Snarky Quotes

You will not pass!” Roman thundered. Great. Now he had decided he was Gandalf.

You're just jealous." "Hardly. Been there, done you. Adequate, but unremarkable.

Can I take the cap and gown off now? I feel kind of dorky." You look kind of dorky...my subconscious is at her snarky best. So are you going to introduce Ray to the man you're f**king? She is glaring at me over her wing-shaped spectacles. He'd be so proud.

I'm Prophet." "Seriously?" "Why? What's your name--Jesus?

Quite an impressive file you've amassed, Sophia." Clasping his hands, he added, "If Hecate offered classes in complete mayhem, I have no doubt you'd be valedictorian." Nice to see where I got my snarkiness.

He auditioned with Lily, and he and Lily had incredible chemistry that sort of blazed off the scene. I’m just sitting here watching this on my computer, and you know, he was not the only person they’ve ever sent me to look at. I’ve gotten lots of headshots and this and that, and I’m watching the audition and I literally started crying because that was my Jace and Clary on the screen. And it’s an incredible feeling to see that even as an audition. This is amazing. He was snarky funny where he needed to be snarky funny, and he was badass where he needed to be badass. And he and Lily were incredible together

I can understand bitchiness in any language.

This was Jace being brave. Simon thought, brave and snarky because he thought Lilith was going to kill him, and that was the way he wanted to go, unafraid and on his feet. Like a warrior. The way Shadowhunters did. His death song would always be this-jokes and snideness and pretend arrogance, and that look in his eyes that said 'I'm better than you'. Simon just hadn't realized it before.

True cynics kill themselves. The rest are posers, trying to use clever sarcasm and snarky remarks to hide insecurity and the fear that if they put themselves out there, they will fail.

Have you been smoking something? Seriously, I think you're a werewolf. This new snarky attitude is a dead giveaway." "And vampires aren't snarky?" Kylie rolled her eyes. "No, we're pissy. Snarky and pissy are two totally different things.

Yeah, cause that would be a smart choice. So, I should just forget about the whole lying to me thing when you pronounce you will never do it again?” “Yes.” “You’d have a better chance getting a donkey to shit gold.

People who use snark attacks confuse cleverness with cruelty.

I love you because you’re funny and snarky, sarcastic as all hell, and the night we met, you told me to go fuck myself.” He ignores the way Cara shrieks his name. “You’re also kind and soft, sensitive and sweet, the best auntie, and a teacher I would’ve died to have in high school. You’re not just my girlfriend; you’re my biggest cheerleader and my best friend.

Stuart, who had just witnessed me go through an entire rainbow of emotions and experiences. There was parents-have-just-been-jailed me, stuck-in-a-strange-town me, insane-and-can't-shut-up me, kind-of-snarky-to-the-strange-guy-trying-to-be-helpful me, breakup me, and the extremely popular jump-on-top-of-you-unexpectedly me.

Are you going to help me or just make fun of me?" "Can't I do both?

It’s been a tough couple of years for condescending nerds. And if bookstores fall, Jon, America will be inundated with a wandering, snarky underclass of unemployable purveyors of useless and arcane esoterica.

I wanted to ask her, What does a stranger feel like? Not to be snarky or sarcastic. Because I really wanted to know if there was a difference,vif there was a way to become truly knowable, if there wasn’t always something keeping you a stranger, even to the people you weren’t strange to at all.

Why are you here?” I wanted to give him a snarky answer to compete with his responses. Something like, I wanted to eat stolen apples and read books all weekend. But I held my tongue. Maybe if he learned more about me, he’d realize I just wanted to leave.

Who knew Demon Child would have such a normal name? I expected something exotic like Serena or Destiny or the Evil One That Comes in the Night to Make Us Chilly.

I thought I was over him! So why did my heart still rip? Why did I still feel this sorrow? I got this strange sensation that God was with me. And he was angry. He was very angry--not at me and not at Jack. God was angry at the pain I was going through. I wondered if that was why God hated sin, because of the destruction it caused. For a moment I felt awe for a God who loved me enough to hate the things that hurt me without hating me for causing them.

When young people are cynical, and snarky, they shoot down their own future. When you keep saying "No," all that's left is what other people said "Yes" to before you were born. Really, "No" is no choice at all.

God, what is wrong with me? I've been watching too much Gossip Girl. Reading too many snarky books. Maybe I should listen to a bunch of Christian music or watch some Hannah Montana with Budge. I know, I'll view VeggieTales until the evil is purged out of me, and all the comes out of me is goodness, light, and songs about cucumbers.

More often than not he wore jeans with at least half a dozen holes, flip-flops that made him look like he was heading to the beach and a T-shirt, usually with a snarky saying. Today’s offering was “Heavily armed, easily pissed.

If I never got to make a living doing what I loved, I'd still do it--for fun and for free.

My inner goddess confirms that staring at a beautiful/rich/powerful face is the basis of True Love.

If you send someone a snarky Tweet, does that make you an Angry Bird?

Talk later." Prophet kissed the side of his neck. "Fuck, then sleep, then fuck again, then pack." "Good itinerary.

Is that any way for a lady to sit?" Aldrik teased. "I am a lady, and I am sitting this way: therefore, yes.

That's not how I'd planned it to be." "How did you plan it to be?" I ask, not to be snarky but because I am genuinely curious. "I planned it to be a million different things," he replies. "And in the end, I couldn't figure which one it should be.

At least Anne Frank,” Comrade Snarky said, “never had to tour with her book . . .

Snarky should never be confused with clever... (Snarky just showcases immaturity and a need to make other feel small in order to make oneself feel better. Clever shows wit, intelligence and the gift of play on words. Hurtful is as hurtful does and its just wrong.)

Put it out," said Dimitri. "Put it out or she dies." Lissa finally found her voice, even with her air cut off. "Don't listen to him," she gasped out." He's going to kill us anyway." But behind her, the heat died out. Shadows fell across Dimitri's face once again. Christian wouldn't risk her, even though she was right. It hardly seemed to matter. "Actually," said Dimitri, voice peasant amid and grim scene, "I'd rather you two stay alive. At least for a little while longer." I felt Lissa's face move to a frown. I wouldn't have been surprised if Christian's did too, judging from the confusion in his voice. He couldn't even manage a snarky comment. He could only ask the obvious: "Why?" Dimitri's eyes gleamed. "Because I need you to be bait for Rose.

Perhaps our loneliness can never be filled with even the best of human love. Maybe the longing for human love is just the beginning, and the longing for God is always the end.

And the next time you want to fill my locker with menstrual products, do me a favour and make them pads. I've never been a tampon girl myself

What are you running from?" That put a damper on the fluttering lashes. "Columbia House Music Club," I said, recovering my snarkiness quickly. "Oh, sure, they say they'll sell you six CDs for a penny, but they'll hunt you down like the hounds of hell if you miss the payments.

There's a very simple reason why quality relationships are scarce: we live in a fallen world, and it sucks.

The words were quintessential snarky Sidney Sinclair, but the husky tone of her voice was something new. Something that drew him in even more. “I think you’re worried that if I kiss you right now, you might actually like it.” Her eyes flashed—with anger, no doubt, but also with a heat that came from somewhere else. And before Vaughn even thought about what he was doing, he kissed her.

I returned to the news to see Kavanaugh testifying. Exasperated, sniffling, snarky, sarcastic, inflamed with glistening eyes. When Senator Amy Klobuchar asked if he'd ever drunk enough to not remember, he said, 'You're asking about blackout, I don't know, have you? I'm curious if you have.' I had been asked the exact same question. I had sat with restraint, never raised my voice, never retaliated. I wondered why a man, who was about to sit on the highest court of the land, could not maintain his demeanor, could only spit back, embittered by the unfairness of it all.

Oh,Mercer," he murmured against my temple once we'd come up for air, "we are so screwed." I pressed my face against his neck, breathing him in. "I know." "So what do we do?" Reluctantly, I tried to move away. It was hard to think when he was so close to me. "If we were good people, we'd never see each other again." His arms locked around my waist, pulling me back. "Okay,well, that's not happening. Plan B?" I smiled up at him, feeling ridiculously giddy for someone on the verge of ruining her life. "I don't have one.You?" He shook his head. "Nothing.But...look. I've spent basically my whole life pretending to be someone I'm not, faking some feelings, hiding others." Reaching down, he clasped my hand and lifted it so that our joined hands were trapped between our chests. "This thing with us is the only real thing I've had in a long time.You're the only real thing." He raised our hands and kissed my knuckles. "And I'm done pretending I don't want you." I had read a lot about swooning in the romance novels Mom had tried to hide from me,but I'd never felt in danger of doing it until now. Which was why a snarky comment was definitely called for. "Wow,Cross.I think you missed your calling.Screw demon hunting: you should clearly be writing Hallmark cards." His face broke into that crooked grin that was maybe my favorite sight in the whole world. "Shut up," he muttered before lowering his head and kissing me again. "Why is it," I said against his lips several moments later, "that we're always kissing in gross, dirty places like cellars and abandoned mills?" He laughed, pressing kisses to my jaw, then my neck. "Next time it'll be a castle, I promise.This is England, after all. Can't be too hard to find one.

Why did Nicky call me the Baby Killer?" Kiara sniffled. "Because she is a bitch," Leontes said. Jaeger gave him a chastising look. "She's dead." "Dying did not make her any less of a bitch," Leontes replied.

At home in Dellacrosse my place in the world of college and Troy and incipient adulthood dissolved and I became an unseemly collection of jostling former selves. Snarkiness streaked through my voice, or sullenness drove me behind a closed door for hours at a time.

This was the first time since I’d started working there that I hadn’t received a look of all-out disgust or, at the very least, a snarky comment, and all it had taken was a SWAT team of New York fashion editors, a collection of Parisian hair and makeup stylists, and a hefty selection of the world’s finest and most expensive clothing.

He appreciated you. But he couldn't feed your soul for the rest of your life. Can't you just appreciate that he was great for you for that period of time?

I remembered something Father Michael said to me a the monastery. 'The human soul is meant to expand. Things that once captured your heart may no longer be able to contain it.

For a woman to be taken as seriously as a man she must be three times as effective. Happily, this is not difficult.--Simone de Beauvoir

You have no spirit of culinary adventure. You need to be more like that snarky guy on the Travel Channel. He goes all over the world eating kangaroo a**holes and snail throw-up. He'd eat anything. He don't care how sick he gets. He's another one of my role models, except he needs ironing.

She was gonna fucking fill me, this woman-girl who didn’t realize what she did to me with her body. With her personality. With her snarky wit and sweet eyes. She was a lethal combination and completely fucking clueless.

You like my forearms? No, not yours in particular. I mean, they're fine. Just, it's a sexy body part. I totally agree. I just didn't know girls liked them too. Oh, yes, Daniel. All girls like forearms. Every single one. No really, I've asked all of us and we all agree. We don't even agree about whether or not the long arm of the law should be able to reach into our vaginas, but we agree about forearms.

Our witness is only as strong as our freedom is real. We can have the most noble convictions in the world, but if we are snarky and impatient when we don't get our way, those things will interfere with our influence. If we gossip more than we pray, those misspoken words will demolish our influence. If our addictions get in the way of living out our convictions, we'll have mostly a negative influence.

Bianca, Since you keep running away from me at school, and, if I remember correctly, the sound of my voice causes you to have suicidal thoughts, I decided a letter might be the best way to tell you how I feel. Just hear me out. I’m not going to deny that you were right. Everything you said the other day was true. But my fear of being alone is not the reason I’m pursuing you. I know how cynical you are, and you’re probably going to come up with some snarky reply when you read this, but the truth is, I’m chasing you because I really think I am falling in love with you. You are the first girl who has ever seen right through me. You’re the only girl who has ever called me on my bullshit. You put me in my place, but, at the same time, you understand me better than anyone ever has. You are the only person brave enough to criticize me. Maybe the only person who looks close enough to find my faults—and, clearly, you’ve found many. I called my parents. They’re coming home this weekend to talk to Amy and me. I was afraid to do this at first, but you inspired me. Without you, I never could have done that. I think about you much more than any self-respecting man would like to admit, and I’m insanely jealous of Tucker—something I never thought I’d say. Moving on after you is impossible. No other girl can keep me on my toes the way you can. No one else makes me WANT to embarrass myself by writing sappy letters like this one. Only you. But I know that I’m right, too. I know you’re in love with me, even if you are dating Tucker. You can lie to yourself if you want, but reality is going to catch up with you. I’ll be waiting when it does… whether you like it or not. Love, Wesley p.s.: I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, but I don’t care. Honestly, it’s always been kind of a turn-on.

I have no doubt you'll find it the highlight of your old and wasted life.

At the risk of hurting your feelings, I think you should know that some kisses are more special than others.

If she did bitch-slap me, I'd bitch-slap her right back, but I resented the word bitch and all its familiar forms, as it was degrading to women and dogs everywhere.

Gripping his hand, she shook. “The name’s Neve, not damsel in distress.

And I’m snarky?” my father demands. “Take a good look in the mirror, Peaches.

It would be great to find a nice tree to sit under and talk, but most trees these days are rude, and their conversations are filled with snarky sarcasm. I blame Meme Culture.

It would be nice to find a nice tree to sit under and talk, but most trees these days are rude, and their conversations are filled with snarky sarcasm. I blame Meme Culture.

With a curse, Zaynab followed. "If I've not said it lately, I think I hate you." "You know, for a magical being, you have a terrible sense of adventure," Nahri replied, touching one of the eddies of paint, a blue swell that looked like a wave.

Why don't you wear those tiny shorts when you run, like they do in the movies?" His voice was low and sexy, and he knew it. "Because I'm not in a movie. I know it's confusing, since you obviously live 'The Saxon Show' day and night, but some of us want to live a boring, old, normal high school life, you know?

It often felt like God had merely let me into a foyer where I could hear others playing my note in another room, with no way to get to the music. And that's really what I wanted to do. I wanted to play my note. I wanted to do the thing that made me feel alive.

I always wonder why condescending snarkiness is the chosen method of communication for so many forum users. It seems to me like these things would be much better expressed in non-confrontational, polite manner.

If someone is snarky or critical, I no longer try to “buff them up,” send love, or try to explain my position. If the comment is nasty or a put-down, I just delete it. If it happens again, I simply press “ban user.

Jude, it was so hard seeing you day after day, that fucking smile of yours, those eyes, that snarky sense of humor. I wanted you so badly, and not being able to even touch you felt like trying to breathe under a mountain of snow.

Becoming a fae leader? Not on my bucket list.

No. N-O. It might be an unfamiliar word to you, so look it up. It comes after M--and right before I go get my sword. --Sera

You catch more flies with honey, ever heard of that?" He shrugged. "I don't like flies. They're annoying." He grinned "I'd rather catch hell.

He was my age and in my imagination he was a fireman, not the kind that actually fights fires but the kind who travels the country shirtless posing for calendars.

Halil snorted. "If you have courage, I am a donkey." "That has always been my personal opinion of you, but I never expected you to agree with me.

Dinner, as friends. Where I don't expect you to pay or hold doors and you don't expect make-up or sex." "I'll be rude, and you'll be purposely homely. It'll be magical," Noah laughed.

I glare at him."I can't reach my hair," I snap, wiggling my bound fingers. Bowen's eyebrows shoot up."A bit snarky this morning, Fotard?" I sigh, a feeling bone-deep, weary ache in my whole body." Can you blame me, Botard?" He runs his fingers over his scruffy chin and studies me."No. I'd be pretty snarky if I smelled like you. And I bet you're dying to brush your teeth.

Those comments were borne of depression and sadness and my desire to make someone else feel as badly as I did. I get very snarky when I’m upset, which some people find endearing in a weird way but it usually ends up making me disappointed in myself.

Expensive clothes and high status had little effect on Frankie. But their money and popularity made life extremely easy for Matthew, Dean, Alpha, and Callum. They did not need to impress anyone and were therefore remarkably free from snarkiness, anxiety, and irksome aspirational behaviors, such as competition over grades and evaluation of one another's clothing. They were not afraid to break the rules, because consequences rarely applied to them. They were free. They were silly. They were secure.

I left all safe bets behind, Ford. I don't want a safe relationship. I don't want a safe love. I want messy and snarky and... I want a wild love. I want you, even though you make me want to push you into the lake and break your computer and throw paint all over your pristine floors. I want this feeling I have with you where it hurts to breathe when you get too far away, where my skin itches uncontrollably when you look at me. Where thinking feels overrated because we both know nothing and no one will ever feel like this. Like us.

The greatest casualty may be our growing inability to find words that precisely communicate our feelings and emotions. Why else the need for that burgeoning catalog of emoticons to supplement our written correspondence? A smiley face. A snarky face. A heart. A thumbs-up.

Her ego was out of control! It blinded her judgement, making her vulnerable in ways she didn't think were possible. In the end, a couple of snarky comments from a teenage girl defeated her. I saw it happen! Sticks and stones didn't break her bones. It was words that hurt her!

I am fluent in snark. Bethany only notices snark when snark grabs her off the sidewalk, throws her in the back of a sketchy van with tinted windows, drives to the middle of the Meadow-lands in the dead of night, and uses a heavy blunt instrument to smack her repeatedly about the head as it screams, “I’M SNARK. DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME? I’M SNARKY SNARKY SNARK!” And even then she’s like, “Ohhhh? Snark? Is that you?

Have you seen the mummies at the British Museum?” “The Egyptian ones? No, not yet. But they have a similar thing in China.” “Did you ever imagine if they started moving? Withered hands reaching towards you and sunken eyes staring?” “I didn’t, but now I know what I’ll be dreaming about tonight.

Now when you say staring, are you including yourself in this assessment? I recall you taking in the view on several occasions." "For the last time, I was not staring at you." I was a terrible liar. "Now, if you're done, I'd like to finish asking my question.

She says, "I'll swear by the rose tattooed on my ass, that old man raped me." Here, the funeral parade stops. At this point, Comrade Snarky is a victim among victims. The rest of us — just her supporting cast. Mrs. Clark, leading us, she looks back and says, "He what?" And from behind his camera, Agent Tattletale says, "Me, too. He raped me first." Saint Gut-Free says, "Well what the hell...He poked me, too." As if poor skinny Saint Gut-Free had enough ass left to poke. And Mrs. Clark says, "This is not funny. Not in the least." "Tough," the Matchmaker tells her. "It's wasn't funny, either, when you raped me." Shaking his ponytail, the Duke of Vandals tells the Matchmaker, "You couldn't pay to get raped.

If all the world's a stage, then it's missing a few planks.

Listen up, Little Miss Fun Hater. Off the record, if it wasn't for our school's strict but smarmy anti-bullying laws, I would bitch-slap you into next summer.

I gotta say, I was really feeling the robe, but there's something about a girl in cartoon pajamas that does it for me.

The guy had guts—I had to give him that. Later on I was hoping for a first-hand look at them.

Yeah, kid. I almost got blown up. It was great.

I detest goodbyes. That is, with people I like.

Get your head out of your ass, you already reek of hypocrisy, so why add notes to the fragrance?

The trouble with today's snarky pipsqueaks who break off a sentence or two, or who write a couple of mean paragraphs, is that they don't go far enough; they don't have a coherent view of life. Spinning around in the media from moment to moment, they don't stand for anything, push for anything; they're mere opportunists without dedication, and they don't win any victories.

But most of the time when I wear them, I don’t know, I’m kind of hoping—foolishly, probably—that people will read it, get the message, change their lives for the better, even if it’s only in the smallest of ways, and make the world a better place.” Knox was still grinning as he buttered his toast. “So you’re saying your shirts are like a butterfly effect?” “Pretty much, yeah. And when they hand me my Nobel Peace Prize in fifty years for changing the world, one snarky shirt at a time, I’m going to wave it in your face and chant ‘Told ya so’ about a million times.

You’re not the funny one. Just try and stick in your snarky, bitchy lane, yeah? It suits you better.” I opened my mouth to protest that, but Darius turned and punched him in the arm before I could. “Don’t tell her she can’t be funny, dickhead,” he warned like my own personal dark knight. “Well tell me this, Darius,” Seth said seriously, looking him square in the eye. “Did. You. Laugh?

I only see you.” He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over the inside of my wrist. “Just as you are. I don’t imagine you as some impossible ideal. To me you’re…real.” His lips quirk in a half-smile. “Stubborn, opinionated, pushy, funny, intelligent, kind, too hard on herself, snarky, sarcastic, jaded, yet somehow a closeted optimist. I fell in love with you for you, T. Nothing you could say or do would embarrass me. Ever.

Elinor had some difficulty here to refrain from observing, that she thought Fanny might have borne with composure, an acquisition of wealth to her brother, by which neither she nor her child could be possibly impoverished.

I watched the light flicker on the limestone walls until Archer said, "I wish we could go to the movies." I stared at him. "We're in a creepy dungeon. There's a chance I might die in the next few hours. You are going to die in the next few hours. And if you had one wish, it would be to catch a movie?" He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I wish we weren't like this. You know, demon, demon-hunter. I wish I'd met you in a normal high school, and taken you on normal dates, and like, carried your books or something." Glancing over at me, he squinted and asked, "Is that a thing humans actually do?" "Not outside of 1950s TV shows," I told him, reaching up to touch his hair. He wrapped an arm around me and leaned against the wall, pulling me to his chest. I drew my legs up under me and rested my cheek on his collarbone. "So instead of stomping around forests hunting ghouls, you want to go to the movies and school dances." "Well,maybe we could go on the occasional ghoul hunt," he allowed before pressing a kiss to my temple. "Keep things interesting." I closed my eyes. "What else would we do if we were regular teenagers?" "Hmm...let's see.Well,first of all, I'd need to get some kind of job so I could afford to take you on these completely normal dates. Maybe I could stock groceries somewhere." The image of Archer in a blue apron, putting boxes of Nilla Wafers on a shelf at Walmart was too bizarre to even contemplate, but I went along with it. "We could argue in front of our lockers all dramatically," I said. "That's something I saw a lot at human high schools." He squeezed me in a quick hug. "Yes! Now that sounds like a good time. And then I could come to your house in the middle of the night and play music really loudly under your window until you took me back." I chuckled. "You watch too many movies. Ooh, we could be lab partners!" "Isn't that kind of what we were in Defense?" "Yeah,but in a normal high school, there would be more science, less kicking each other in the face." "Nice." We spent the next few minutes spinning out scenarios like this, including all the sports in which Archer's L'Occhio di Dio skills would come in handy, and starring in school plays.By the time we were done, I was laughing, and I realized that, for just a little while, I'd managed to forget what a huge freaking mess we were in. Which had probably been the point. Once our laughter died away, the dread started seeping back in. Still, I tried to joke when I said, "You know, if I do live through this, I'm gonna be covered in funky tattoos like the Vandy. You sure you want to date the Illustrated Woman, even if it's just for a little while?" He caught my chin and raised my eyes to his. "Trust me," he said softly, "you could have a giant tiger tattooed on your face, and I'd still want to be with you." "Okay,seriously,enough with the swoony talk," I told him, leaning in closer. "I like snarky, mean Archer." He grinned. "In that case, shut up, Mercer.

His horrible, beautiful face and his stupid perfect magic and his snarky hilarious comments. It bothered me that he felt guilty over my predicament. It bothered me that he felt stuck here in the castle. Everything about him bothered me - how smart he was, how he cared about everyone, how he put himself in danger for my sake, how he followed me when I ran away, how he looked when the octopus smacked him and send him airborne, how he'd cultivated flowers just for me, how he trembled when I held his arm as he thrust the practice sword, how the heat of his body against mine made my knees weak and my head spin. How he was the only one I wanted but I was pretty sure he didn't want me.

There were so many ways he could have answered her snarky question. But sometimes, direct worked best. Leaning forward, he hooked a finger in the waistband of her pants and tugged. She stepped forward without hesitation and met his mouth hungrily. Well, hello. [...] She wound her hands into his hair, arching against him so that her thighs pressed against his. With the added height from her heels, everything lined up perfectly. Center to center, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.

reining yourself in because why ruin a good thing? why make it weird? and then you say goodbye, with a hug, with a snarky remark, and head home. you climb into bed and imagine them with you. you think about how their hair falls in their face, about how they breathe when they sleep. you think about them waking up and nudging you into consciousness with soft kisses down your torso. you sit in bed and think of all the ways you could make their soul dance. how you know their quirks and it all feels so right, but why? why is this happening? why can’t you just be content with what you have now? except even now you have to control the urge to kiss them, even though it is in your nature, even just on the cheek, because what if it breaks the relationship apart at the seams? you may not even mean it sexually or romantically, but what if? and there’s always the chance they have felt this way too. but it’s only a chance. and why risk it? so you lay there in bed and twist the sheets around your legs and text them back about another person they have feelings toward and coax them into something healthy. you put their happiness before your own. you watch as they stumble and help them rise mightily. you gush over them and try to snuff out the selfishness that builds whenever you see them with someone else. it wouldn’t be fair to them to impose your own wants on them and take away a good friendship. it isn’t always about you. and yet here you are, writing this. writing this and thinking of someone specific the entire time.

Ah yes…” He made an exaggerated nod. “I was supposed to be filling you in on Nangí’s story.” He winked at me playfully, as I kept up my glare. “Now, where should I begin?” “Tell you what, let me get you started,” I came back. “Once upon a time, there was this über-creepy old man—who looks like he lives in a haunted shack and eats small children for breakfast—and I decided to make him my new best friend becaaauuse… Okay, your turn.

Huffing from her exertion, her face flushed and her expression happy, she looked toward the door—and went still. Dare pushed past Trace and went to the wall unit to turn down the music. Into the silence, Chris asked, “Everyone having fun?” “God, Chris,” Dare said. “Trace is going to kill you if you don’t shut up.” “Really?” Priss struck a pose of annoyance, one hip cocked out, her arms crossed, her chin elevated. “And here Molly and Chris assured Matt that you weren’t the type to cause bodily harm.” “They must have been jesting.” Trace was well used to Chris’s warped sense of humor, so Chris wasn’t in any danger. But Matt . . . Trace zeroed in on him. In a tone more lethal for the quietness of it, he asked, “What are you doing?” “Harmless dancing?” Matt replied in a nervous question, unsure of the right answer. Priss suddenly stepped in front of Matt, which left Matt bemused. “Don’t act snarky with him, Trace. I asked him to dance with me. We had some time to kill before this crud comes out of my hair. And you were nowhere to be found.” Matt pulled her aside, earning a glare from Trace. He quickly held up his hands, palms out, to prove he wasn’t touching her. “Speaking of time, we can go wash your hair right now, if everyone will just excuse us.” “I need a minute with Priss first.” Trace eyed her militant stance, and had to fight a smile. She had a backbone of steel. He liked that. “Alone.

Did you have somewhere else you needed to be?” I ask, deflecting the question. “Yes,” she says. But it’s lacking truth and comes out a little sullenly. “Where? Is there a murder marathon on TV this afternoon, safety girl?” “No!” she says. But she says it too quickly and fidgets in her seat. “Holy shit, there is, isn’t there? You’re so weird.” She’s amazing. “It’s a Criminal Minds marathon, jerk,” she retorts and this conversation starts to make sense. I’m competing with a fucking television show. “So you wanted to get home to watch reruns, is what you’re telling me?” “Fine,” she huffs. “I guess I can watch reruns another time.” “Thanks,” I say drily. “That’s big of you.” “You’re welcome,” she replies and I’m honestly not sure if she’s being snarky or serious

A smartphone allows you to choose your own adventure. So be a hero, not a villain. Don’t be your own worst enemy. No wasting time… No training your brain not to remember things, losing the skills necessary to read a fucking map… No trolling. Don’t make snarky remarks on comment threads or internet forums or social media. Just do good. Help others. If you’re out in the world and bored, which you shouldn’t be anyway, but still, if you feel like you need to get on your phone, be useful. Answer questions, offer advice. Look only for question marks when you scroll through your Facebook news feed. Log on to Reddit and comment on something you have firsthand knowledge of and real insight about. Give far more than you take. Never text and walk. And stop googling things as you think of them. Instead, write it down and look it up later. If you can’t remember to do this, then you didn’t deserve to know the answer. This will keep your mind active, agile; clear to really think. It will keep you sharp. Using the internet for information or socialization should be an activity, something you sit down for—it should not be used while out and about. You should not refuse the beauty of what’s in front of you for mere pixels of red, green, blue on a 3.5-inch screen. Otherwise, you’ll lose yourself. An abyss of ones and zeros will swallow you whole. Don’t be a dumb motherfucker with a smartass phone.

We've known each other for years." "In every sense of the word." Tanya gave him a nudge and they shared another laugh. In every sense of the word... Daisy felt a cold stab of jealousy at their intimate moment. It didn't make sense. Her relationship with Liam wasn't real. But the more time she spent with him, the more the line blurred and she didn't know where she stood. "Daisy is a senior software engineer for an exciting new start-up that's focused on menstrual products," Liam said. "She's in line for a promotion to product manager. The company couldn't run without her." Daisy grimaced. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration." "Take the compliment," Tanya said. "Liam doesn't throw many around... At least, he didn't used to." At least, he didn't used to... Was the bitch purposely trying to goad her with little reminders about her shared past with Liam? Daisy's teeth gritted together. Well, she got the message. Tanya was a cool, bike-riding, smooth-haired venture capitalist ex who clearly wasn't suffering in any way after her journey. She was probably so tough she didn't need any padding in her seat. Maybe she just sat on a board or the bare steel frame. Liam ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the dark waves into a sexy tangle. Was he subconsciously grooming himself for Tanya? Or was he just too warm? "What are you riding now?" "Triumph Street Triple 675. I got rid of the Ninja. Not enough power." "You like the naked styling?" Liam asked. Tanya smirked. "Naked is my thing, as you know too well." Naked is my thing... As you know too well... Daisy tried to shut off the snarky voice in her head, but something about Tanya set her possessive teeth on edge. "Do you want to join us inside?" Liam asked. "We're going to have a coffee before we finish the loop." Say no. Say no. Say no. "Sounds good." Tanya took a few steps and looked back over her shoulder. "Do you need a hand, Daisy?" Only to slap you.