The Bright Sessions Quotes

Life isn't all perpetual bliss, nor is it one woeful weeping session. But you can concentrate so hard on noticing moments of one or the other that either a bright outlook or dim expectations becomes your regular illusion.

Just because I get emo sometimes doesn’t mean I have to sit alone, in the literal dark, on the first day of holiday break. That’s a little too macabre, even for me.

I don't even like me, why the hell would anyone else?' 'Adam.' Fuck. Why did I say that? Now she's got her Very Concerned voice on. She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me to face her. 'I like you.' 'You're my mother, you have to like me—' 'I like you and your father likes you'—she talks over me—'and anyone who gets to know you will like you. Sometimes that's enough. We don't always have to love ourselves in order to receive love from others. Sometimes that's how we learn to love ourselves.

What's the word for when you're sitting at a table with someone you don't know all that well and they maybe just implied that you're gay and you are gay and you think they were trying to be inclusive or something but you kind of shut them down because they asked out your crush earlier and you really don't want to be having this conversation and now there's all this weird, unsaid stuff in the air that's making it hard to focus on your debate prep? Is there a word for that?

Some literary recommendations: James Salter’s erotic masterpiece, A Sport and a Pastime; Anais Nin’s collections of short stories Delta of Venus and Little Birds; the erotic novels Emanuelle by Emanuelle Arsan and Story of O by Pauline Réage; Harold Brodkey’s sexual saga “Innocence”—perhaps the greatest depiction of a session of cunnilingus ever penned; novels by Jerzy Kosinski such as Passion Play and Cockpit; Henry Miller’s Under the Roofs of Paris and Quiet Days in Clichy; My Secret Life by Anonymous and The Pure and the Impure by Colette; Nancy Friday’s anthology of fantasies, Secret Garden (filled with the correspondence of real people’s fantasies); stories from The Mammoth Book of Erotica or one of the many erotic anthologies edited by Susie Bright. For those with a taste for poetry, try Les Fleurs du Mal (Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire or Flesh Unlimited by Guillaume Apollinaire. And for those who like comic books (kinky ones, that is), try the extra-hot works of writer/illustrator Eric Stanton, who specializes in female-domination fantasies.

But that’s not totally it, is it? I bring up Adam because he should be here. I like Caitlin, and I notice she smells good as she walks toward me, but if there’s anyone I want to stand next to in a poorly lit gym, making fun of the DJ and avoiding our classmates, it’s Adam. I’m not really sure what to do with this information.

Another shuddering inhale. God, this is hard. His blue warmth is starting to bleed through the cracks in the wall and I want to cry with relief. “I was a fucking coward,” I finish. And then—just when I was hoping a dam would burst—the wall just dissolves, letting the blue-green wash over me, clearing out the muck in my veins for the first time in months. “I feel like I should apologize too,” Adam starts, and I immediately jump in to stop him. “No, just let me,” he insists. Another deep breath in for both of us. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this—about us. And I think I was too wrapped up in my own shit before. I was so worried about making you feel sad that I didn’t think. I didn’t let you in. And I put a lot of pressure on you to be the stable one—the normal one—in the relationship, which is pretty fucking ironic. Your power is cool and everything

This is how brainstorming goes with brightly faithful people: “Hmmm. Uh-huh. Nope. Nah. No. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Ooh. Ahh. Wait a second. Holy shit, yes, yes, yes, oh my God, we could…and then we could…and it would be so…and holy yes and…I’ll sell it all if I have to…and what am I going to wear when I accept the award?! Who will we invite to the wedding?! How big do you think we can build it? Excuse me while I make a phone call.” They go off. It’s illogical, grandiose, crazy, and most certainly romantic. It’s faith.

The hours passed by in a series of clanking glasses and perfect card suites, group singing sessions and tales of lands far and near, and as the clock was silenced by the never-ending music, Celaena found herself leaning into Sam’s shoulder, laughing as Rolfe finished his crude and absurd story of the farmer’s wife and her stallions. She banged her fist on the table, howling—and that wasn’t entirely an act, either. As Sam slipped a hand around her waist, his touch somehow sending a bright-hot flame through her, she had to wonder if he was still pretending, too.

The other corner of his mouth twitches like he's trying to keep the butterflies in too and he glances down at his plate, his dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. I've never wanted to kiss anyone more. Oh. Oh. "Caleb?" He's far away again as I hear blood rushing in my ears. "Caleb? Are you okay?" The cold, blue spike of his worry is like dunking my head into a bucket of ice and I snap out of my own thoughts. He's looking at me again, the sparkle gone from his eyes as they fill with concern. "Yeah," I grunt, my voice sounding not like me at all. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I-" I can't tell him that I was thinking about leaping across the table and kissing him but I need to say something to explain why I've been--I'm assuming--staring at him, open-mouthed and blank, for the last few seconds.

LIGHTING THE PATH Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Psalm 119:105 NKJV Are you a woman who trusts God’s Word without reservation? Hopefully so, because the Bible is unlike any other book—it is a guidebook for life here on earth and for life eternal. The Psalmist describes God’s word as, “a light to my path.” Is the Bible your lamp? If not, you are depriving yourself of a priceless gift from the Creator. Vance Havner observed, “It takes calm, thoughtful, prayerful meditation on the Word to extract its deepest nourishment.” How true. God’s Word can be a light to guide your steps. Claim it as your light today, tomorrow, and every day of your life—and then walk confidently in the footsteps of God’s only begotten Son. Light is stronger than darkness—darkness cannot “comprehend” or “overcome” it. Anne Graham Lotz God’s leading will never be contrary to His word. Vonette Bright A TIMELY TIP Trust God’s Word: Charles Swindoll writes, “There are four words I wish we would never forget, and they are, ‘God keeps his word.’” And remember: When it comes to studying God’s Word, school is always in session.

Please to See the King is a piercing, keen-edged record, perhaps the closest a British act has come to what Bob Dylan, speaking of his own recordings of 1965–6, called ‘that thin, that wild mercury sound … metallic and bright gold’. The title, taken from the song ‘The King’ that Carthy introduced to the album sessions, was spoken, according to custom, by ‘wren-hunters’ who went knocking on doors and requesting money in return for a peep at the slaughtered bird in a coffin, bound with a ribbon. And like the wren-hunters of yore, the early Steeleye found themselves in the midst of a difficult economy, hawking their wares around the country at a succession of student-union gigs, in the community which was most receptive to this new incarnation of folk music.

Fantasize, together: Take a page from The Thousand and One Nights and incorporate a story into foreplay. If you’re not a born storyteller, try reading one aloud together. Some literary recommendations: James Salter’s erotic masterpiece, A Sport and a Pastime; Anais Nin’s collections of short stories Delta of Venus and Little Birds; the erotic novels Emanuelle by Emanuelle Arsan and Story of O by Pauline Réage; Harold Brodkey’s sexual saga “Innocence”—perhaps the greatest depiction of a session of cunnilingus ever penned; novels by Jerzy Kosinski such as Passion Play and Cockpit; Henry Miller’s Under the Roofs of Paris and Quiet Days in Clichy; My Secret Life by Anonymous and The Pure and the Impure by Colette; Nancy Friday’s anthology of fantasies, Secret Garden (filled with the correspondence of real people’s fantasies); stories from The Mammoth Book of Erotica or one of the many erotic anthologies edited by Susie Bright. For those with a taste for poetry, try Les Fleurs du Mal (Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire or Flesh Unlimited by Guillaume Apollinaire. And for those who like comic books (kinky ones, that is), try the extra-hot works of writer/illustrator Eric Stanton,

you think that if I start just meditating and becoming aware of the field, I’ll be on my way to mastering this realm thing.” Paige giggled at her practical assessment of everything she’d been describing to her about the rituals and practices. “Yeah; it’s the first step, so sure.” “Ace!” exclaimed Molly brightly. “I can’t believe there was this whole other world of physics that I’d somehow missed.” Molly, I’ve been researching some of these practices Paige has been referring to. Oh, good. Do we have another manual to study, then? Ugh, no. Flashcards maybe? No. I was about to point out that this is unlikely to be something you can just master in a few sessions. These people take a whole lifetime to learn and practice, in order to finally ascend once. That isn’t even stepping into and out of the etheric like you’re trying to do. Molly paused for a moment. Oz could feel her pushing him out of her circuits a little. Molly? Yeah. I just don’t think they’ve optimized this shit. Safe house, Gaitune-67, Conference room Molly breezed past Joel as he came into the kitchen. “Morning!” she said, uncharacteristically brightly for pre-caffeination.

Well, Doctor Dillamond seemed to think they were in questionable taste, given the Banns on Animals Mobility." "Doctor Dillamond, alas," said Madame Morrible, "is a doctor. He is not a poet. He is also a God, and I might ask you girls if we have ever had a great Goat sonneteer or balladeer? Alas, dear Miss Elphaba, Doctor Dillamond doesn't understand the poetic convention of irony. Would you like to define irony for the class, please?" "I don't believe I can, Madame." "Irony, some say, is the art of juxtaposing incongruous parts. One needs a knowing distance. Irony presupposes detachment, which, alas, in the case of Animal Rights, we may forgive Doctor Dillamond for being without." "So that phrase that he objected to - Animals should be seen and not heard - that was ironic?" continued Elphaba, studying her papers and not looking at Madame Morrible. Galinda and her classmates were enthralled, for it was clear that each of the females at opposite ends of the room would have enjoyed seeing the other crumble in a sudden attack of the spleen. "One could consider it in an ironic mode if one chose," said Madame Morrible. "How do you choose?" said Elphaba. "How impertinent!" said Madame Morrible. "Well, but I don't mean impertinence. I'm trying to learn. If you - if anyone - thought that statement was true, then it isn't in conflict with the boring bossy bit that preceded it. It's just argument and conclusion, and I don't see the irony." "You don't see much, Miss Elphaba," said Madame Morrible. "You must learn to put yourself in the shoes of someone wiser than you are, and look from that angle. To be stuck in ignorance, to be circumscribed by the walls of one's own modest acumen, well, it is very sad in one so young and bright." She spit out the last word, and it seemed to Galinda, somehow, a low comment on Elphaba's skin color, which today was indeed lustrous with the effort of public speaking. "But I was trying to put myself in the shoes of Doctor Dillamond," said Elphaba, almost whining, but not giving up. "In the case of poetic interpretation, I venture to suggest, it may indeed be true. Animal should not be heard," snapped Madame Morrible. "Do you mean that ironically?" said Elphaba, but she sat down with her hands over her face and did not look up again for the rest of the session.

The other two times I've been around Chloe were like this too - she just jumps into the middle of a conversation.