Not Giving Up Even When Its Hard Quotes

#1. Christian lament is not simply complaint. Yes, it stares clear-eyed at awfulness and even wonders if God has gone...Yet at its fullest, biblical lament expresses sorrow over losing a world that was once good alongside a belief that it can be made good again. Lament isn't giving up, it's giving over. When we lift up our sorrow and our pain, we turn it over to the only one who can meet it: our God. #Quote by Josh Larsen

#2. How could she even think what she's thinking? Alessandro wondered silently as he watched Brianna glare pure murder at the misguided Gertie smiling up at him. Alessandro cocked an amused eyebrow and gave her a polite smile when he noticed the look on Brianna's face. Didn't she know that if it weren't for all these people, Alessandro would drag her onto the bar and fuck her madly? As it was, his body had maintained its state of semi arousal for most of the morning and into this late afternoon. He was half-tempted to drag her into the nearest closet. And she was jealous. Alessandro wanted to laugh at the ridiculous notion. While he could still appreciate the beauty of young Gertie on an aesthetic level, Brianna really had ruined him for other women. If anything, the fact that she had carried his son in her body, given birth to his child, made his primal need and want of her all that more intense. Alessandro considered himself sophisticated and well-schooled in the ways of women and how to seduce them. With Brianna, he just wanted. Her strength, her heart, her passion, her courage, all coupled with a body that kept him hard as a rock for more time than was surely healthy, created the only woman he would ever love. Ever. #Quote by E. Jamie

#3. If you believe that hard work pays off, then you work hard; if you think it's hard to get ahead even when you try, then why try at all? Similarly, when people do fail, this mind-set allows them to look outward. I once ran into an old acquaintance at a Middletown bar who told me that he had recently quit his job because he was sick of waking up early. I later saw him complaining on Facebook about the "Obama economy" and how it had affected his life. I don't doubt that the Obama economy has affected many, but this man is assuredly not among them. His status in life is directly attributable to the choices he's made, and his life will improve only through better decisions. But for him to make better choices, he needs to live in an environment that forces him to ask tough questions about himself. There is a cultural movement in the white working class to blame problems on society or the government, and that movement gains adherents by the day. #Quote by J.D. Vance

#4. It's easy to feel uncared for when people aren't able to communicate and connect with you in the way you need. And it's so hard not to internalize that silence as a reflection on your own worth. But the truth is that the way people operate is not about you. Most people are so caught up in their own responsibilities, struggles, and anxiety that the thought of asking someone else how they're doing doesn't even cross their mind. They aren't inherently bad or uncaring--they're just busy and self-focused. And that's okay. It's not evidence of some fundamental failing on your part. It doesn't make you unloveable or invisible. It just means that those people aren't very good at looking beyond their own world. But the fact that you are--that despite the darkened you feel, you have the ability to share you love and light with others--is a strength. Your work isn't to change who you are; it's to find people who are able to give you the connection you need. Because despite what you feel, you are not too much. You are not too sensitive or too needy. You are thoughtful and empathetic. You are compassionate and kind. And with or without anyone's acknowledgement or affection, you are enough. #Quote by Daniell Koepke

#5. It's amazing how bad you can make the truth sound. As long as you keep it partially recognizable when you spit it out, a crowd will eat it up without even thinking abot how hard you chewed on it first. #Quote by Courtney Summers

#6. I didn't even think, just went with instinct. Opening my arms, I felt the tiny life placed there. Wrapping him close and tight to my chest, I felt my heart swelling with love. So small, so delicate. Using the tip of my finger, I traced his face, his little lips, his chin and cheeks, his eyes. "You're right, Tea, he is beautiful."

"He has your eyes," she whispered. "We still need to name him."

"Christian Simon Doyle. After your dad and your idiot friend."

Her voice sounded raw when she spoke again. "That's perfect."

"You're perfect. Thank you, Tea, thank you for my son, for our life, thank you for not giving up on me. #Quote by L.A. Fiore

#7. I just want to get my voice heard again and to allow people to know me outside of a group situation. I also want young girls who look up to me to know not to give up, even when people try and take you away from your destiny. #Quote by LeToya Luckett

#8. What do you do when you don't know what to do about something?
I talk to Mr. Sugar and my friends. I make lists. I attempt to analyze the situation from the perspective of my "best self" - the one that's generous, reasonable, forgiving, loving, bighearted, and grateful. I think really hard about what I'll wish I did a year from now. I map out the consequences of the various actions I could take. I ask what my motivations are, what my desires are, what my fears are, what I have to lose, and what I have to gain. I move toward the light, even if it's a hard direction in which to move. I trust myself. I keep the faith. I mess up sometimes. #Quote by Cheryl Strayed

#9. I'M LOSING FAITH IN MY FAVORITE COUNTRY

Throughout my life, the United States has been my favorite country, save and except for Canada, where I was born, raised, educated, and still live for six months each year. As a child growing up in Waterloo, Ontario, Canada, I aggressively bought and saved baseball cards of American and National League players, spent hours watching snowy images of American baseball and football games on black and white television and longed for the day when I could travel to that great country. Every Saturday afternoon, me and the boys would pay twelve cents to go the show and watch U.S. made movies, and particularly, the Superman serial. Then I got my chance. My father, who worked for B.F. Goodrich, took my brother and me to watch the Cleveland Indians play baseball in the Mistake on the Lake in Cleveland. At last I had made it to the big time. I thought it was an amazing stadium and it was certainly not a mistake. Amazingly, the Americans thought we were Americans.

I loved the United States, and everything about the country: its people, its movies, its comic books, its sports, and a great deal more. The country was alive and growing. No, exploding. It was the golden age of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The American dream was alive and well, but demanded hard work, honesty, and frugality. Everyone understood that. Even the politicians.

Then everything changed.

Partly because of its proximity to #Quote by Stephen Douglass

#10. Before she leaves, my new friend tells me to look out of the big picture window at the parking lot.

"See that purple Harley out there - that big gorgeous one? That's mine. I used to ride behind my husband, and never took the road on my own. Then after the kids were grown, I put my foot down. It was hard, but we finally got to be partners. Now he says he likes it better this way. He doesn't have to worry about his bike breaking down or getting a heart attach and totaling us both. I even put 'Ms.' on my license plate - and you should see my grandkids' faces when Grandma rides up on her purple Harley!"

On my own again, I look out at the barren sand and tortured rocks of the Badlands, stretching for miles. I've walked there, and I know that, close up, the barren sand reveals layers of pale rose and beige and cream, and the rocks turn out to have intricate womblike openings. Even in the distant cliffs, caves of rescue appear.

What seems to be one thing from a distance is very different close up.

I tell you this story because it's the kind of lesson that can be learned only on the road. And also because I've come to believe that, inside, each of us has a purple motorcycle.

We have only to discover it - and ride. #Quote by Gloria Steinem

#11. We are like a glass. You can have a glass for years, decades even, It will server its purpose, being filled and drained over and over. Then one day, someone will come along and be a little too hard on it, and a tiny crack will form. That fissure will weaken the glass. Every bump and bang. Every mouth that touches it or hand that grips it will contribute to its inevitable shatter. But in its time, it will server its purpose and when it's a million pieces of glass, someone will come along and pick it up. They will decide if it should be thrown away or if it's worth saving. #Quote by Davidson King

#12. The parasol wasn't a very good cane. Its tip dug into the hard, grassless earth, and the folded frame creaked as Kestrel limped across the grounds. But it brought her where she needed to go.
She found Arin walking through the bare orange grove, horse tack draped over his shoulder. It jangled when he stopped and stared at her. He stood, shoulders stiff. As Kestrel came close she saw that his jaw was clenched, and that there was no trace of what her guards had done to him. No bruises. Nor would there be, not for something that had happened nearly a month ago.
"Did I shame you?" Kestrel said.
Something strange crossed his face. "Shame me," Arin repeated. He looked up into the empty branches as if he expected to see fruit there, as if it weren't almost winter.
"The book. The inscription I read. The duel. The way I tricked you. The order I gave to have you imprisoned. Did I shame you?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head, his gaze never wavering from the trees. "No. The god of debts knows what I owe."
"Then what is it?" Kestrel was trying so hard not to ask about the rumors or the woman in the market that she said something worse. "Why won't you look at me?"
"I shouldn't even be speaking with you," he muttered.
It dawned on her why it had never made sense that Rax had been the one to release Arin. "My father," she said. "Arin, you don't have to worry about him. He'll be leaving the morning of the Firstwinter ball. The entir #Quote by Marie Rutkoski

#13. Cersei cupped the other woman's breast. Softly at first, hardly touching, feeling the warmth of it beneath her palm, the skin as smooth as satin. She gave it a gentle squeeze, then ran her thumbnail lightly across the big dark nipple, back and forth and back and forth until she felt it stiffen. When she glanced up, Taena's eyes were open.
"Does that feel good?" she asked.
"Yes," said Lady Merryweather.
"And this?" Cersei pinched the nipple now, puling on it hard, twisting it between her fingers.
The Myrish woman gave a gasp of pain. "You're hurting me."
"It's just the wine. I had a flagon with my supper, and another with the widow Stokeworth. I had to drink to keep her calm." She twisted Taena's other nipple too, puling until the other woman gasped. "I am the queen. I mean to claim my rights."
"Do what you wil." Taena's hair was as black as Robert's, even down between her legs, and when Cersei touched her there she found her hair al sopping wet, where Robert's had been coarse and dry. "Please," the Myrish woman said, "go on, my queen. Do as you wil with me. I'm yours."
But it was no good. She could not feel it, whatever Robert felt on the nights he took her. There was no pleasure in it, not for her. For Taena, yes. Her nipples were two black diamonds, her sex slick and steamy. Robert would have loved you, for an hour. The queen slid a finger into that Myrish swamp, then another, moving them in and out, but once he spent himself inside you, h #Quote by George R.R. Martin

#14. her long, lovely eyes, mirrored the grief. "It's a hard, hard thing. I can't even imagine it." "Your life stops right there. Just stops. And when it starts up again, it's different. It's never what it was before that moment. Never." He #Quote by Nora Roberts

#15. That's when I consider chopping off their arms and then blaming them for not picking up their severed arms so they can take them to the hospital to get reattached. Just pick them up and take them to get fixed. IT'S NOT THAT HARD, SARAH. I pick up stuff all the time. We all do. No, I'm not going to help you because you have to learn to do this for yourself. I won't always be around to help you, you know. I'm sure you could do it if you just tried. Honestly, it's like you don't even want to have arms. #Quote by Jenny Lawson

#16. I think aging is hard for everyone." Amara swiped a red bliss potato with crème fraîche and caviar off a passing tray. "But it's definitely harder for women. And I think even more so for beautiful women. Because if so much of your identity and your value is tied up in your looks and how the world responds to your physical appearance, what do you do when that changes? How do you see yourself then? Who do you become? #Quote by Robinne Lee

#17. Rider made this sound in the back of his throat. It was deep and masculine, part groan and growl, and it made me shiver. He folded one hand along my cheek and lowered his head to mine, but he didn't kiss me.
No.
His warm breath glided over my forehead as his hand slid across my cheek, his fingers spreading into my hair at the base. His other hand landed low on my back, and the weight did insane things to my insides. He drew it up my back, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. My eyes fluttered shut as his lips brushed over the curve of my cheek. It was the craziest torture. My entire body tensed, prepared for the moment when his lips met mine.
And it was the sweetest pressure, a feather-light brush of his lips over mine. Once. Then twice. I felt the touch everywhere, a jolt to the system that zipped through my veins, and then the pressure increased.
Rider kissed me then.
It was a real one, soft and beautiful, and when the kiss deepened, it wasn't a shy one. He knew what he was doing, and even though I didn't, an innate knowledge told me it didn't matter. His lips mapped out mine, and my insides were in tight coils.
Kissing was awesome. Amazing. Astonishing. I could probably think of a couple of more words to describe it. Kissing blew me away, and when he lifted his mouth, both of us were breathing hard. He rested his forehead against mine. Neither of us spoke for several moments.
I still wasn't thinking. I had no idea how my hands had gotten #Quote by Jennifer L. Armentrout

#18. It's not human to let go of love, even when it's dead. We expected one of these monthly
anniversaries to be the Final Goodbye. We figured that we'd said all our goodbyes, and given up all the tears we had to give. We'd passed the test
and would get back what we'd lost. But instead, every anniversary it hurt more, and every anniversary it felt like she was further away from coming
back. The idea that there wouldn't be a final goodbye - that was a hard goodbye to say in itself and, at that point, still an impossible goodbye. No
private eye has to tell you it's a long goodbye. #Quote by Rob Sheffield

#19. I know I grew up in the time when a young man in a baggy suit and slicked-down hair stood spraddle-legged in the crossroads of history and talked hot and mean about the colored, giving my poor and desperate people a reason to feel superior to somebody, to anybody. I know that even as the words of George Wallace rang through my Alabama, the black family who lived down the dirt road from our house sent fresh-picked corn and other food to the poor white lady and her three sons, because they knew their daddy had run off, because hungry does not have a color. #Quote by Rick Bragg

#20. It's hard to remember what you fall in love with. Usually it is an expression in the eyes, an exchange, or a gesture or the sound of a voice, a word spoken. Those things can get blended with the atmosphere around you at the time - a fragrance in the air, a play of light, even music - so that they become almost one with each other and when you see or smell or hear the memories of a place you feel the love again, but as a pang of loss. Sometimes the feelings get connected so deeply to your body that even your own skin, your own eyes in the mirror remind you of what you no longer have. Sometimes it only takes a few things for someone to attach the way I did - enough hunger, enough loneliness, enough loss, someone who will feed you and touch you and listen. Sometimes attachment - call it love - is more complex than that. When you are in the state I was in, love can be tied up with other things, like excitement and danger, and the desire to know what really happened, what actually took place. #Quote by Francesca Lia Block

#21. I wonder if all these bad things will change when I'm a high schooler…"

"At the very least, they most certainly won't change if you intend to remain the way you are." Way to go, Yukinoshita-san! Not going easy on the young'un just after you finished apologizing to her!

"But it's enough if the people around you change," I remarked. "There's no need to force yourself to hang out with others."

"But things are hard on Rumi­-chan right now and if we don't do something about it…" Yuigahama looked at Rumi with eyes full of concern.

In response, Rumi winced slightly. "Hard, you say… I don't like that. It makes me sound pathetic. It makes me feel inferior for being left out."

"Oh," said Yuigahama.

"I don't like it, you know. But there's nothing you can do about it."

"Why?" Yukinoshita questioned her.

Rumi seemed to have some trouble speaking, but she still managed to form the right words. "I… got abandoned. I can't get along with them anymore. Even if I did, I don't know when it'll start again. If the same thing were to happen, I guess I'm better off this way. I just­" She swallowed. "­don't wanna be pathetic…"

Oh. I get it.

This girl was fed up. Of herself and of her surroundings.

If you change yourself, your world will change, they say, but that's a load of crap.

When people already have an impression of you, it's not easy to change your pre­existing re #Quote by Wataru Watari

#22. ...The premise that birthing, by nature, had to be a painful ordeal was totally unacceptable to me. I could not believe that a God who had created the body with such perfection could have designed a system of procreation that was flawed. So many questions prevented me from accepting the concept of pain in birthing. Why are the two sets of muscles of the uterus the only muscles that do not perform well under normal conditions? Why are the lesser animals blessed with smooth, easy birthing while we, the very highest of creatures, made in the image and likeness of God, are destined to suffer? And why are women in the some cultures able to have gentle, comfortable births? Are we women in the Western world less loved, less indulged, less blessed than they? It didn't make sense to me logically or physiologically."

"Even more importantly, I could not believe that a loving God would commit so cruel a hoax as to make us sexual beings so that we would come together in love to conceive and then make the means through which we would birth our children so excruciatingly painful."

"Dr. Christiane Northrup, author of Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom, sums it up well with this challenge to all birthing mothers: Imagine what might happen if the majority of women emerged from their labor beds with a renewed sense of the strength and power of their bodies, and of their capacity for ecstasy through giving birth. When enough women realize that birth is a time of great opportu #Quote by Marie F. Mongan

#23. I know why you did it too. You can't become mortal yourself until you change her back again. Isn't that it? You don't care what happens to her, or to the others, just as long as you become a real magician, even if you change the Bull into a bullfrog, because it's still just a trick when you do it. You don't care about anything but magic, and what kind of magician is that? Schmendrick, I don't feel good. I have to sit down."

Schmendrick must have carried her for a time, because she was definitely not walking and his green eyes were ringing in her head. "That's right. Nothing but magic matters to me. I would round up unicorns for Haggard myself if it would heighten my power but half a hair. It's true. I have no preferences and no loyalties. I have only magic." His voice was hard and sad.

"Really?" she asked, rocking dreamily in her terror, watching the brightness flowing by. "That's awful." She was very impressed. "Are you really like that?"

"No," he said, then or later. "No, it's not true. How could I be like that, and still have all these troubles?" Then he said, "Molly, you have to walk now. #Quote by Peter S. Beagle

#24. This is…mad…" Anything this wonderful had to be some form of insanity.
"Then I've been mad for twelve years." He tugged at her nipple with his teeth, and she gasped. "Because I imagined this often. Holding you…touching you." He laved her nipple with his tongue as if to soothe it. "I tried not to torture myself, but…it was impossible that I should never indulge in…the fantasy of you like this, in my arms again."
He'd thought of her all these years? And done nothing about it?
"You could have…had me whenever you wanted," she choked out, even as she thrilled to his words. "You just didn't…want me."
"Not true." His breathing labored, he dragged his mouth from her breast to kiss his way back up to her throat. "I couldn't allow myself to want you. There's a difference."
None that she could see. But just now, she could hardly think. One of Dom's hands worked its magic on her breast, his mouth snaked around to cup her derriere and pull her flush against him.
Something hard pressed into her through her skirts. What the devil?
"Jane," he rasped against her lips. "My darling Jane…still mine…"
The possessive note in his voice drove out every other thought. She was losing the fight against him.
Sweet Lord, she couldn't. Mustn't, until she was sure he wouldn't become Dom the Almighty again. Until she was sure he wouldn't trample her into dust, the way he had before when things hadn't been exactly how he wanted them. She couldn't go through that a #Quote by Sabrina Jeffries

#25. People always want to know what it feels like, so I'll tell you: there's a sting when you first slice, and then your heart speeds up when you see the blood, because you know you've done something you shouldn't have, and yet you've gotten away with it. Then you sort of go into a trance, because it's truly dazzling - that bright red line, like a highway route on a map that you want to follow to see where it leads. And - God - the sweet release, that's the best way I can describe it, kind of like a balloon that's tied to a little kid's hand, which somehow breaks free and floats into the sky. You just know that balloon is thinking, Ha, I don't belong to you after all; and at the same time, Do they have any idea how beautiful the view is from up here? And then the balloon remembers, after the fact, that it has a wicked fear of heights.
When reality kicks in, you grab some toilet paper or a paper towel (better than a washcloth, because the stains don't ever come out 100 percent) and you press hard against the cut. You can feel your embarrassment; it's a backbeat underneath your pulse. Whatever relief there was a minute ago congeals, like cold gravy, into a fist in the pit of your stomach. You literally make yourself sick, because you promised yourself last time would be the last time, and once again, you've let yourself down. So you hide the evidence of your weakness under layers of clothes long enough to cover the cuts, even if it's summertime and no one is wearing jeans or l #Quote by Jodi Picoult

#26. Oskar Schell: My father died at 9-11. After he died I wouldn't go into his room for a year because it was too hard and it made me want to cry. But one day, I put on heavy boots and went in his room anyway. I miss doing taekwondo with him because it always made me laugh. When I went into his closet, where his clothes and stuff were, I reached up to get his old camera. It spun around and dropped about a hundred stairs, and I broke a blue vase! Inside was a key in an envelope with black written on it and I knew that dad left something somewhere for me that the key opened and I had to find. So I take it to Walt, the locksmith. I give it to Stan, the doorman, who tells me keys can open anything. He gave me the phone book for all the five boroughs. I count there are 472 people with the last name black. There are 216 addresses. Some of the blacks live together, obviously. I calculated that if I go to 2 every Saturday plus holidays, minus my hamlet school plays, my minerals, coins, and comic convention, it's going to take me 3 years to go through all of them. But that's what I'm going to do! Go to every single person named black and find out what the key fits and see what dad needed me to find. I made the very best possible plan but using the last four digits of each phone number, I divide the people by zones. I had to tell my mother another lie, because she wouldn't understand how I need to go out and find what the key fits and help me make sense of things that don't even make sense #Quote by Eric Roth

#27. Everett and his mom broke up with me,thank you very much."
"You shouldn't have made out with him in his mother's scrapbooking room," Liz said sagely.
"We're seventeen,"I snapped, "and Everett and I had been dating for two months when that happened.What were we supposed to do,eat dinner with his family and keep our hands on the table where everyone could see them?I mean, you and Davis are Mr. and Mrs. Polite Reserve, and even you were macking in the hot tub an hour ago." I picked up a pink fuzzy pillow that had fallen from he bed and threw it at Liz.
"You were?" Chloe gushed. "You what? Hello,I need the details of Liz and Davis."
"Hayden!" Liz squealed, ducking behind Chloe. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have made out with Everett.I'm saying you shouldn't have done it in his mother's scrapbooking room.Location, location,location.You might have disorganized her supplies.Some people are very particular about their chipboard getting mixed up with their cardstock."
I closed my eyes,inhaled through my nose,and felt my lungs fill with air. My blood spread the life-giving oxygen throughout my body.
"Watch out,"Chloe whispered to Liz. "She's doing yoga."
My eyes snapped open.So much for controlling my temper. "Why the hell didn't you tell me Nick's mother left before I went into the sauna with him?" I hollered at Chloe.
"We didn't know he was here!" Liz came to Chloe's defense. "And if we'd warned you about him before he got here," Chloe explain #Quote by Jennifer Echols

#28. 99 Problems is almost a deliberate provocation to simpleminded listeners. If that sounds crazy, you have to understand: Being misunderstood is almost a badge of honor in rap. Growing up as a black kid from the projects, you can spend your whole life being misunderstood, followed around department stores, looked at funny, accused of crimes you didn't commit, accused of motivations you don't have, dehumanized -- until you realize, one day, it's not about you. It's the perceptions people had long before you even walked onto the scene. The joke's on them because they're really just fighting phantoms of their own creation. Once you realize that, things get interesting. It's like when we were kids. You'd start bopping hard and throwing the ice grill when you step into Macy's and laugh to yourself when security guards got nervous and started shadowing you. You might have a knot of cash in your pocket, but you boost something anyway, just for the sport of it. Fuck 'em. Sometimes the mask is to hide and sometimes it's to play at being something you're not so you can watch the reactions of people who believe the mask is real. Because that's when they reveal themselves. So many people can't see that every great rapper is a not just a documentarian, but a trickster -- that every great rapper has a little bit of Chuck and a little bit of Flav in them -- but that's not our problem, it's their failure: the failure, or unwillingness, to treat rap like art, instead of acting like it's a bunch #Quote by Jay-Z

#29. There are even more galvanizing aspects to the Canadian psyche than mere reticence. There is the collective fear, at least when I was growing up, of becoming too big for our britches. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels (my countryman), it's the kind of place where they award Miss Canada to the runner-up, because the prettiest already gets to be the prettiest. Rather than demanding liberty or, failing that, death, we are a country forever giving up our seats to the elderly, all the while thanking one another for not smoking. #Quote by David Rakoff

#30. My sweet darling,
all these tears,
this hurt,
the pain in your heart,
do not fight it anymore,
it is a gift, you see, to feel this much
and even though it's hard
it means you're alive
with each of these tearful breaths gasped
your soul awakens,
more alive in the pain
than you were in the numb,
you are coming back to me now, my love,
lucid in this darkness -
so cry aloud,
yell,
and fall,
and I will be here waiting
to catch you
when the waking up is done #Quote by Atticus Poetry

#31. Nor when love is of this disinterested sort is there any disgrace in being deceived, but in every other case there is equal disgrace in being or not being deceived. For he who is gracious to his lover under the impression that he is rich, and is disappointed of his gains because he turns out to be poor, is disgraced all the same: for he has done his best to show that he would give himself up to any one's "uses base" for the sake of money; but this is not honourable. And on the same principle he who gives himself to a lover because he is a good man, and in the hope that he will be improved by his company, shows himself to be virtuous, even though the object of his affection turn out to be a villain, and to have no virtue; and if he is deceived he has committed a noble error. For he has proved that for his part he will do anything for anybody with a view to virtue and improvement, than which there can be nothing nobler. #Quote by Plato

#32. There is never a right time to break someone's heart. And anyone with even a microgram of sensitivity in his or her body will agonise for an age over that timing. Only problem is there is always some reason not to make someone unhappy. The day a relationship end, if that relationship was at all important to the suckers involved, becomes as important an anniversary as a wedding day or birthday.
Obviously, the average person doesn't want to kick someone they once loved while that person is down.
It's not just hard times when someone is down that become obstacles to making your getaway. After times of bereavement, unemployment and general unhappiness, those events that should be happy ones also make some times off limits for the eager would- be dumper. Christmas, birthdays, Easter all impossible. A clever person with a sensitive lover that they sense is not quite as into them as he or she used to be, could starve off the inevitable for years by carefully spacing out this crucial dates. #Quote by Chris Manby

#33. When he[Thresh] shouts, I jump, never having heard him speak above a mutter. "What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?"
Clove is scrambling backwards on all fours, like a frantic insect, too shocked to even call for Cato. "No! No, it wasn't me!"
"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" Another thought brings a fresh wave of rage to his features. "You cut her up like you were about to do to this girl here?"
"No! No, I-" Clove sees the stone, about the size of a small loaf of bread in Thresh's hand and loses it. "Cato!" she screeches. "Cato!"
"Clove!" I hear Cato's answer, but he's too far away, I can tell that much, to do her any good. What was he doing? Trying to get Foxface or Peeta? Or had he been lying in wait for Thresh and just badly misjudged his location?
Thresh brings the rock down hard against Clove's temple. It's not bleeding, but I can see the dent in her skull and I know that she's a goner. #Quote by Suzanne Collins

#34. Whatever your problems are, the concept is the same: solve problems; be happy. Unfortunately,
for many people, life doesn't feel that simple. That's because they fuck things up in at least one of two
ways:
1. Denial. Some people deny that their problems exist in the first place. And because they deny
reality, they must constantly delude or distract themselves from reality. This may make them feel
good in the short term, but it leads to a life of insecurity, neuroticism, and emotional repression.
2. Victim Mentality. Some choose to believe that there is nothing they can do to solve their
problems, even when they in fact could. Victims seek to blame others for their problems or blame
outside circumstances. This may make them feel better in the short term, but it leads to a life of
anger, helplessness, and despair. #Quote by Mark Manson. “The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A F*ck.”

#35. My stomach growled again, even more loudly than the first time. I flushed in embarrassment.
Jack's brows lifted. "Sounds like you haven't eaten in days, Ella."
"I'm starving. I'm always hungry." I sighed. "The reason I eat vegan is because my boyfriend Dane does. I never feel full for more than twenty minutes, and it's hard to keep up my energy."
"Then why do you do it?"
"I like the health benefits. My cholesterol and blood pressure are really low. And my conscience feels better when I eat an animal-free diet."
"I know of some good remedies for an active conscience," he said.
"I'm sure you do."
"It sounds like if it weren't for your boyfriend, you'd be eating meat."
"Probably," I admitted. "But I agree with Dane's take on the issues, and most of the time it's not a problem for me. Unfortunately, I'm temptable."
"I like that in a woman. It almost makes up for your conscience."
-Jack & Ella #Quote by Lisa Kleypas

#36. Her fingertip traced his smile. "I'm sorry I was so crazy about the healer giving me blood, but I really can't stand it yet, even thinking about it. When we're together, it seems different, something beautiful and natural, but the thought of anyone else - " Her stomach lurched, and she broke off.
Jacques' mouth skimmed her face, settled on her lips for a brief, disturbing moment. "I understand. I am stronger now, little red hair. I can care for you properly."
Her eyebrows shot up, and she frowned. "That isn't exactly what I meant. Don't go all macho on me. That would make me sicker than finding some cute human male to feed off."
She was teasing him. Intellectually he knew it, but for a moment a red haze of jealousy clouded his mind. Rage welled up, and he forced it under control. He knew immediately that he was lucky she didn't want to take sustenance from another man. Something in his fragmented mind, or perhaps it was his possessive nature, would not stand for it. No man, human or Carpathian, was going to be completely safe until he learned to control his fear of losing her. Jacques raked a hand through his hair. "I have a long way to go before I will be normal again."
She burst out laughing. "No one has said you ever were normal, Jacques. #Quote by Christine Feehan

#37. I promise I won't do 'things' to you," I told her, giving my inner sexual deviant a chance to speak up. He didn't, and I felt my whole body relax. There were plenty of women in the world. Plenty of them willing to share their body with me for a night. This woman could not be one of them.
"Like you even could do 'things' to me," she huffed, gracing me with a look that led me to believe she thought me quite the Quasimodo.
"Believe me." I waited for her eyes to meet mine again. When they did, the green in them actually looked molten. I didn't blink as I stretched closer. "If I wanted to – if I put my mind to it, my body into action – I could do all kinds of things to you. #Quote by Nicole Williams

#38. Fuel your body.

Think about your environment as an ecosystem. If there's pollution, you'll feel the toxic side effects; if you're in the fresh air of the mountains, you'll feel alive. You'd be surprised at how many of the foods that we eat actually sap our body of fuel. Just look at three quick examples: soda, potato chips, and hamburgers. I'm not a hard-liner who says that you should never consume these things, but this kind of steady diet will make it harder for your body to help you. Instead, look at the foods that are going to give you energy. Choose food that's water soluble and easier for your body to break down, which gives you maximum nutrition with minimal effort. Look at a cucumber: it's practically water and it takes no energy to consume, but it's packed with nutrients. Green for me is the key.
We overeat and undernourish ourselves way too much. When you eat bad food, your body will feel bad and then you will feel bad. It's all connected. I drink green juice every day and eat huge salads. I am also a big believer in lean protein to feed and fuel the muscles--I might even have a chicken breast for breakfast.
Growing up, because I danced every single day, I would basically eat anything I wanted and I wouldn't gain any weight. I would eat anything and everything trying to put on a few pounds, but it never worked--and my skin was terrible as a result of it. We'd blame it on the sweat from the dancing, but I never connected it to what I ate. As I go #Quote by Derek Hough

#39. I love you," she said, speaking clearly so that there might be no confusion. "I love you utterly and completely. I love your elegant hands and the way you smile with only one side of your mouth - when you smile at all - and I love how grave your eyes are. I love that you let me invade your house with nearly my entire family and yours, and never even turned a hair. I love that you made love to me when I asked you, purely for politeness' sake, and I love that you got mad at me later and made me make love to you. I love that you let Her Grace and her puppies construct a nest out of your shirts in your dressing room. I love that you've spent years selflessly saving people in St. Giles - although I want you to stop right now. I love that you killed a man for me, even if I'm still mad at you about it. I love that you saved my letters before we even knew each other well, and I love the curt, overly serious letters you wrote to me in return."

She looked at him very seriously.

"I love you, Godric St. John, and now I'm breaking my word. I will not leave you. You may either come with me to Laurelwood or I'll stay here with you in your musty old house in London and drive you mad with all my talking and relatives and… and exotic sexual positions until you break down and love me back, for I'm warning you that I'm not giving up until you love me and we're a happy family with dozens of children."

She paused at that point because she'd run out of breath #Quote by Elizabeth Hoyt