Spoiler Alert Quotes

Spoiler alert: Love is worth everything. Everything.

Please tell me people who look like us can be loved. Please tell me people who look like us can be desired. Please tell me people who look like us can have happy endings.

But I'm not looking to be fixed. I want to be loved and liked and desired not because of my size, not despite my size, but because I'm ME

If you truly love me in return, accept me as I am. If you can't accept me as I am, maybe you need to rethink your definition of love.

Spoiler alert: Apparently, alicorn vomit was just as sparkly as their poop.

Since approximately half the humans on this planet either have gotten or will get periods, I’ve always found that particular brand of squeamishness ridiculous.

Spoiler Alert: We all die in the end

I walked to his bedside table next. Infinite Mayhem. the ninth sequel to The Prince of Dawn, lay atop the table next to his reading lamp, the corner of page 138 turned down. He'd never made it to the end of the book. 'Spoiler alert: Mayhem survives,' I said out loud to him, just in case he could hear me.

Spoiler alert. Mayhem lives.

SPOILER ALERT: We all die in the end.

Your lack of anger does not reliably indicate a lack of wrong done to you.

Spoiler alert: Boys are savages.

So that was what had happened before the survey. Now we’re here, ready for the next major disaster. (Spoiler alert.)

Spoiler alert: The good life is a complicated life. For everybody. The good life is joyful… and challenging. Full of love, but also pain. And it never strictly happens; instead, the good life unfolds, through time. It is a process. It includes turmoil, calm, lightness, burdens, struggles, achievements, setbacks, leaps forward, and terrible falls. And of course, the good life always ends in death.

She swallows and looks down at her hands clenched in her lap. “I don’t like this story.” “Should I jump to the ending? Spoiler alert: the hero saves her.” Tabby looks over at me, her eyes shining like gems in the dark. “A real hero would teach the princess how to save herself.

Some scriptwriters believe death and misery and stagnation are more clever, more meaningful, and more authentic to reality than love and happiness and change. But life isn't all misery, and finding a path through hard, hard lives to joy is tough, clever, meaningful work.

Spoiler alert: life is regret, life is failure. But like that ghost, you learn to live with it. Because failure makes success matter.

Spoiler alert: Bambi’s mom doesn’t make it.

When I look up at him, the gloating smile falls off my lips faster than Ned Stark’s head hit the ground — sorry, spoiler alert — because there’s a look on his face I can’t quite describe.

Let’s leave Sawyer to his creeper ways, Bond. I have something I want to show you.” We leave together to the sound of Sawyer calling out, “Spoiler alert! It’s his dick!

Oh come on. He's not gonna survive 17 bullet wounds, is he? (Spoiler Alert: He does.)

Attention, success, and comparison hold my soul hostage and refuse to negotiate until they get what they want. Spoiler alert: They want everything. And they are never satisfied. They will never let you go.

Tonight you’re mine. I’ll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day after tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history.' She slaps me in the chest. 'That was a huge spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?' I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. 'Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after.' And then I kiss her. And it’s a twelve.

she loved shiny things, always had. But he wasn't a diamond. Just fool's gold.

That night, I ate... the meat of a snail person.

Can't fail if I don't try." ... "You're absolutely right. You'd regret trying and failing. But I'll do you one better. If you don't try, give it all you've got, you'll regret the hell out of never knowing if you would have succeeded. ... "Because regret haunts you for the rest of your life," Sewanee chimed in from the cheap seats. She hadn't intended to say anything, but as soon as she felt the answer it was out of her mouth. She caught Marilyn's eye. Her mother smiled sadly at her. "It's like a ghost that refuses to leave your house." Stu bugged his eye. "Why's it gotta leave? What, you think you can get through life avoiding regret? Avoiding failure?" He laughed. "Spoiler alert" life is regret, life is failure. But like that ghost, you learn to live with it. Because failure makes success matter.

Sometimes they blundered because their personal histories hadn’t taught them to be sensitive to certain issues. And sometimes they blundered because— Sometimes they blundered because they had trust issues. Major trust issues.

Wren’s comfort was worth his discomfort.

I am the only fucking person in this car and on this planet who can decide what my career is worth, he'd raged, offended fury in every syllable, and it's not worth my fucking soul.

Perfect.” He hugged me. “Spoiler alert!” “What is it?” I asked warily. “Everything’s going to be fine, Libby,” he said, hugging me again. “I just know it.

THE LITTLE PRINCE BY ANTOINE DE SAINT-EXUPERY Spoiler alert: Love is worth everything. Everything.

I squeeze her hand in mine. “I can’t wait to marry you…again.” She squeezes right back. “I love you.” “I love you. I’ll see you there?” “I’ll be the one in white.” “Wow. Okay, maybe throw out a spoiler alert next time.” She chuckles. “There won’t be a next time. This one is forever.

I’m not sure posting pictures there is a great idea.” It was more or less the same advice April had received for more than thirty years: If people are cruel, make yourself smaller and smaller, until you’re so inconsequential no one can target you.

Spoiler alert. Nobody is going to read your autobiography disguised as a space vampire and minotaur romance. You and every other half-wit out there with a nearby Starbucks and a laptop is writing the same bile. What you’re really doing is inadvertently live-blogging the story of human mediocrity,

I think it's best if I don't let you finish that sentence," Ro jumped in. "The probability of you making things worse is muuuuuuuuuuch too high. And since I'm being more helpful than you deserve, I'll also add that now might be a good time for you to tell us how you're feeling -- and spoiler alert: 'Fine' is not the correct answer.

His home was filled with valuables, even if he currently felt worthless.

I was constantly in a rush to be somewhere other than where I was at in any given moment. And it was exhausting.

It's not right on a societal level or even a professional level, but it is fine on a personal level. It has to be, because otherwise I'd spend my life angry and sad, and I don't want that for myself.

She'd almost forgotten how it felt to squeeze into a space too cramped to contain her comfortably. She'd almost forgotten the specific pain of attempting to make herself as small as possible, contorting her arms and legs in a way that hurt her joints and made relaxation impossible. She'd almost forgotten the reality of her life.

You're afraid that you suck. And - at least if you never try - no one (especially you) will be able to confirm that. Spoiler alert: This kind of thought doesn't come from an underachiever who's not good at anything. This kind of thought comes from a perfectionist. And truthfully? It's lame. There's so much incredible potential in you. But you're going to squander it because trying may or may not confirm that you're not as good as you thought you were. Stop being so hard on yourself!

Good," I tell her. "Tonight you're mine. I'll just wait to cook you breakfast until the day after tomorrow. And every day after that, until next November 9th when I get down on one knee and give you the most book-worthy marriage proposal in history." She slaps me in the chest. "That was a huge spoiler, Ben! Did you not learn about spoiler alerts during your reading binge?" I grin as I lower my mouth to hers. "Spoiler alert. They lived happily ever after." And then i kiss her. And it's a twelve. Not the end. Far from it.

My duty as an American forces me to buy Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups wherever I may find them.

Lauren wasn’t really into frosting, he’d learned, which was preposterous. Possibly un-American.

As always, fatness was a sin, most likely mortal rather than venial.

When I was 12 years old, I was in my room reading the Bible. My father came in and said, “Hey, guess what. Jesus dies in the end.” Spoiler alert.

No, it’s not [a book] Lana. It’s an allegorical novella about Stalinism by George Orwell, and spoiler alert, IT SUCKS.

Women are never in relative safety, you moron. We train to watch out for danger from girlhood. Spoiler alert: the danger is menfolk.

Spoiler Alert I just read ahead to the last page of your life and it turns out that you were always worthy of love and hope and surpassing kindness.

SPOILER ALERT: EVERYONE FALLS IN LOVE & DIES!

I’d spent most of the time Googling things “for research purposes”. Spoiler alert: When you’re a writer, ANYTHING can be called “research.

Spoiler alert: Everything is nothing.

Book lovers were also fools, in a way. Everyone knew they could never find love, because all they did was compare real life to life within the page. And spoiler alert: the page always won.

Women are never in relative safety, you moron. We train to watch out for danger from girlhood. Spoiler alert: the danger is menfolk. Dark streets and parking lots to us are like the wilds for

We’re getting you a dress. Time to Pretty Woman this shit.” He cracked his knuckles with relish. “I can’t wait until someone refuses to wait on you because you’re so obviously an unsophisticated oaf from Kansas or wherever–“ “North Hollywood. Basically just down this hill and over the next one.

Sometimes my entire high school experience feels like being the only one who already knows the end of a movie, when everyone else you're going with is excited to see how the movie will end. Spoiler alert: a 20 percent discount at Target.

It's a fucking Fiero, dude. It's twenty years old. It has 150,000 miles on it, which is practically what it takes to get to the moon. I'm going to bet if I open this thing up, it's going to smell like stale Drakkar Noir and chemical pine scent. There is probably a dead rat in the trunk. Maybe a whole nest of dead rats and rat babies." She finishes her drawing. (Spoiler alert: it's a penis.) "You should really be paying me to take this burden of Detroit steel off your hands.

some scriptwriters believe death and misery and stagnation are more clever, more meaningful, and more authentic to reality than love and happiness and change. But life isn’t all misery, and finding a path through hard, hard lives to joy is tough, clever, meaningful work.

Admit it. If we were characters in a (super hot) romance novel, you’d be the vulnerable babe in need of a protector, and I’d be the hardcore alpha villain everyone secretly yearns to tame. Spoiler alert: I’m willing to let you give the taming thing your best shot. Because I’m a giver.

You’re afraid that you suck . . . and at least if you never try, no one—especially you—will be able to confirm that. Spoiler alert: this kind of thought doesn’t come from an underachiever who’s not good at anything. This kind of thought comes from a perfectionist. And, truthfully, it’s lame.

Eventually, Winston breaks. He concedes that, yes, two plus two does equal five. Why? Spoiler alert: The benefit of embracing the lie ultimately outweighs the sacrifice required to cling to the truth. Sometimes, more often than we’d like to admit, lies are easier to believe than the truth. Especially in politics.

Attention, success, and comparison hold my soul hostage and refuse to negotiate until they get what they want. Spoiler alert: They want everything. And they are never satisfied. They will never let you go. We need a rescuer to come and save us from the bondage of the lie that whispers we have to build and grow and be known by all.

Because regret haunts you for the rest of your life. It's like a ghost that refuses to leave your house.' 'Why's it gotta leave? What, you think you can get through life avoiding regret? Avoiding failure? Spoiler alert, life is regret, life is failure. But like that ghost, you learn to live with it. Because failure makes success matter.

It’s only a matter of time. Daphne knows what she wants. It’s the same thing that I want. I can’t say why she’s so skittish, but I’ve given her the time and the space to overcome her hesitation. And yet she’s still keeping her distance, shooting me looks every time she thinks I’m not paying attention. Spoiler alert: I’m always paying attention.

That's the stupidest thing i've ever heard. First off, love is something story bookd invented to keep girls busy. Second, i hate Tedros

He was almost entirely certain he’d shifted far enough, but maybe she had some sort of preternatural erection detection ability?

But empathy requires imagination, and he didn’t have enough of either.

But I’m not you, Peter. I need people I love around me every day to be happy.

Make like a dancing firefighter on a Vegas stage,” she said, “and strip.

The synth speaks to my soul.

Just . . .” His fingers tightened on hers. “Just . . . hear me out until the end, and if I say something wrong, please let me explain myself.

Dieting? No fucking way. Taunting the Grim Reaper? No problem!

Why do you listen to closely to everything I say, and then remember it?" He frowned down at her, reaching over to rumple her hair with his free hand. "It's all very unfair.

I finished the Bible last night. Spoiler alert: Jesus doesn’t make it. Or maybe he does, now that I think about it. I may have stopped reading too soon. In my defense though it was getting really depressing. Honestly, that book is my Waterloo. But I guess technically Jesus didn’t die. He just faked it. Or maybe it was a dream sequence. Or possibly he’s a zombie or something? But it’s confusing because Jesus died for our sins but God didn’t accept his death, so does that mean that our sins are still all outstanding? And when I say ‘outstanding’ I mean that they’re like … still on the books. Not like ‘AWESOME! THOSE SINS ARE OUTSTANDING!’ Some people think stuff like that is sacrilegious but I’m pretty sure Jesus would think this shit was hilarious. Plus we could bond over how shitty it is to have your birthday so close to Christmas.

The perfect chocolate chip cookie,” I intone, “should have three rings. The center should be soft and a little gooey. The middle ring should be chewy. And the outer ring should be crispy.” “I can’t hear her give this speech again,” Kitty says to Peter. “I just can’t.” “Be patient,” he says, squeezing her shoulder. “It’s almost over, and then we get cookies.” “The perfect cookie is best eaten while still warm, but still delicious at room temperature.” “If you don’t quit talking, they won’t be warm anymore,” Kitty grumbles. I shoot her a glare, but truthfully, I’m glad she’s here to be a buffer between Peter and me. Her presence makes things feel normal. “In the baking world, it is a truth universally acknowledged that Jacques Torres has perfected the chocolate chip cookie. Peter, you and I tasted it for ourselves just a few months ago.” I’m really stretching it now to make them suffer. “How will my cookie measure up? Spoiler alert. It’s amazing.” Kitty slides off her stool. “That’s it. I’m out of here. A chocolate chip cookie isn’t worth all this.” I pat her on the head. “Oh, naïve little Kitten. Dear, foolish girl. This cookie is worth all this and more. Sit or you will not partake.” Rolling her eyes, she sits back down. “My friends, I have finally found it. My white whale. My golden ring. The cookie to rule them all.

Someone I know writes fanfic, and he— they want me to help proofread and give feedback on their stories. But I can’t give useful feedback unless I know what a good story looks like, so I’ve been reading fics about Cupid. The ones with the most kudos.

The Saroyan Stairs were special. Before leaving for Spain, he hadn’t anticipated sharing his late-night pilgrimages there with anyone. Not even Marcus, much as Alex loved his best friend. Lauren’s presence wasn’t an intrusion, though. It was a completion.

It's only in books--actual printed books--that you can easily start and stop your reading, that you can preread and reread, and, these days, as the book itself suffers from a cluster of plagues, it seems only right to pause and assert that the books that ought to be rescued these days are not the books that require a "spoiler alert"--such books are already spoiled--but books that aren't spoiled even if you know what's going to happen, even if you peek at the end, even if you're reading them for a second, or fifth, or dozenth time.

In 1984, Orwell’s protagonist, Winston Smith, ponders the infamous equation as the novel explores whether well-meaning people, with enough pressure from Big Brother, will buckle and compromise their most fundamental beliefs. Eventually, Winston breaks. He concedes that, yes, two plus two does equal five. Why? Spoiler alert: The benefit of embracing the lie ultimately outweighs the sacrifice required to cling to the truth. Sometimes, more often than we’d like to admit, lies are easier to believe than the truth. Especially in politics.

[Spoiler Alert (!)] There were times when you simply had to speak, or you would have your lifetime ahead to regret not speaking. But every time [Mr J.L.B. Matekoni] had tried to speak to [Mma Ramotswe] of what was in his heart, he had failed. He had already asked her to marry him and that had not been a great success. He did not have a great deal of confidence, at least with people; cars were different, of course [as he was a mechanic]. ‘I am very happy sitting here with you…’ She turned to him. ‘What did you say?’ ‘I said, please marry me, Mma Ramotswe. I am just Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, that’s all, but please marry me and make me happy.’ ‘Of course I will,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

I thought . . . or maybe I hoped?” She hesitated. “Hoped is probably more accurate. Anyway, I kind of hoped you were, uh . . . past the point of wanting kids?” “Oh, thank fuck.” He exhaled in a rush, sagging with relief. “I don’t want kids either. I have zero desire to take on that responsibility, especially given how hectic and unpredictable our schedules can be.

And somewhere in that lazy stretch of time after the auction, she started laughing too. Not by accident. Not because the world became a significantly more amusing place over the course of a week or two. No, she started laughing because he’d formulated a new goal to define his days: He wanted to make her laugh as often as he frustrated her. Which was to say, frequently.

You want me to work out with you?” she asked. Before this moment, she’d thought— It didn’t matter. He was treading familiar ground now, digging the same poisoned well deeper and deeper yet, and she’d abandoned that particular spot long ago. She wasn’t going back. Not for anyone, and especially not for a man whose company already came fraught with endless complications and contradictions.

Unlike flowers, the animals he tried to macerate would not yield up their scent without complaints or with a mute sigh — they fought desperately against death…and in their fear of death created large quantities of sweat whose acidity ruined the warm oil… The objects would have to be quieted down, and so suddenly that they would have no time to become afraid or to resist. He would have to kill them.

If you ever decide to write your own scripts, a bit of advice to keep in mind: As we’re both aware—all too aware—some scriptwriters believe death and misery and stagnation are more clever, more meaningful, and more authentic to reality than love and happiness and change. But life isn’t all misery, and finding a path through hard, hard lives to joy is tough, clever, meaningful work. Yours sincerely, E. Wade.

This is not any attempt to research your Great American Novel, is it?” Dad wondered. “Spoiler alert: a group of shitbirds merged with a newer group of shitbirds.” “Look,” I said. “Even if they were fieldmasters, and even if we remain peckerwood, I’d still like to know the stock whence I sprang.

The state’s ability to rear, educate, and prepare all the little Texans to take their place in the national economy is going to be an excellent predictor of how well the whole country will be faring down the line. We will get into that later, but—spoiler alert—the

I know how birth control works, big brother, and—spoiler alert—putting a wrapper on the banana is ninety-nine percent effective.

session—I never understand why a bride and groom take these photos before the wedding. It feels like I should be walking around with a giant sign that reads, “Spoiler alert!

Whatever. I’m going to class.” “No, Harriet! You mustn’t flee the premises! Mr. Elton will soon admire thee!” She’s been poking fun at my Austen obsession since she read Emma in English.  I roll my eyes, not bothering to look back at her as I speed walk to Geometry. “Dude, spoiler alert. She doesn’t end up with Elton.

Spoiler alert, but I need to skip forward and address something. They figure out eventually that the reason Dennis Hopper made this extremely overcomplicated weird bus bomb is because he used to be a police bomb sexpert supercop just like Keanu. Unfortunately, his hand got fucked up in the line of duty, andn ow he's mad that his pension isn't luxurious enough. Can you imagine that story line being presented as a comprehensible motivation for terrorism in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty????? Hahahahaha! To a kid born in, say, 2001 that's like a fish threatening to blow up the ocean because he's thirsty. You're an already-comfortable yet inexplicably enraged middle-aged white guy in 1994 *with a government pension* who's prepared to kill a bunch of working-class people on public transit so you can squeeze millions of dollars of fun-money out of the US taxpayer coffers *because you want it?* LOL.

Spoiler alert: people suck. Somebody opened Pandora's box -- surprise, surprise, the men would all blame the woman for it -- and out flew all the evils into the world: death, disease, hatred, envy, and Twitter. The bucolic sausage party was no more. Now men could kill each other. And, more important, now men had something to kill each other for: women, and the resources that attracted women. Thus, began the stupid dick-measuring contest also known as human history. ("Everything is Fucked", p.125)

Here it came at last, inevitable as death, taxes, and the fridging of female characters in action films.

The emotional roller coaster of fear, hope, sadness, disappointment, and ultimately, abandonment haunts me to this day.

that signature incense-y church aroma instantly filled my nasal passages. I knew it well. It was the smell of guilt.

He can hear you. Talk to him. Tell him you love him. Assure him that you will be OK without him.

how Kit had confronted this entire year: with grace, courage, dark humor, and unquestionable fearlessness, right up until the end.

Please God—I beg you—let me die before Kit.

As I watched the ashes drift downstream, I felt outside my body for a moment. Like I was in a dream. Like I couldn’t possibly be depositing pieces of the person I had loved more than any human being ever into the Susquehanna River.

How is my freedom at stake and everything is still all about Lila?" I froze, my own dessert spoon halfway to my mouth. "What? The only reason we're all gathered here tonight is for you. You're the one who asked me to investigate." "Yes, to help me. And instead you're twisting it into some quest your beloved suitors need to fulfill in order to win you over. Spoiler alert, Lila: Nobody likes love triangles. Nobody.

A FORCEFUL TRAINER IS A SPOILER