits, I would have completely revamped the entry on guilt by now, and translated it into five new languages.

books=comfort

Pretend for a moment," Lia told her, "that we're all very, very slow." "I'm not very good at pretending," Sloane told her seriously. "But I think I can do that.

And endings are always the beginnings of something else.

Pretending something doesn't matter doesn't make it matter less.

You’re such a beast,” I speak softly into his ear before nipping his lope lightly with my teeth. “But I’m your beast, and baby… every Beauty needs a Beast.

A second can feel like forever if what follows is heartbreak.

Uniqueness is wasted on youth. Like fine wine or a solid flossing habit, you'll be grateful for it when you're older.

He’s Rowan,” Sloane says, gesturing at me again. Rose narrows her eyes as though this is insufficient information. “He’s my f-fr…boy. Guy. A man-guy. I’m…with. Here.”  I snort a laugh as Rose’s face scrunches. “Man-guy,” I echo. “Real smooth, Blackbird.

It is my belief that people who speak of high school with a sugary fondness are bluffing away early-onset Alzheimer's.

Missed you…so fucking much, Princess.

I saw something sticking out of Sloan’s leg after he fell. I didn’t know what it was and didn’t want to ask. Maybe I thought we were the same inside as we are on the outside, a bit like a carrot or something like that.

I apologize. Hi, I’m Agent Sloane Brodie, your Team Leader. I enjoy reading, cozy nights in, and the soothing sounds of classic rock. I also like to browse the Internet for funny cat videos, but deep down, I think I’m more of a dog person.

If this sounds impressive to you, you’re over thirty.

Have they all bought Kindles? I have one, and I use it most nights. I always imagine the books staring and whispering, Traitor! - but come on, I have a lot of free first chapters to get through.

Fine. Let Ranger get someone else. Trust me, you don't want to be out looking for a parking place on Sloane in the middle of the night." "I won't have to look for a parking place. Tank's picking me up." "Your working with a guy name Tank?" "He's big." "Jesus", Morelli said. "I had to fall in love with a woman who works with a guy named Tank." "You love me?" "Of course I love you. I just don't want to marry you.

Sometimes we don't know what we want until we don't get it.

And just being there is ninety-nine percent of what matters when your world falls apart

Don’t say pussy in church, motherfucker.” “Oh yeah? Because motherfucker is better?

You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let me take it, Beauty. Let me be your rock. Let ME fight. For Christ sake, let me be who you need.

The internet: always proving that you're not quite as special as you suspected.

So I guess you could say Neel owes me a few favors, except that so many favors have passed between us now that they are no longer distinguishable as individual acts, just a bright haze of loyalty. Our friendship is a nebula.

I don't want to know how you did it. I want to believe you are magic.

Every person has lots of ingredients to make them into what is always a one-of-a-kind creation.

Even through the anger of losing you—I still knew you were my angel. My light.

He asked <...> Rosemary, why do you love books so much? And I said, Well, I don't know <...> I suppose I love them because they're quiet, and I can take them to the park.

[T]he deepest form of pain comes out as silence.

Girls aren’t supposed to see wieners, Aunt Dee.  And Daddy’s wiener was mad that Mommy saw.  It was so mad, it was pointing at her!

maybe that happens when you've been through a lot. all of your edges are worn off, like sea glass. either that, or you shatter.

The world is too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love.

Why does the typical adventuring group consist of a wizard, a warrior, and a rogue, anyway? It should really be a wizard, a warrior, and a rich guy. Otherwise who's going to pay for all the swords and spells and hotel rooms?

I still love him. This man that I have thought was forever lost to me. If I am completely honest with myself, I never stopped loving him. But, all this knowledge shouldn’t scare me. The teenage love we shared over a decade ago has grown with such a power that it will kill me if I lose it again.

Your statistical track record for decision-making is somewhat concerning.

I do want to get married. It's a nice idea. Though I think husbands are like tattoos--you should wait until you come across something you want on your body for the rest of your life instead of just wandering into a tattoo parlor on some idle Sunday and saying, 'I feel like I should have one of these suckers by now. I'll take a thorny rose and a "MOM" anchor, please. No, not that one--the big one.

When you love someone, you fight. You fight for them, and you fight with them. She needed me to fight for her then, and I’ll continue to do that until she can fight for herself again.

Imagination runs out. But it makes sense, right? We probably just imagine things based on what we already know, and we run out of analogies in the thirty-first century.

What do you seek in these shelves?

I was pretty damn sure there was a Twitter hashtag that said #NanHater.

Smile on my face, rock hard dick in my pants, and some peace in my heart.

She is like me. Silent. I admire that in a person. The ability to keep your mouth shut is usually a sign of intelligence. Introspection requires you to think and analyze. It's hard to do that when you are blabbing away.

You feel like telling him you're not single in the way that he thinks you're single. After all, you have yourself.

All reality is a blender where hopes and dreams are mixed with fear and despair.

Just because you let someone in doesn’t mean you have to stop protecting yourself. It just means you have someone to share the job with.

I'll be ready. I'm not sure for what exactly. But maybe that's what being ready really means.

I have come to believe that food is history of the deepest kind. Everything we eat tells a tale of ingenuity and creation, domination and injustice-and does so more vividly than any other artifact, any other medium.

Friendship is a Spackle in itself. You'll forgive your friends a lot, and if you're a woman, you'll forgive your straight male friends even more. They represent the possibility of mutual toleration between the sexes, a keyhole into the mind of the Other, and the promise of one day meeting someone just like them except that you want to sleep with them.

Sugar" he starts, before turning his attention back over to Dee, " I have thought about sex, hard fucking sex, about a hundred times since we sat down to eat." Looking back over to me, " Does that clear it up for you?

I'm putting my place in the universe into perspective. I'm stardust. I'm golden brown. I'm just one small bit in a vast expanse.

I sit up straight and do the first thing a person is supposed to do in an emergency, which is send a text message.

Don’t hide who you are. One thing I have learned is you never hide who you are. If you want something, you fight for it. When you think you have fought hard enough, fight a little more. Don’t ever let anyone or any situation make who you are.

Time grabs you by the scruff of your neck and drags you forward. You get over it, of course. Everyone was right about that. One mathematically insignificant day, you stop hoping for happiness and become actually happy.

But don't you know, Mr. Stoner?" Sloane asked. "Don't you understand about yourself yet? You're going to be a teacher." Suddenly Sloane seemed very distant, and the walls of the office receded. Stoner felt himself suspended in the wide air, and he heard his voice ask, "Are you sure?" "I'm sure," Sloane said softly. "How can you tell? How can you be sure?" "It's love, Mr. Stoner," Sloane said cheerfully. "You are in love. It's as simple as that.

If you have to ask someone to change, to tell you they love you, to bring wine to dinner, to call you when they land, you can’t afford to be with them. It’s not worth the price, even though, just like the Tiffany catalog, no one tells you what the price is. You set it yourself, and if you’re lucky it’s reasonable. You have a sense of when you’re about to go bankrupt. Your own sense of self-worth takes the wheel and says, Enough of this shit. Stop making excuses. No one’s that busy at work. No one’s allergic to whipped cream. There are too cell phones in Sweden. But most people don’t get lucky. They get human. They get crushes. This means you irrationally mortgage what little logic you own to pay for this one thing. This relationship is an impulse buy, and you’ll figure out if it’s worth it later.

I called my mother immediately to inform her that she was a bad parent. "I can't believe you let us watch this. We ate dinner in front of this." "Everyone watched Twin Peaks," was her response. "So, if everyone jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do it, too?" "Don't be silly," she laughed, "of course I would, honey. There'd be no one left on the planet. It would be a very lonely place.

Because I ‘like you’...?” Rowan cackles an incredulous laugh. “Like. You. Seriously…? Christ, Sloane. You are fucking brilliant but also the most willfully oblivious person I have ever met. Do you really think I just like you when I framed a drawing you left for me on a scrap of paper you tore from a notebook? The one I hung it in the kitchen so I can look at it every day and think of you? Do you think I just like you when I tattoo it on my skin? I play this fucking game every year and tear my heart out watching you walk away, only to do it all over again, and I like you? You think I just like you when I fuck you like this?

I want you to promise me something. If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you're scared that it's not the right thing. Even if you're scared that it will cause problems. Even if you're scared it will burn your life to the ground. You say it, and you say it loud. And then you go from there....

Now how do I access Google?” Was he serious? “Why do you need Google?” “When don’t you need Google?” He was serious. “How about when you have a powerful, multimillion dollar government interface linked to numerous intelligence agencies across the globe right in front of you.” Dex squinted at him, his lips pursed thoughtfully. “So… is that a no on Google?” “Are you on medication?

The greater fool is actually an economic term. It’s a patsy. For the rest of us to profit, we need a greater fool— someone who will buy long and sell short. Most people spend their life trying not to be the greater fool; we toss him the hot potato, we dive for his seat when the music stops. The greater fool is someone with the perfect blend of self-delusion and ego to think that he can succeed where others have failed. This whole country was made by greater fools.

I never asked my mother where babies came from but I remember clearly the day she volunteered the information....my mother called me to set the table for dinner. She sat me down in the kitchen, and under the classic caveat of 'loving each other very, very much,' explained that when a man and a woman hug tightly, the man plants a seed in the woman. The seed grows into a baby. Then she sent me to the pantry to get placemats. As a direct result of this conversation, I wouldn't hug my father for two months.

Because, ten-year-olds of the world, you shouldn't believe what your teachers tell you about the beauty and specialness and uniqueness of you. Or, believe it, little snowflake, but know it won't make a bit of difference until after puberty. It's Newton's lost law: anything that makes you unique later will get your chocolate milk stolen and your eye blackened as a kid. Won't it, Sebastian? Oh, yes, it will, my little Mandarin Chinese-learning, Poe-reciting, high-top-wearing friend. God bless you, wherever you are.

Having her in my arms feels like coming home. I am not one to believe in all that love at first sight bullshit, but even as cynical as I am, I can recognize something bigger than lust at work. My body wants her; that is no secret, but the level of want is borderline craving. I need her. Needing someone is not something I am used to. No, I am used to being needed… something this woman clearly doesn’t want.

This girl has the spark of life. This is my primary filter for new friends (girl- and otherwise) and the highest compliment I can pay. I've tried many times to figure out exactly what ignites it -- what cocktail of characteristics come together in the cold, dark cosmos to form a star. I know it's mostly in the face -- not just the eyes, but the brow, the cheeks, the mouth, and the micromuscles that connect them all. Kat's micromuscles are very attractive.

Everyone wants to fall in love. But I think more people are in love with the theory of love. If you’re looking in from the outside, it looks so beautiful. On the inside, it’s scary because it can take over your life. It’s the strongest emotion but also the darkest. It can put you on a high for days, but it can wrap an anchor around your feet and drown you in less than a minute. If everyone knew the truth no one would really ask for love. But when it drops into your life, you can only hope that you have enough strength to hang on.

I still think of Oregon Trail as a great leveler. If, for example, you were a twelve-year-old girl from Westchester with frizzy hair, a bite plate, and no control over your own life, suddenly you could drown whomever you pleased. Say you have shot four bison, eleven rabbits, and Bambi's mom. Say your wagon weighs 9,783 pounds and this arduous journey has been most arduous. The banker's sick. The carpenter's sick. The butcher, the baker, the algebra-maker. Your fellow pioneers are hanging on by a spool of flax. Your whole life is in flux and all you have is this moment. Are you sure you want to forge the river? Yes. Yes, you are.

On occasion, it occurs to adults that they are allowed to do all the things that being a child prevented them from doing. But those desires change when you're not looking. There was a time when your favorite color transferred from purple to blue to whatever shade it is when you realize having a favorite color is a trite personality crutch, an unstable cultivation of quirk and a possible cry for help. You just don't notice the time of your own metamorphosis. Until you do. Every once in a while time dissolves and you remember what you liked as a kid. You jump on your hotel bed, order dessert first, decide to put every piece of jewelry you own on your body and leave the house. Why? Because you can. Because you're the boss. Because . . . Ooooh. Shiny.

It's not that you have lost touch with these people. You haven't. It's just that they have kept in such close touch with each other. When scrolling through your cell phone, you generally let their numbers be highlighted for a second, hovering, and then move along to people you have spoken to within the last month. It's not that you're a bad friend to these people. It's just that you're not a great one. They know the names of each other's coworkers and the blow-by-blow nature of each other's dramas; they go camping in the Berkshires together and have such sentences in their conversational arsenal as "you left your lip gloss in my bathroom." You have no such sentences. Your connection to your friends is half-baked and you are starting to forget their siblings' names, never mind their coworkers. But you're still in the play even if you're no longer a main character.