Swift And Saddled Quotes

You're the moon and I’m the tides. You pull me in without even trying, and I come to you willingly. I always will.

If you like who you are, why is it so hard to believe other people do too?

I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.

I followed my dreams, and they led me back to you.

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

You say you're not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun. I would rather have the moon anyway.

I used to be fearless. Until I met Ada Hart. Now I had something that I was terrified to lose.

God, he was so gentle — so comforting. He talked to me the way people talk to plants when they want them to grow.

When you're treated a certain way for so long, you start to believe that's how you should be treated. It left me feeling like there wasn't anything about me that someone could love.

As far as friends went, I didn’t really have any–not because I didn’t want them, but because making friends as an adult is hard. Honestly, I enjoyed solitute, but there’s a difference between that and being lonely.

You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny. I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.

Ada wasn’t just “on my mind,” she was in it — in every nook and cranny.

But depression wasn't a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July.

I would never have to wonder what it was like to be loved, because Weston Ryder would love me all the way.

The little things are the big things, Ada. They're the things all the big things are made of I might not know you all the way, but I want to, and I'm just asking you to give me a chance to do that.

I was grieving all of the parts of myself that I lost or gave up in the name of comfort because I would rather have been comfortable than happy. I chose to prioritize my false sense of security instead of me.

We traded stories and anecdotes, and I carefully added new pieces of Wes to my growing collection of things about him that I was holding close to my heart.

Warning: Dimples may appear and cause panty-dropping.

He was like the sun. No matter what, he would keep coming up.

Some days I wasn’t very proud to be me, but I was always proud to be my dad’s son.

I'd been awake since half past four, so I'd been waiting for her to wake up for almost an hour. At this point, I was pretty sure I'd been waiting for her my whole life, so an hour was easy.

I can see you’re confused.” He stepped closer to me. “So let me break this down for you: I fucking adore you, Ada. You are, without a doubt, the most brilliant and purposeful woman that I’ve ever met, and I would be the stupidest man alive if I let something as stupid and surmountable as distance take you away from me.

The question is, Miss Finch . . . what are you doing in this village?” “I’ve been trying to explain it to you. We have a community of ladies here in Spindle Cove, and we support one another with friendship, intellectual stimulation, and healthful living.” “No, no. I can see how this might appeal to a mousy, awkward chit with no prospects for something better. But what are you doing here?” Perplexed, she turned her gloved hands palms-up. “Living happily.” “Really,” he said, giving her a skeptical look. Even his horse snorted in seeming disbelief. “A woman like you.” She bristled. Just what kind of woman did he think she was? “If you think yourself content with no man in your life, Miss Finch, that only proves one thing.” In a swift motion, he pulled himself into the saddle. His next words were spoken down at her, making her feel small and patronized. “You’ve been meeting all the wrong men.

You don't even know me.” “I know that your feet and hands are always cold no matter the weather. I know that you prefer to wake up early on the weekends because you would rather take a nap in the afternoon than sleep in. I know you love sour candy and hate repeating yourself. I know you're always on time, and I know you're lying about hating country music. I know you.” “No, you don't. Those are all little things. Tiny things.” “The little things are the big things, Ada. They're the things all the big things are made of. I might not know you al the way, but I want to, and I'm just asking you to give me a chance to do that.

I am a firm believer that if you pass them while you’re driving, you’re legally obligated to point at them and say “Cows!

Within a few seconds, “Move Bitch Get Out da Way” was pumping through my speakers. This was going to work. If they wouldn’t listen to me, they might listen to Ludacris.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

You know, I think I'm actually good. Thank you for offering, but it's not urgent. I don't want to derail your day.” ‘Derail my day? I'd drive my truck off a cliff if it meant that I got a few moments alone with her, but she didn't need to know that.

If there was one thing that Amos Ryder always did, it was believe in his kids. And Brooks, too, I guess. And we didn’t even do anything to earn his unconditional support for us. He just did it. I mean, I guess that’s how some parents were. But still.

But depression wasn’t a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July. It was impossible to predict, which meant that I spent much of my time worrying about when the other shoe was going to drop. Not if, but when I would sink into another dark hole and have to decide to claw my way out of it. Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn’t be.

My dad made sure all of us knew cooking basics, especially Gus and me. From the time we were little, he told us that someday we might have to share a home with someone, and when that happened, it would be important to split labor—whether that was cooking, cleaning, or whatever.

I never felt like I knew how to connect, or speak the right language, always just to the left of the right social cue.

Damn. What the hell were they putting in the water in Meadowlark, Wyoming?

I’m not going to say what I want to say because I know you're not here yet, but I want you to know that I'm here. And that I’m waiting.

And as far as lifetimes went, basking in the warmth of the sun seemed like a pretty damn good way to spend one.

I cut off so many pieces of myself trying to fit into his box, and I was just starting to get all of them back.

Derail my day? I’d drive my truck off a cliff if it meant that I got a few moments alone with her, but she didn’t need to know that.

Ash?” She swallowed and shrugged. “Old nickname. My last name is Ashwood.

Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” It’s not what’s wrong, I thought to myself. It’s what’s right.

Clara Swift is asleep, her head on the cowboy’s saddle; the cowboy sleeps with his head in Clara’s lap, his Stetson on his stomach.

Leave the cowboy hat on,

Hey, sweetheart,” I said in greeting. “Hi, cowboy.

Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn't be. Honestly, it was exhausting. It took up so much of my brain even though I recognized that there wasn't very much I could do about it.

You say you're not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun. I would rather have the moon anyway.

As soon as I entered the house, my wife took me in her arms, and kissed me; at which, having not been used to the touch of that odious animal for so many years, I fell into a swoon for almost an hour. At the time I am writing, it is five years since my last return to England. During the first year, I could not endure my wife or children in my presence; the very smell of them was intolerable; much less could I suffer them to eat in the same room. To this hour they dare not presume to touch my bread, or drink out of the same cup, neither was I ever able to let one of them take me by the hand. The first money I laid out was to buy two young stone-horses, which I keep in a good stable; and next to them, the groom is my greatest favourite, for I feel my spirits revived by the smell he contracts in the stable. My horses understand me tolerably well; I converse with them at least four hours every day. They are strangers to bridle or saddle; they live in great amity with me and friendship to each other.

I haven’t seen you in here before,” he said. It was almost accusatory. Between his saying that and the weird way he was looking at me, I was starting to get annoyed. “Was there supposed to be a question in there?

You’re my boss. I’m contracted for a project. Once that project is complete, I’m done. I move on. I get a new boss.” Wes’s features shifted from hurt to anger. “So that’s all I am to you, then?” “That, and a good lay.” I shrugged,

Lord Antesh,” Uncle Sentes said. “I see no recognisable flag of truce, do you?” Antesh pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can’t say as I do, my lord.” “Well then.” “. . . swift transportation to any land of your choice,” the Volarian was saying, the scroll held in front of his eyes. “Plus one hundred pounds in gol—” He choked off as Antesh’s arrow punched through the scroll and the breastplate beyond. He tumbled from the saddle and lay still, the scroll pinned to his chest. “Right,” the Fief Lord said, turning away. “Let me know when the rest get here.

I shall amuse you with a tale, then,” said Will. “The tale of my hellride with Balios from London to Cadair Idris, in Wales. Your mother, James, was missing—kidnapped by the miscreant Mortmain. I leaped into Balios’s saddle. ‘If ever you loved me, Balios,’ I cried, ‘let your feet now be swift, and carry me to my dear Tessa before harm befalls her.’ It was a stormy night, though the storm that raged inside my breast was fiercer still—” “I can’t believe you haven’t heard this story before, James,” said Magnus, mildly. The two of them were sharing one side of the carriage, as it had become quickly apparent on the first day of their journey that Will needed the entire other side for dramatic gesturing. It was very strange to have heard tales of Magnus all James’s life, and now to be traveling in close quarters with him. What he’d learned in their days of travel was that despite his elaborate costumes and theatrical airs, which had alarmed several innkeepers, Magnus was surprisingly calm and practical. “I haven’t,” said James. “Not since last Thursday.

We had one car. It was a stick shift.” “But you couldn’t drive it?” I asked, tightening my hand that was on the steering wheel. “No, which meant I didn’t leave the house unless I was going somewhere within walking distance or my ex drove me.” “He didn’t try to teach you?” “He said I didn’t need to know how to drive it when he could take me anywhere I wanted to go.

They are like Pa’s eyes,” thought Scarlett, “Irish blue eyes and she’s just like him in every way.” And, as she thought of Gerald, the memory for which she had been fumbling came to her swiftly, came with the heart stopping clarity of summer lightning, throwing, for an instant, a whole countryside into unnatural brightness. She could hear an Irish voice singing, hear the hard rapid pounding of hooves coming up the pasture hill at Tara, hear a reckless voice, so like the voice of her child: “Ellen! Watch me take this one!” “No!” she cried. “No! Oh, Bonnie, stop!” Even as she leaned from the window there was a fearful sound of splintering wood, a hoarse cry from Rhett, a mêlée of blue velvet and flying hooves on the ground. Then Mr. Butler scrambled to his feet and trotted off with an empty saddle.

The Dark One didn’t cut it in the first place,” Tairn responds. “Stop calling him that.” My knee collapses, and I throw my arms out to steady my balance, cursing my joints as I reach Tairn’s shoulder. After an hour in the saddle at these temperatures, a pissed-off knee is nothing; I’m lucky my hips still rotate. “Stop denying the truth.” Tairn enunciates every word of the damning order as I avoid a patch of ice and prepare to dismount. “His soul is no longer his own.” “That’s a little dramatic.” I’m not getting into this argument again. “His eyes are back to normal—” “That kind of power is addictive. You know it, or you wouldn’t be pretending to sleep at night.” He twists his neck in a way that reminds me of a snake and levels a golden glare on me. “I’m sleeping.” It’s not entirely a lie, but definitely time to change the subject. “Did you make me repair my saddle to teach me a lesson?” My ass protests every scale on Tairn’s leg as I slide, then land in a fresh foot of snow. “Or because you don’t trust Xaden with my gear anymore?” “Yes.” Tairn lifts his head far over mine and blasts a torrent of fire along his wing, melting off the residual ice, and I turn away from the surge of heat that painfully contrasts my body temperature. “Tairn…” I struggle for words and look up at him. “I need to know where you stand before this meeting. With or without Empyrean approval, I can’t do any of this without you.” “Meaning, will I support the myriad of ways you plan to court death in the name of curing one who is beyond redemption?” He swivels his head in my direction again. Tension crackles along Andarna’s bond. “He’s not—” I cut off that particular argument, since the rest is sound. “Basically, yes.” He grumbles deep within his chest. “I fly without warming my wings in preparation for carrying heavier weight for longer distances. Does that not answer your question?” Meaning Andarna. Relief gusts through my lips on a swift exhale. “Thank you.” Steam rolls in billowing clouds from his nostrils. “But do not mistake my unflinching support of you, my mate, and Andarna for any form of faith in him.” Tairn lifts his head, cueing the end of the conversation.

The air grew colder and thinner as they rode through the mountain passes.  The sun was high and bright, but Martise wrapped her shawl tightly around her and pressed against Silhara’s back.  Gnat kept a steady pace, breathing harder in the thin air.  Unlike him, the mountain ponies suffered no effects from the rising elevation and clipped ahead at a swift pace.  Patches of snow spilled from embankments onto the rutted paths.  A brisk wind moaned a soft dirge as it whipped through the towering evergreens cloaking the mountainside. Silhara called a sudden halt.  Martise peered around his arm, expecting to see some obstacle in their path.  The way was clear, with only the Kurmans watching them curiously. “What’s wrong?” “You’re quaking hard enough to make my teeth rattle.”  He moved his leg back and untied one of the packs strapped to the saddle.  “Get down.” She slid off Gnat’s back.  Silhara followed and pulled one of their blankets from the packet.  “Here.  Wrap this around you.” She had only pulled the blanket over her shoulders when he picked her up and tossed her onto Gnat’s back once more, this time in the front of the flat saddle.  She clutched the horse’s mane with one hand and held on to her blanket with the other.  Silhara vaulted up behind her, scooted her back against him and took up the reins. “Better,” he said and whistled to the waiting Kurmans he was ready. Martise couldn’t agree more.  The blanket’s warmth and Silhara’s body heat soaked through her clothing and into her bones.  She leaned into his chest.  “This is nice.” An amused rumble vibrated near her ear.  “So glad you approve.”  His hand slipped under the blanket, wandered over her belly and cupped her breast.  Martise sucked in a breath as his fingers teased her nipple through her shawl and tunic.  The heat surrounding her turned scorching.  “I agree,” he murmured in her ear.  “This is nice.” He stopped his teasing when she squirmed hard enough in the saddle to nearly unseat them both, but left his hand on her breast, content to just hold her.  Martise was ready to toss off the blanket and her shawl.  Silhara’s touch had left her with a throbbing ache between her thighs.  She smiled a little at the feel of him hard against her back.  She wasn’t the only one affected by his teasing.

Valley of the Damned. Valkyrie Kari tells of the great warrior Crazy Horse (abridged) ’Twas written of those of long ago, That honor should be “as long as grass shall grow.” In battle honor is a fearsome beast, none can contain, In the strength of heart, it brings only shame. A mighty warrior of the plains was he, Crazy Horse of Sioux battle creed. Given to the ravages of noble, savage war, Against his enemies, he vaulted fore. Peering down from lofty mountain hold, The Horse in dream; the warrior was of olde. The promises they were broken one by one, Until only war unbridled could be hardtily done. Understanding and honor was not for those weak, Only the evil Long-knives now he eagerly did seek. The Knives came to steal, to plunder their land, To kill sacred mother with marauding, guilty hands. They had no regard for their own swelling words, With lust in their eyes, their greed greatly stirred. From southern lands came noise that Longhair did kill, Black Kettle’s camp, their blood he had spilled. Longhair destroyed all; dastard agent of evil strife, Deprived them of children and their bountiful life. Yet this lone, brave holy man stood in Longhair’s way, Crazy Horse, vision man, his plans were well framed. His command rode north hard to that destined battle, To meet wicked Longhair—to dash him from the saddle. Fate led him on to Little Bighorn, Where warriors of the sun met with sacred horn. A hellish dry place of calamitous battle, Found many a soul hearing death’s final rattle. The Long-snakes scouted for the great camp, That morn’ they set their fateful, forked-tongue attack. They raised their sabers, waved them strong, Entered eternity, their deaths foresaw. A sea of pilfered blue engulfed in crimson red, Amidst swirls of feathers sacred of the motherland. Through carnage, The Horse did lead his men, Beyond the battle, to the place where legend began. Up hill rode the bold Crazy Horse, With a thousand others to show determined force. To engage Long-knives at their last stand, Striking them down until dead was every man. Great Gall and Crazy Horse led that righteous attack, Against forceful Custer, whose plans did not lack, For ’twas he himself who boasted, wantonly said, “I will become a great chief, if my enemies I fill with lead.” With righteous honor as their sacred ally, Holy arrows that day swiftly let fly. Horse met Longhair in battle forever stayed, Defeated mighty Custer; his corpse on the field in state. Upon that fateful day, on sage choked sandy plain, Spirits clashed with spirits, for the sacred domain. Unconquerable, indomitable this sacred warrior heart, Leads many against the evil now, for this righteous court. Thus, Horse brought the valiants into stark raved battle, Battle scarred by holy wounds delivered by blue devils. Yet he would not relent, this honorable man of gifted vision, But peace came through the lie; his life ended by steel incision. Breathing his last, quiet honor came his way, “Bring my heart home, the Great Spirit will find my way.” Thus ˊtis with all whose understanding shows what may, Honor leads righteousness to death, ask they of that claim. War spirit vigilant with mighty spear and bow in hand, Leads Great Plains spirits, under his gallant command. His spirit never conquered lives it to this good day, Among the heroic mighty, let us his spirit proclaim. In the hour of travail, honor can be finely seen, Leading multitudes unto battle, their hearts boundlessly free. Cowards can never know the freedom of the plains and wind, Or how she musters a soul and the courage found within. Born in deep commune of Earth and Great Spirit above, Understanding and honor flow from hearts of great love. One without understanding is a fool at best, One without honor is a spirit that ne’er rests. O’ majestic One of the relentless plain, The mountains ring joyous with thy name.

I need a car, Wes,” Ada asserted again. “Then I’ll get you a car,” I said simply. “You’re not getting me a car,” she

My heart ached for a future that wasn’t beholden to my past.

You say you’re not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun.” I rolled my eyes, trying to move them in a way that would stop the tears from falling. “I would rather have the moon anyway.

I think you were made for me.

I’m not the type of person everyone likes. I’m the type of person everyone tolerates.

I would rather have the moon anyway.

I’d spent my entire life feeling like I didn’t belong—not because I didn’t fit in or because I was lonely, but because I felt like I just belonged elsewhere.

Are you seriously shirtless and bottle-feeding a baby cow right now?

My whole life, I’ve been described as icy, bitchy, and rude. I know I’m not super warm or overly kind, but the truth is, I’m just shy.

Now that I was thinking about it, I didn’t remember a time when I wasn’t feeling lonely.

Ada had drawn her line and I didn't want to cross it. Well, I did want to cross it. But I wanted her to want me to cross it.

That's what I meant when I said that my brain didn't feel like my own sometimes. It felt like it belonged to my mental illness instead.

When she saw me, she hit me with the quiet smile that had become my favorite. When she smiled at me that way, it was like sharing a secret that only the two of us knew.

I think I might have been homesick for Rebel Blue before I knew it existed.

Oh, so that's what you're trying to do, push me away. Well, guess what, sweetheart? You can push all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.

Seriously, the sky could fall right now – the titan that held it up could collapse, and I wouldn't care. Because who needed the sky when I had Ada Hart?

You’re the moon,” he said. “And I’m the tides. You pull me in without even trying, and I come to you willingly. I always will.

Weston let out a laugh that felt like when you go out to bask in the sun after being in an air-conditioned space for too long. I could feel the warmth seeping into my fingers and toes. And so I laughed too.

So when you feel that sweet spot, you’re going to give more on the gas,” he said. “A little give and a little go.” “Are you”—I looked at him, knowing a smile was working its way up my cheeks—“quoting How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?” A blush crept up Wes’s cheeks. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said. I laughed like I did that first night at the bar, and felt my shoulders drop a little. “Does quoting Matthew McConaughey help or hurt?

I know that your feet and hands are always cold no matter the weather. I know that you prefer to wake up early on the weekends because you would rather take a nap in the afternoon than sleep in. I know you love sour candy and hate repeating yourself. I know you’re always on time, and I know you’re lying about hating country music.

For years, I had desperately wanted someone to just…be…with me. To sit next to me while the power was out and weather the storm together.

Are you seriously shirtless and bottle-feeding a baby cow right now?” I winked at her and she groaned, “You’ve got to be kidding me.

At this point, I was pretty sure I’d been waiting for her my whole life, so an hour was easy.

The way he talked about his kids made me wonder how my parents talked about me.

as though in his arms was the only place she wanted to be.

When you meet them, you’ll get it. It’s easy to see that they’re a forever type of thing.

I think Chance wanted power over somebody, and I mistook that for being cared for.

Rebel Blue Ranch had awakened in me a thing for cowboys in general, not just one specific cowboy.

comments that said things like “Save a horse” and “That cowboy is hitting different.

And a life without Rebel Blue…” My dad’s voice trailed off. “Isn’t much of a life.

Weston let out a laugh that felt like when you go out to bask in the sun after being in an air-conditioned space for too long. I could feel the warmth seeping into my fingers and toes.

Honestly, I never would’ve guessed that was something he dealt with. Wes looked so happy. But I guess depression wasn’t really about what you looked like or how you appeared but more about what you felt like.

They were the same stupid bitches that had appeared when he ordered me into the truck earlier today.

I tried to smother the butterflies that let themselves loose in my stomach. They were the same stupid bitches that had appeared when he ordered me into the truck earlier today.

I’d been waiting for Ada my whole life. I had three decades of wondering why I couldn’t or didn’t want to fall in love under my belt. Thirty years of waiting was a lot, but I’d do it all over again to have her at the end of it.

Like any space, the internet had its share of assholes,

When you google it—again, stupid Google

Sorry about him.” His voice was close to me now. My fluffy companion wagged his tail as his owner’s footsteps approached. “He’s got a thing for beautiful women.

But depression wasn’t a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July. It was impossible to predict, which meant that I spent much of my time worrying about when the other shoe was going to drop. Not if, but when I would sink into another dark hole and have to decide to claw my way out of it.

Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn’t be.

The best part about the night? I was back at the Big House by nine-thirty.

I said, even though the chances of my joining her for coffee were slim. I wanted to—Cam seemed great—but I just didn’t know how to have friends, really. I was afraid that if she talked to me for more than five minutes, she’d decide she didn’t like me as much as she thought she did. I was best in small doses.

That’s what I meant when I said that my brain didn’t feel like my own sometimes. It felt like it belonged to my mental illness instead.

You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny.” I couldn’t have looked away from him if I’d tried. His green eyes gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.

Now the cows and I were up close and personal. They were swarming my car like bees at a hive. I didn’t know how it happened—or what to do now. My windows were rolled down, and I figured I would start with just asking them to move. “Could you guys please move?” I said loudly. “I really need to get through.” I honked my horn once to emphasize my point. Nothing.

If I slowly moved forward, would they get out of the way? Or would I accidentally become a cow murderer? Could I kill a cow going one mile per hour? Or would I just injure it? Would I have to pay the vet bill? I couldn’t afford the vet bill for a cow. And what if I hit more than one? Oh god.