Standalone Quotes

To be of good quality, you have to excuse yourself from the presence of shallow and callow minded individuals.

Happiness is such a fragile thing, isn't it? So easily burst, like a bubble blown by a child, and always on the verge of being carried away.

I know what it is to want something that could destroy you.

Everyone needs to escape sometimes, and retreating into somebody else's fantasy isn't nearly as satisfying as slipping into your own.

I laugh, and it sounds like I've been sucking helium.

Do not allow any negativity or ugliness in your surroundings, or anybody at all, destroy your confidence or affect your growth as a blooming flower. It is very normal for one ugly weed to not want to stand alone.

Stand up for what you believe in, even if you stand alone.

If a lion turned every time small dogs barked at it, it would be the laughing stock of the jungle.

That's life. Life is the ultimate game, and its rules were made to be broken

The good and the bad never existed in this world as standalone features. They were always bound together.

When mothers warn their daughters about all the cold nasty men out there who will only break their tender little hearts, I'm the one they've got in mind because I'm the one who broke their hearts when their mothers were warning them.

Crazy people always think they're perfectly sane. It's what makes them so crazy; their entire delusion lies within the fact that they believe they aren't deluded.

We're the perfect complement to each other. I help him stay grounded and he helps me fly.

There were two brothers, Truth and Lie. One day they get to playing, throwing cutlasses up into the air. Them cutlasses come down and fast as can be-swish!-chop each of their faces clean off! Truth bed down, searching for his face. But with no eyes, he can't see. Lie, he sneaky. He snatch up Truth's face and run off! Zip! Now Lie go around wearing Truth's face, fooling everybody he meet.

You win,” he panted. His fingers tightened on her hips as he shoved her back into the wall and kept her there. “I’m yours. Be gentle.

The shedding of blood has historically been seen as a male act of heroism: from right-of-passage fistfights, to contact sports and combat. Infrequent, random events seen as standalone milestones; stories to tell once the pain - and enough time - has passed. Female bleeding is more mundane, more frequent, more getonwithit, despite its existence being the reason that every single life begins

I hope you nail the bastard.” So does he.

Integrity is your own gauge of what is right for you. Integrity is not a stand-alone concept,

Riding Hard: A bad boy crime boss MC menage forbidden second chance romance standalone.

Passionate people are always ready to stand for their dreams even if no one stand with them. They vote and vote alone for their dreams but never loss their nomination for excellent leadership!

It’s dangerous to cherry-pick a few stand-alone verses, particularly when they are used as a weapon to silence and intimidate, effectively benching half the church5 in the midst of holy harvest season when the harvest is plentiful and the workers are few.

Stand up for what you believe in, even if it means standing alone.

How do you hate someone who pulled you from the brink of death, not once, but twice?

The truth is rarely pure and never simple. -Oscar Wilde

Sometimes the “them” strategy is just a narcotic to feed the beast in all of us.

Talk to me. Say something, anything," he pleaded quietly as if he was trying to tame a wild animal. "There's nothing to say." He looked up and lowered his eyebrows on his eyes. "Why did you kiss me?

How have you always felt?” he wondered. “Loved.” Her eyes opened and met his. “Wanted, happy, excited. A little sad.” He felt himself stiffen. “Why sad?” “Because it always feels like one lifetime with you just isn’t enough.

Thank you, Co-Pilot Obvious.

I am not going to think about the things I am not going to think about.

Great. Just fucking great. After I rode my bicycle back to my multi-million-dollar company, I was going to have to learn how to whittle.

Most books on publishing deal with publishing by itself. Most books on marketing deal with marketing as a stand-alone project. I think this is the wrong approach. Self-publishing and book marketing have to be considered as an integrated project. That is what this book does; it treats publishing and marketing together as a unified project.

Sadly kitchens often fall into the decorative trap of defaulting to basics: plain white units, tiled splash-back behind the sink or hob and possibly a large jolly-coloured standalone fridge-freezer as the one note of individuality.

What's happening to me?" she whispers to the quilt. "I'm losing my mind." Though that implies that I had one to begin with.

Why do you fight me?" His voice is soft again, as textured as velvet. "Can't you see I'm doing everything I can to help you?" "Help yourself off the edge of a cliff," she growls.

She also cussed every time he pooped for the first year, so it came as no surprise when his first sentence was, “Shit, Momma.” Our sides hurt for days after that one.

Stand up to injustice, even if you stand alone

He gripped the back of her neck again in that purely dominating way that made her melt. “We’re finishing this when we get back.” His voice was a low, raspy growl.

Don’t be afraid of being alone; a lion does not rule the jungle with sheep at its side.

Who ever really knows that it is the first time the first time you meet? It's only the first time after there's a second time. Up until then, it's just an only.

Sun Tzu said, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,

There are some people who come into our lives and take a little piece of our hearts when they go. So they’ll always have that love with them. But the heart is resilient and will eventually heal itself. Though the new heart isn’t the same as the old heart, and that’s why we never love two people the same way.” “I guess.

I remember something." "Yes?" "You told me once that you were going to break my heart." He rolls over to face her. "Yes," he says. "I may once have said something like that." "What happened?" His beautiful eyes are even more hypnotic up close. "You broke mine.

I had never had a big opinion for myself. I had always thought I'd be a fuck up, that I'd be disappointed like always by life and people. But at this very moment, I knew it. I wasn't a good man, not well-adjusted. —Nolan

I visited Anna’s grave to give her a piece of my mind for ever believing it was better for me to spend those years without her. Then I bent down and kissed the gravestone, making sure she knew I understood the decision she ultimately made.

Briar Rose awakens to grace us with her gentle presence once more." "Shut up," says Vol. "Your thorns are showing.

It symbolises strength." Bastien snorts. "It certainly doesn't provide any.

Vol picks up the cup of tea in both hands and takes a long sip. Mm, grass-clippings. Her favourite.

Coop knows that I would rather douche with battery acid than pick a restaurant, so he already knew to tell him that it would be fine.

Unlike a stand-alone decision or a goal, a strategy is a coherent set of analyses, concepts, policies, arguments, and actions that respond to a high-stakes challenge.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have even thought he had the ability to tame wild beast four-year-olds.

I was madder at myself than Elodie. I’d caused this. Why? Because I was impulsive, horny, selfish—and a goddamn panty snatcher, apparently.

If this guy ever had an unselfish thought, as my mama would say, it would die of loneliness.

Sometimes a wolf has to stand alone to find out what he’s made of.

The Deal A sexy standalone novel from New York Times and

I want you to wear this and always remember me, remember the time we’ve had together. Whether I can complement this someday with another ring, or whether it stands alone as a symbol of what never could be, this eternity band represents my eternal love and respect for you, Bianca.

They stare at her, not seeing the woman she is or the girl she was none too long ago, but a mere puzzle. An intractable puzzle - bemusing and a little frustrating, but capable of being solved nonetheless.

Gannon came from loud, passionate Italian stock that wasn’t afraid to smash a plate to make a statement. Paige, on the other hand, systematically choked down any temper and, with frosty efficiency, made him dance like a fucking puppet.

He could traverse any terrain on the planet, kill someone countless ways with his bare hands and can and had survived behind enemy lines with his team on more than one occasion. But the thought of Nora going out with someone else twisted him up

Empowerment wasn't defined as a static concept or standalone occurrence, but as an evolving way to rethink entire power structures and value systems, draw on shared skills and knowledge, and endow marginalized communities with tools for economic sustainability.

That's not cruel. This is. You come here in the middle of the night, expecting me to be awake, and ask—no, demand—me to give you things that belong to me as much as they belong to you. Never mind what it does to me. Never mind that each time I see you, I wonder if I'll ever hold you in my arms again, or be able to touch you without you cringing away like I'm a monster. I think it's fair to ask if there's an 'us,' my dear, because I suspect you're trying to use me just now. Tell me that's not cruel, and I'll let you go.

All right," she snaps at the computer. "I get it. I'm slowing down! Gods!" "Activating Generic Ocular Display Sequence. G.O.D.S." The front of her shuttle goes transparent and Vol experiences a nauseating wave of vertigo. "No, that's not what I meant! It's an expression! What the hell?" "Error. Request must be made in the form of a command." "Oh, f*** you." "Error. Command not recognised." "I'm not surprised," Vol mutters.

During our World History lesson that morning, Mr. Avenovich loaded up a stand-alone simulation so that our class could witness the discovery of King Tut’s tomb by archaeologists in Egypt in AD 1922. (The day before, we’d visited the same spot in 1334 BC and had seen Tutankhamen’s empire in all its glory.)

I opened the door of my mother's stand-alone wardrobe and let the smell of her wash over me. I loved having this one unspoiled part of her left just for me. I leaned forward, slipped my face in between the hanging silks and chiffons. Her scent was warm and possessive. If my idea of home had a smell, this would be it. Home. Mother. Oh God, please. My face crumpled, and my knees gave out. I pitched forward into her hanging clothes, grabbing at her blouses and dresses, smelling of gardenias and dusk. I fell to the closet floor, pulling some with me. I toppled amongst her shoes; stinging eyes squeezed shut, mouth frozen open in a silent "O." They were out there somewhere, their lifeless bodies, still and cold, and they would never be coming home again. I curled my legs inside the wardrobe and pulled the door closed, shutting myself away with her memory.

I think you enjoy messing with people." "That's a purely hypothetical supposition on your part," the bastard says.

Do you ever get tired of being such a witch?" Vol asks, holding open the door. "Oh, no. Never." She smiles. "You have to admit, it's so much more interesting than being nice.

If she sees him again, she isn't sure what she might do. Only that it will include grievous bodily harm and possible grounds for her own firing.

Shouldn’t a husband find his wife beautiful, because she’s his precious treasure, and tell her often?

Can I tell you a secret?” “I’d be shocked if you did, but yes. Please do.” “I like it when you’re bossy,” he tells me. “You get all fired up and that goes straight to my cock.” I

Lemme tell you a Titan truth. An hour ago, you were a virgin," he declared. "Yes, of course," I confirmed. In his possessive dream world. I loved being a part of that world.

he is quite possibly a piece of perfection with every bit of an eight-inch, thick cock.

I didn’t mean to make you mad.” He

going away with a guy I don’t know for a few days seems . . . extreme?” “And

Stand up to injustice, even if you stand alone.

The fire in my eyes didn't dry the tears that kept falling. Betrayal is the shittiest feeling in the world...

Eissa..." Bryah's soft voice called out my name as I leered goofily at her. Crushing harder than a toddler ogling over a baby girl he'd just met.

He needed to taste her like he needed his next breath.

I'm going to own your body, Lila, because you f*cking own mine.

I’m not working, I want you to be with me. If there’s a show you want to see or somewhere you want to eat, we can do that. But I do want you available to me completely at those times.

Come to think of it, I know three things: his name, he’s gorgeous, and he currently holds all the power. And I’m ready to remove all of my clothing. So I guess that makes it four. “How

I'm not asking you to come-" "Thanks." Vol studies herself in the cracked mirror and secures the braid with the tie. "I'm telling you to come." Kira's mouth hardens. "This is not optional.

Does your family play games, too?" She tries to sound off-hand. "No. Just me - and my brother." Which means her parents are in the casinos, then, leaving this kid in a collapsing mine. Okay, a virtual one, but still.

Emma Garcia gripped the steering wheel of the stolen pick-up truck she wished she wasn’t driving. In the entirety of her twenty-six years, she hadn’t taken as much as a piece of gum without paying for it, until today…

You're screwed, scum, and not in the way you'd like, either. Irony's a bitch, isn't it?" "You wouldn't say that if you knew who I am." Vol's bounty hunter laughs. "Trust me, I've seen an asshole before. Drop the sword now.

You're going to the ball?" "Aren't you? I was led to believe we had no choice in the matter." Vol cracks a wry smile. "Ah. You've met Kira, then." "If that self-congratulatory guinea pig in my doorway this morning was Kira, then yes. We're acquainted.

Especially for the younger generation, the Internet is not some standalone, separate domain where a few of life’s functions are carried out. It is not merely our post office and our telephone. Rather, it is the epicenter of our world, the place where virtually everything is done. It is where friends are made, where books and films are chosen, where political activism is organized, where the most private data is created and stored. It is where we develop and express our very personality and sense of self.

If you’re married, agree on the budget with your spouse. This one sentence requires a stand-alone book to describe how, but the bottom line is this: if you aren’t working together, it is almost impossible to win. Once the budget is agreed on and is in writing, pinky-swear and spit-shake that you will never do anything with money that is not on that paper. The paper is the boss of the money, and you are the boss of what goes on the paper, but you have to stick to the budget, or it’s just an elaborate theory.

Despite his soft speech, he stared at her as he’d like to eat her whole. Damn her traitorous body if that thought wasn’t such a bad one…. This could not be happening. She was on the run from a maniac and her hormones were going haywire. Clearly, she had issues.

Tell me if you want to stop.” His voice was surprisingly unsteady as he stood back. Her heart was pounding. She was glad to know she wasn’t the only one so affected. “No way.” Moonlight and streetlights streamed in from her two windows to give them more than enough illumination. “Now strip.

Looking back, I think the computer age did not really start until this moment, when computers merged with the telephone. Stand-alone computers were inadequate. All the enduring consequences of computation did not start until the early 1980s, that moment when computers married phones and melded into a robust hybrid. In

When she entered the dining room, she tried to ignore Caleb’s gaze on her. He wasn’t outwardly leering, but she could feel the intensity coming from his direction as if he was sending heat-seeking missiles her way. She knew he wanted her. She might not have much experience with men, but she knew when one was interested and Caleb Ryder was.

Come here. Then we'll talk." That sounds like a bad idea to her. "I can hear you fine right here." "Is it the arrows?" He kicks bow and quiver into the stream and grins a grin that puts the devil to shame. "There. Now I'm harmless." "No?" He tilts his head, shifting to his side so he can lean his stubbled chin on his hand. "Well, harmless enough. Don't you think?" "No.

I though I made it clear that harming you isn't high on my list of priorities." He shifts her in his hold so that while he is speaking, he is looking directly into her eyes. "And even if it was - which it isn't - I certainly wouldn't go about hurting you in such a half-coccked way, nor would I do it when your back was turned. As with most other things, I'd do it face-to-face and with finesse.

Participation in our democracy seems to be driven by the instant-gratification worlds of Twitter, Snapchat, Facebook, and the twenty-four-hour news cycle. We’re using modern technology to revert to primitive kinds of human relations. The media knows what sells—conflict and division. It’s also quick and easy. All too often anger works better than answers; resentment better than reason; emotion trumps evidence.

If love is real, it’s simply a comfort level in a relationship built on a network of dually respected qualities and preferences. It’s two people that both acknowledge they like most of the same things and enjoy being with the other person and, eventually, they agree to just do those things together. They have a different capacity for feelings for that person over most others. Maybe that’s what everyone calls love.

Caleb shifted uncomfortably as he closed the door behind him. For a moment, he’d thought she’d been naked under the sheet. But, it had been a nude-colored type of top. Didn’t seem to matter, the sight had kicked his fantasies into overdrive. She tried to hide herself, but the nightlight next to her bed cast a soft amber glow around her shining right through the thin sheet, illuminating her small pert breasts perfectly even through the top…. He couldn’t live under the same roof as her and not go insane. He would make an announcement tomorrow. She was off-limits.

I glare at him and sigh. “Don't you understand what a book is?” “Obviously.” “Then how can it be boring? It's not just twenty-six little letters all mushed together to make words that link together to tell a story. It's the creation of another world where anything can happen and anyone can be whoever they want to be. It's a crazy, special kind of magic that can transport you out of the real world, to anywhere you want to go. It doesn't matter if it's a made-up universe or it's written in a city you can drive to within an hour. It's what happens within the pages that makes reading so...not boring.

Capitalism is nothing if it is not on the move. Marx is incredibly appreciative of that, and he sets out to evoke the transformative dynamism of capital. That’s why it is so very strange that he’s often depicted as a static thinker who reduces capitalism to a structural configuration. No, what Marx seeks out in Capital is a conceptual apparatus, a deep structure, that explains the way in which motion is actually instantiated within a capitalist mode of production. Consequently, many of his concepts are formulated around relations rather than stand-alone principles; they are about transformative activity.

Begin morning run,” I said to Max. “Bifrost track.” The virtual gym vanished. Now I was standing on a semitransparent running track, a curved looping ribbon suspended in a starry nebula. Giant ringed planets and multicolored moons were suspended in space all around me. The running track stretched out ahead of me, rising, falling, and occasionally spiraling into a helix. An invisible barrier prevented me from accidentally running off the edge of the track and plummeting into the starry abyss. The Bifrost track was another stand-alone simulation, one of several hundred track designs stored on my console's hard drive.

From A Deadly Shade of Gold, a Travis McGee title: “The only thing in the world worth a damn is the strange, touching, pathetic, awesome nobility of the individual human spirit.” From the stand-alone thriller Where Is Janice Gantry?: “Somebody has to be tireless, or the fast-buck operators would asphalt the entire coast, fill every bay, and slay every living thing incapable of carrying a wallet.” These two angles show up everywhere in his novels: the need to—maybe reluctantly, possibly even grumpily—stand up and be counted on behalf of the weak, helpless, and downtrodden, which included people, animals, and what we now call the environment—which was in itself a very early and very prescient concern: Janice Gantry, for instance, predated Rachel Carson’s groundbreaking Silent Spring by a whole year. But the good knight’s armor was always tarnished and rusted. The fight was never easy and, one feels, never actually winnable. But it had to be waged. This strange, weary blend of nobility and cynicism is MacDonald’s signature emotion. Where did it come from? Not, presumably, the leafy block where he was raised in quiet and comfort. The war must have changed him, like it changed a generation and the world.

Despite the rise of the mental health profession, people are becoming increasingly vulnerable to depression. Why? Martin Seligman, a brilliant psychologist with no religious ax to grind, has a theory that it’s because we have replaced church, faith, and community with a tiny little unit that cannot bear the weight of meaning. That’s the self. We’re all about the self. We revolve our lives around ourselves. Ironically, the more obsessed we are with our selves, the more we neglect our souls. All of our language reflects this. If you’re empty, you need to fulfill yourself. If you’re stressed, learn how to take care of yourself. If you’re on a job interview, you have to believe in yourself. If you’re at the tattoo parlor, you must learn to express yourself. If someone dares to criticize you, you have to love yourself. If you’re not getting your own way, you have to stand up for yourself. What should you do on a date? You ought to be yourself. What if your self is a train wreck? What do you do then? Self is a stand-alone, do-it-yourself unit, while the soul reminds us we were not made for ourselves. The soul always exists before God. So soul is needed for deep art, poetry, and music. Former opera singer Scott Flaherty said it best: “I mean, when you sing you’re giving voice to your soul.” Imagine singing, “Then sings my self, my Savior God to thee,” or “Jesus, lover of my self.” Innately we know that the self is not the soul, even as we do everything we can to preserve it.