Willow Chance Quotes

Aren’t you worn out from running?” His lips follow a tear down my neck, and then he brushes my face with his hand. “I don’t want to live without you another day. I’m begging you for another chance. Please.

And you know, this thought crossed my mind at the time: maybe chance is a pretty common thing after all. Those kinds of coincidences are happening all around us, all the time, but most of them don't attract our attention and we just let them go by. It's like fireworks in the daytime. You might hear a faint sound, but even if you look up at the sky you can't see a thing. But if we're really hoping something may come true it may become visible, like a message rising to the surface. Then we're able to make it out clearly, decipher what it means. And seeing it before us we're surprised and wonder at how strange things like this can happen. Even though there's nothing strange about it.

I've learned that if you wait long enough, you might get a second chance at something you gave up on. And sometimes you'll be the one to give the second chance to someone else.

They were each like a mirror for the other, reflecting the changes in themselves.

Hey when there's a chance to win a free spoon rest from Creative Pottery Studio, people can't pass that up!

If you have to choose between something that has form and something that doesn't, go for the one without form. That's my rule.

You are young, so you may not understand what it feels like to be offered a second chance at my age, especially after so . . . so difficult a time, when one has seen his own death and accepted it.

I've learned that if you wait long enough, you might get a second chance at something you gave up on.

I reach up and pat them both on the head. "Poor things. If you had a boy that looked like Logan, you'd be kissing him every chance you had, too.

Our only chance is to keep perfectly still. Our insignificance perhaps may save us.

He felt the beginning tendrils of hope wrap around his heart. Grace Willows - General's Dawn Coming soon to Amazon

We don’t know how to love with reservations. The day I fell in love with Grayson Parkerson, he stole every part of me. He loved me so wholly that there wasn’t a chance of anyone else being able to hold her heart in its completion.

I am a shadow. I no longer dream in color. I don't count by 7s. Because in this new world I don't count.

To the women before me who broke this man’s heart, you’re stupid, and I thank you for it. Thank you for giving me the chance to love him and show him that I will never take him for granted because he is my first choice.

I wrap my arms around her and I hug her. It’s the first hug I’ve given her lately that hasn’t felt forced, but I am so relieved. She’s giving me an extra week here, which means I get to see Willow again. And owning this place will give me more time to help Willow. Maybe. After my actions today, there’s a chance Willow may never speak to me again.

You’re not a failure, Uncle,” he said, the words awkward and insufficient in his mouth. “It’s only that we don’t feel safe. A game has a reset button. You have infinite chances for success. Real life is awfully permanent compared to that, and a lot of religious people make it seem even more permanent—one step the wrong way, one sin too many, and it’s the fiery furnace for you. Beware. And then at the same time, you ask us to love the God who has this terrible sword hanging over our necks. It’s very confusing.” “Ah,” said Sheikh Bilal, looking melancholy, “but that’s the point. What is more terrifying than love? How can one not be overwhelmed by the majesty of a creator who gives and destroys life in equal measure, with breathtaking swiftness? You look at all the swelling rose hips in the garden that will wither and die without ever germinating and it seems a miracle that you are alive at all. What would one not do to acknowledge that miracle in some way?

He exhaled heavily. "I don't think I've told you this. I didn't get the chance yet. When you asked me to kiss you under the willow? Deep down, I knew then that I would give you anything you asked for. I still will. Whatever you want," he promised roughly, his fingers tangling in my hair. "You can have it. Anything. Everything. You can have it all. I will make sure of it.

. She was beautiful, and her temperament seemed much better than his first wife did. Arman stopped in the middle of the Windsor knot on his tie. Who was he trying to kid, he thought. An enraged rabid pit bull in heat would have had a better temperament then his first wife.

Admitting you were afraid was one of the most difficult things to own up to as a human being. We were programmed to always say that we were fine or good—that showing fear is a sign of weakness. But it’s not. It’s one of the bravest things you can do to surrender that fear from yourself and place it into the open palms of someone else.

Take a chance on me, Arden. I know it might not seem like it, but I’m a sure bet.

Be brave, be bold, take chances, put yourself out there and stay your sweet, loving self.

This is crazy.” “I know.” “We’re supposed to be…” “Pretending,” Oliver finishes before crushing his lips to mine.

I am the friend, the guy who’s good at offering support but is never more. I’ve been nothing more than that over and over. I’m the best man, but not the best man for her.

Listen," he said still breathing hard, "I'm sorry. I have no right to lecture you." His voice warmed with a devastating smile and his voice lowered a sensual octave. Before he had a chance to stop them, his thoughts rolled off his tongue. "But, darlin', you're a mighty tempting sight in those pants. It does things to a man, things you're too innocent to know about." Willow swallowed hard, his hot look stealing her usual spontaneous wit. Dropping her gaze from his, she stammered, "I...It's getting late. We better go.

He clutched her close and gave her a quick, hard kiss. "I'll be back as soon as possible, love." "Rider?" He stopped and turned to her again. "I love you. Please, don't take any foolish chances with your life." "Never,darlin'. Not when I've got you to come home to.

You're not a failure uncle," he said, the words awkward and insufficient in his mouth. "It's only that we don't feel safe. A game has a reset button. You have infinite chances for success. Real life is awfully permanent compared to that, and a lot of religious people make it seem even more permanent-one step the wrong way, one sin too many, and it's the fiery furnace for you. Beware. And then at the same time, you ask us to love the God who has this terrible sword hanging over our necks. It's very confusing." "Ah," said Sheikh Bilal, looking melancholy, "but that's the point. What is more terrifying than love? How can one not be overwhelmed by the majesty of a creator who gives and destroys life in equal measure, with breathtaking swiftness? You look at all the swelling rose hips in the garden that will wither and die without ever germinating and it seems a miracle that you are alive at all. What would one not do to acknowledge that miracle in some way?

Yes, perfection. it rests its full weight upon the core of the poor aunt's being, like a corpse sealed inside a glacier-a magnificent glacier made of ice like stainless steel. Only ten thousand years of sunshine could melt such a glacier. But no poor aunt can live for thousand years, of course, and so she will have to live with her perfection, die with her perfection, and be buried with her perfection. Perfection and the aunt beneath the ground. Ten thousand years goes by. Then, perhaps, the glacier melt in darkness and perfection thrust its way out of the grave to reveal it self on the earth's surface. Everything on earth is completely change by then, but if by any chance the ceremony known as "wedding" still exists, the perfection left behind by the poor aunt might be invited to one, there to eat an entire dinner with impeccable table manners and be called upon to deliver heartfelt words of congratulation. But never mind. These events would not take place until the year 11,980.

I have some vows for you first,” he spoke to Mia. “I may not be your real daddy, but I vow to be one in all the ways that matter. I vow to be a shoulder for you to cry on when you’re sad. I vow to hold you in my arms and hug you whenever you need it. I vow to protect you always, in any way you may need. I vow to hunt down any guy that thinks he can date you—you’re going to be single for life Mia, just accept it. But most importantly, I vow to love you with all my heart and take care of you always.

Don't Be Afraid by Author C.A. Harms Here's a #SneakPeek! “I’m just scared.” “Of what?” Willow moved around the counter and stepped up to my side. “Forgetting him.” My vision blurred with tears. “Sometimes I wake up and I can still see him so clearly. I can imagine the way his eyes wrinkled when he grinned. Or I can hear his laughter when I’d go on one of my rambles and he was unable to hold it back.” My heart ached with each confession. “When I walk into a room, I swear I can sometimes still smell him, like he’s there waiting for me. I’ve even looked around like I’d actually find him watching television or pouring a cup of coffee.

Now, lad, rinse your mouth wi’ this; ’twill cleanse the cuts and ease the pain. Willow-bark tea,” she explained in an aside to me, “wi’ a bit of ground orrisroot.” I nodded; I recalled vaguely from a long-ago botany lecture hearing that willow bark in fact contained salicylic acid, the active ingredient in aspirin. “Won’t the willow bark increase the chance of bleeding?” I asked. Mrs. Fitz nodded approvingly. “Aye. It do sometimes. That’s why ye follow it wi’ a good handful of St. John’s wort soaked in vinegar; that stops bleedin’, if it’s gathered under a full moon and ground up well.” Jamie obediently swilled his mouth with the astringent solution, eyes watering at the sting of the aromatic vinegar.

It shouldn't make a difference to me, I suppose,but it does. I've grown to trust you, and I'd hate to think that I've been wrong about you." "Well,it's real nice to hear you like me, Freckles," he teased. "I kind of like you,too." He wiggled his eyebrows as he had earlier. Willow laughed and leaned over to swat at him but missed. "You know, I really don't have freckles. Why don't you call me Williw like everyone else does?" "Maybe, because everyone else does." He shrugged. "Freckles is mine. My special name for you, that is. And you do have freckles, cute little ginger-colored freckles, all-l-l aross the bridge of your nose." "I don't!" Her mouth twisted in annoyance. "Tell you what, we'll race on it. You win-you don't have freckles. I win-you do have freckles." Knowing her only chance to beat his big stallion was to get a head start, Willow didn't waste time agreeing to ny terms. She dug her heels into Sugar's sides and tore off across the desert. "Hey!" Rider called, laughing and spurring Sultan into a run. "You're supposed to wait till I say go." Her laugh drifted back on the wind. "Come on,Sultan. Let's show Miss Freckle Britches who she's dealing with." The spirited stallion's legs stretched out ith effortless grace, his body lowering in a ground-eating pace, and Willow's little mare was no match for the big stallion. "See you back at the ranch, Freckles," Rider laughingly taunted as he rode past.

Then I realized I loved you. That was awful." "Awful!" "Loving you and knowing I couldn't have you was tearing me apart. Though I knew nothing would pardon me in your eyes, I had to do what I could to make sure you'd always have your family to take care of you. That's why I sent the telegram to Washington, asking for the authority to grant amnesty to your brothers and your pa. "I saved your family because I loved you, darlin', not because of what they could do to help me. True, they made the job easier, but I would have managed one way or another. "As for the wedding, your pa just provded me with the excuse to ignore the consequences and take what I wanted most in the world-you. I should have told you everything then. But I was selfish, Willow,and I feared I'd lose you once you knew the truth. "I guess I was hoping that once you were legally mine you'd give the two of us a chance.I even began telling myself that the amnesty deal would soften your opinion of me. When a man loves a woman as much as I love you, he reaches for almost any excuse to make himself believe he can win her over.

If our young men miscarry in their first enterprises, they lose all heart. If the young merchant fails, men say he is ruined. If the finest genius studies at one of our colleges, and is not installed in an office within one year afterwards in the cities or suburbs of Boston or New York, it seems to his friends and to himself that he is right in being disheartened, and in complaining the rest of his life. A sturdy lad from New Hampshire or Vermont, who in turn tries all the professions, who  teams it, farms it, peddles, keeps a school, preaches, edits  a newspaper, goes to Congress, buys a township, and so forth, in successive years, and always, like a cat, falls on his feet, is worth a hundred of these city dolls. He walks abreast with his days, and feels no shame in not ‘studying a profession,’ for he does not postpone his life, but lives already. He has not one chance, but a hundred chances. Let a Stoic open the resources of man, and tell men they are not leaning willows, but can and must detach themselves; that with the exercise of self-trust, new powers shall appear; that a man is the word made flesh, born to shed healing to the nations, that he should  be ashamed of our compassion, and that the moment he acts from himself, tossing the laws, the books, idolatries, and customs out of the window, we pity him no more, but thank and revere him, — and that teacher shall restore the life of man to splendor, and make his name dear to all history.

Wondering if Westcliff was going to reprimand the boys for allowing her and Daisy to play, Lillian said uneasily, “Arthur and the others—it wasn’t their fault—I made them let us into the game—” “I don’t doubt it,” the earl said over her shoulder. “You probably gave them no chance to refuse.” “You’re not going to punish them?” “For playing rounders on their off-time? Hardly.” Removing his coat, Westcliff tossed it to the ground. He turned to the catcher, who was hovering nearby, and said, “Jim, be a good lad and help field a few balls.” “Yes, milord!” The boy ran in a flash to the empty space on the west side of the green beyond the sanctuary posts. “What are you doing?” Lillian asked as Westcliff stood behind her. “I’m correcting your swing,” came his even reply. “Lift the bat, Miss Bowman.” She turned to look at him skeptically, and he smiled, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “This should be interesting,” Lillian muttered. Taking up a batter’s stance, she glanced across the field at Daisy, whose face was flushed and eyes over-bright in the effort to suppress a burst of laughter. “My swing is perfectly fine,” Lillian grumbled, uncomfortably aware of the earl’s body just behind hers. Her eyes widened as she felt his hands slide to her elbows, pushing them into a more compact position. As his husky murmur brushed her ears, her excited nerves seemed to catch fire, and she felt a flush spreading over her face and neck, as well as other body parts that, as far as she knew, there were no names for. “Spread your feet wider,” Westcliff said, “and distribute your weight evenly. Good. Now bring your hands closer to your body. Since the bat is a few inches too long for you, you’ll have to choke up on it—” “I like holding it at the base.” “It’s too long for you,” he insisted, “which is why you pull your swing just before you hit the ball—” “I like a long bat,” Lillian argued, even as he adjusted her hands on the willow handle. “The longer the better, as a matter of fact.” A distant snicker from one of the stable boys caught her attention, and she glanced at him suspiciously before turning to face Westcliff. His face was expressionless, but there was a glitter of laughter in his eyes. “Why is that amusing?” she asked. “I have no idea,” Westcliff said blandly, and turned her toward the pitcher again.

In 1995, the gray wolf was reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park after a seventy-year hiatus. Scientists expected an ecological ripple effect, but the size and scope of the trophic cascade took them by surprise.7 Wolves are predators that kill certain species of animals, but they indirectly give life to others. When the wolves reentered the ecological equation, it radically changed the behavioral patterns of other wildlife. As the wolves began killing coyotes, the rabbit and mouse populations increased, thereby attracting more hawks, weasels, foxes, and badgers. In the absence of predators, deer had overpopulated the park and overgrazed parts of Yellowstone. Their new traffic patterns, however, allowed the flora and fauna to regenerate. The berries on those regenerated shrubs caused a spike in the bear population. In six years’ time, the trees in overgrazed parts of the park had quintupled in height. Bare valleys were reforested with aspen, willow, and cottonwood trees. And as soon as that happened, songbirds started nesting in the trees. Then beavers started chewing them down. Beavers are ecosystem engineers, building dams that create natural habitats for otters, muskrats, and ducks, as well as fish, reptiles, and amphibians. One last ripple effect. The wolves even changed the behavior of rivers—they meandered less because of less soil erosion. The channels narrowed and pools formed as the regenerated forests stabilized the riverbanks. My point? We need wolves! When you take the wolf out of the equation, there are unintended consequences. In the absence of danger, a sheep remains a sheep. And the same is true of men. The way we play the man is by overcoming overwhelming obstacles, by meeting daunting challenges. We may fear the wolf, but we also crave it. It’s what we want. It’s what we need. Picture a cage fight between a sheep and a wolf. The sheep doesn’t stand a chance, right? Unless there is a Shepherd. And I wonder if that’s why we play it safe instead of playing the man—we don’t trust the Shepherd. Playing the man starts there! Ecologists recently coined a wonderful new word. Invented in 2011, rewilding has a multiplicity of meanings. It’s resisting the urge to control nature. It’s the restoration of wilderness. It’s the reintroduction of animals back into their natural habitat. It’s an ecological term, but rewilding has spiritual implications. As I look at the Gospels, rewilding seems to be a subplot. The Pharisees were so civilized—too civilized. Their religion was nothing more than a stage play. They were wolves in sheep’s clothing.8 But Jesus taught a very different brand of spirituality. “Foxes have dens and birds have nests,” said Jesus, “but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”9 So Jesus spent the better part of three years camping, fishing, and hiking with His disciples. It seems to me Jesus was rewilding them. Jesus didn’t just teach them how to be fishers of men. Jesus taught them how to play the man! That was my goal with the Year of Discipleship,

and exited

Mitch you are fighting it so hard and you know you are going to lose. It's like a willow root. It quietly makes its way, winding and twisting around you until it's too late and there is no way to stop it. Even if you cut it off, that root will continue to grow, shooting out more roots until it takes over. ~Beckett

I'd have to Google that later, although knowing Google that would only scare me further.

We are lips, tongues, and gasps, and that works just fine for me. He pushes me onto my back, his body covering mine as I tug up his shirt, wanting to feel

Oliver may always act like life is fun and grand, but I know what it’s like to wear a smile when you’re dying inside. The first girl he loved broke his heart.

You make me want things,” Oliver confesses, looking down at me. “Things I swore I’d never want again.

He loved with his whole heart. He gave without question. He deserves to have peace.

It's not who you are that matters. It's what you do with who you are. The blood running through your veins is the only blood that matters. When you go out into the world, you have the chance to leave the past behind

Joshua Parkerson has given me no false pretenses, and I jumped into this anyway. There’s not a chance in hell I’m jumping out. I want him far too much. I love him even though I shouldn’t, and I can’t tell him no because it’s not what I want.

One life, one chance?

Are you familiar with the ‘ball in a box’ analogy?” I shake my head, never having heard of it. He explains, “The ball is large, filling the box when grief first appears. There’s a small button on one side of the box but the ball is so big it constantly bumps against it, triggering the emotional response. As time goes on, the ball shrinks in size, moving and colliding into the walls and occasionally, the button. There’s no stopping it and no matter how small the ball gets, there’s always a chance it will hit the button. There’s no preventing it.

to

Nobody has the right to give up on a whole generation before it's even had the chance to prove itself. We're all in this together, and we've got to remember that.

Whatever’s on her mind feels like an ending. Like the last page of a story that never really had a chance.

She wasn’t sure how possessive he felt about his cars, but there was a good chance he might be more than peeved about her dabbling in grand theft auto.

Much to my surprise, you’ve got a killer swing, love. I should reconsider the next time I hand you a weapon while you’re mad at me. You might just kill me if I gave you the chance.

With the efforts you’ve taken to stall whatever comes next, the suspense will have killed me before Jace gets a chance to do what he enjoys best. What’s the matter, Ashford, don’t have the balls to give the order?

Never ask a woman if she’s ready yet. If you have to ask, there’s a good chance she’s not and an even greater chance she’ll spend the next few hours plotting your murder.

There’s an even chance that I’ve either scared the shit out of her or turned her the fuck on. Knowing my twisted girl, it’s probably both.

He exhaled heavily. “I don’t think I’ve told you this. I didn’t get the chance yet. When you asked me to kiss you under the willow? Deep down, I knew then that I would give you anything you asked for. I still will. Whatever you want,” he promised roughly, his fingers tangling in my hair. “You can have it. Anything. Everything. You can have it all. I will make sure of it.

You’re brave, so damn brave. I realized that at the Red Pearl. To be the Maiden, to be raised as you were, and to still want to experience life told me that you were brave. That night on the Rise, when you went up there in that…that damn nightgown?” His chuckle was rough. “You didn’t hide. Not then, and not when you went out to ease the pain of those cursed by the Craven. You’ve chosen things for yourself longer than you realize, Poppy—longer than you give yourself credit for. You always did when it mattered the most, and did so knowing the consequences. Because you’re brave. You were never the Maiden. You were never truly helpless. You were smart, strong, and brave.” He exhaled heavily. “I don’t think I’ve told you this. I didn’t get the chance yet. When you asked me to kiss you under the willow? Deep down, I knew then that I would give you anything you asked for. I still will. Whatever you want,” he promised roughly, his fingers tangling in my hair. “You can have it. Anything. Everything. You can have it all. I will make sure of it.

You keep seeing me at my worst.” I want to argue with her. If this is her at her worst, my heart stands no chance of surviving her best.

No matter what’s happened between us, I’d never want anything to erase what we had. Because what we had was real, Willow, and you know it. Don’t forget that.

AJ slightly raised the cap’s bill, and she gazed into his eyes. “Stay,” he said. “Give us a chance.” The longing to do exactly that pulsated through her veins with each beat of her heart. It’s what she’d asked him to do only a few days before. “You like me, don’t you?” he teased. “Too much for my own good,” she retorted.

I’ve been fighting this—because I don’t want to fuck it up. And there’s a very good chance that I will. But I’m willing to try.

It has oak-color siding with a mahogany-colored roof. The porch wraps around the entire thing, and the sunlight reflecting off the lake makes it look majestical.

We can make it work if it’s what we both want and I want you. Take a chance…for us.

I want all of you, Maren. The good, the bad, all the parts that you’ve kept to yourself. All of it.” … “I want to give all of it to you. I’ve never wanted to do that before. No one has ever made me want to take that chance before. My heart is yours, Oliver. The good, the bad, the entire thing is all yours.

Oliver’s blue eyes watch my green ones, and

Character... Every tale I write has many aspects of daily life, human nature, and realistic obstacles. Several of my heroes and heroines were created in the image of people I respect and admire, building on their unique characteristics and skill sets. ~Kali Willows~

stopped at once, swaying gently with suddenly halted momentum. All the fronds twitched and fell limp, hanging in gentle curtains like willow fronds ought to, and there was a shower of dislodged leaves and twigs. If the tree-sprite got its hand back on the tree, Alice was certain, it would all start back up again. The fall seemed to have stunned it, and she didn’t intend to give it a chance to recover. The swarmers dropped from the branches like a rain of strange-shaped fruit, bouncing and rolling across the uneven ground, then homing in on the ape-like thing. They charged beak-first, burying the points into its skin, slashing and cutting. Alice, recalling the vicious sharpness of those beaks, quailed at the sight, but there seemed to be no flesh or blood in the tree-sprite. Chunks of bark came away with dry cracks and pops. The thing started to move, freeing its hand from the broken branch and swatting feebly at its tormentors. Alice directed the swarmers to pin it to

Sometimes it takes more courage to believe in what you can’t see.” she said quietly, and then looked into his dark blue eyes. “Because anyone can believe in what’s already been proven. Grace Willows- Not a Ghost of a Chance Copyright © 2018 by Grace Willows

Sometimes it takes more courage to believe in what you can’t see.” she said quietly, and then looked into his dark blue eyes. “Because anyone can believe in what’s already been proven”. Grace Willows- Not a Ghost of a Chance

Willow Haven didn’t have bad days. It wasn’t in her planner, so it just didn’t happen, plain and simple.

Fuck, I want to bleed her. I want to break her. And if this is going to work, I need her to deny me the chance.