On The Head Of A Pin Quotes

#1. ...the number of angels who can dance on the head of a pin depends entirely on the dance. #Quote by Tanya Huff

#2. Stupid can go sit on the head of a pin somewhere. #Quote by Leslie Connor

#3. Writing a short story is like painting a picture on the head of a pin. And just getting everything to fit is - sometimes seems impossible. Writing a novel, though, is - has its own challenges of scope. And I think of that as painting a mural, where the challenge is that if you are close enough to work on it, you're too close to see the whole thing. #Quote by Rebecca Makkai

#4. ANGELS You might see an angel anytime and anywhere. Of course you have to open your eyes to a kind of second level, but it's not really hard. The whole business of what's reality and what isn't has never been solved and probably never will be. So I don't care to be too definite about anything. I have a lot of edges called Perhaps and almost nothing you can call Certainty. For myself, but not for other people. That's a place you just can't get into, not entirely anyway, other people's heads. I'll just leave you with this. I don't care how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. It's enough to know that for some people they exist, and that they dance. #Quote by Mary Oliver

#5. Your people have lost the vision and vitality of your ancestors (73). #Quote by Walter Mosley

#6. Philosophers have argued for centuries about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but materialists have known all along that it depends on whether they are jitterbugging or dancing cheek to cheek. #Quote by Tom Robbins

#7. He knew what his plans were. He knew they balanced, like a million angels, on the head of a pin. Chance, circumstance, and determination held them together. #Quote by Cassandra Clare

#8. But at night we began dreaming of Man's perfect world without humanity (57) #Quote by Walter Mosley

#9. He'd take his time. All good things came to those who danced when others least expected to find anything on the head of a pin. #Quote by Michele Hauf

#10. We will be one step down from the Creator," she said, her olive-hued face tightening into an expression that she considered dramatic. "Imagining a world and then making it. #Quote by Walter Mosley

#11. I think it's some kind of meeting of energies that causes what we see, and that part of those energies emanate from our lifeforces, our minds. #Quote by Walter Mosley

#12. So I thought. Are you happy?"
"What's that?"
"Don't you know yet? But who really knows what it is? Dancing on the head of a pin, maybe. #Quote by Erich Maria Remarque

#13. He grinned. "You're jealous."
I considered it. "No. But when you stared at that woman like she was made of diamonds, it didn't feel very good."
"I stared at her because she smelled strange."
"Strange how?"
"She smelled like rock dust. Very strong dry smell." Curran put his arms around me. "I love it when you get all fussy and possessive."
"I never get fussy and possessive."
He grinned, showing his teeth. His face was practically glowing. "So you're cool if I go over and chat her up?"
"Sure. Are you cool if I go and chat up that sexy werewolf on the third floor?"
He went from casual and funny to deadly serious in half a blink. "What sexy werewolf?"
I laughed.
Curran's eyes focused. He was concentrating on something.
"You're taking a mental inventory of all people working on the third floor, aren't you?"
His expression went blank. I'd hit the nail on the head.
I slid off him and put my head on his biceps. The shaggy carpet was nice and comfortable under my back.
"Is it Jordan?"
"I just picked a random floor," I told him. "You're nuts, you know that?"
He put his arm around me. "Look who is talking. #Quote by Ilona Andrews

#14. but we did not come into India, as they did, at the head of great armies, with the avowed intention of subjugating the country. We crept in as humble barterers, whose existence depended on the bounty and favour of the lieutenants of the kings of Delhi; and the 'generosity' we have shown was but a small acknowledgement of the favours his ancestors had conferred to our race. #Quote by William Dalrymple

#15. I can't believe he's going along with this." She flops on her bed, then wrinkles her forehead and stares at the mattress. "Did you make my bed?"

"Yes," I say sheepishly, but she doesn't seem pissed. I'd already warned her that my OCD might rear its incredibly tidy head every now and then, and so far she hasn't batted an eye when it happens. The only items on her don't-touch-or-I'll-fuck-you-up list are her shoes and her iTunes music library.

"Wait, but you didn't fold my laundry?" She mock gasps. "What the hell, Grace? I thought we were friends."

I stick out my tongue. "I'm not your maid. Fold your own damn laundry."

Daisy's eyes gleam. "So you're telling me you can look at that basket overflowing with fresh-from-the-dryer clothes - " she gestures to the basket in question " - and you aren't the teensiest bit tempted to fold them? All those shirts…forming wrinkles as we speak. Lonely socks…longing for their pairs - "

"Let's fold your laundry," I blurt out.

A gale of laughter overtakes her small body. "That's what I thought. #Quote by Elle Kennedy

#16. These two things are almost all I want, but unfortunately, neither one is my strong suit. I am very strong on blame, and wish this were one of God's values, but trust, surrender? Letting go, forgiveness? Maybe just after a period of prayer, but then when the mood passes and real life rears its ugly head again? Not so much. I hate this, the fact that life is usually Chutes and Ladders, with no guaranteed gains.
I cannot will myself into having these qualities, so I have to pray for them more often, if I want to be happy. I have to create the habit, just as I had to do with daily writing, and flossing. #Quote by Anne Lamott

#17. He cannot hold his wine; he has no head for it. Why, on no more than three glasses, for I absolutely poured him out no more, he was on the point of singing Yankee Doodle. Yankee Doodle, in a King's ship, upon my sacred honour! #Quote by Patrick O'Brian

#18. Appreciate it." David headed toward the door, paused. "Listen, would you let me know if she
gets ... if she starts to get a crush on you. It's probably normal, but I'd like to head it off if it veers that
way."
"It's not like that. I think I'm more big brother, maybe uncle material. But your boy's got a
champion crush on Sophie."
David stared. Blinked. Then rubbed his hands over his face. "Missed that one. I thought it came
and went the first week. Hell."
"She can handle it. Nothing she does better than handle the male of the species. She won't bruise
him."
"He manages to bruise himself." He thought of Pilar, and winced #Quote by Nora Roberts

#19. I am not an analytical writer. Once I flesh out my characters and decide on the elements of my plot, the story unfolds in my head almost as though it was a movie reel. #Quote by Susan Carroll

#20. The other suicide had been the actress Clara Blandick, who, one day in 1962, had got her hair fixed up and had carefully done her makeup and put on a formal gown and then pulled a plastic bag over her head and smothered herself. She was chiefly remembered for having played Auntie Em in the 1939 version of The Wizard of Oz. #Quote by Tim Powers

#21. Eventually, the room was cleared, and we stood there together, chests heaving, a spray of shifters and humans on the floor in front of us. We weren't entirely undamaged - I'd taken a bruising shot to my right thigh, and Ethan had slices across his belly where he'd been caught with the edge of a bar of steel broken from someone's office chair.
But we were alive.
We glanced over at each other. I was just about to speak, but before I could get out words, his hand was at the back of my head, his mouth pressing against mine. The intensely possessive kiss left me gasping for breath, but even as he pulled back, his fingers stayed knotted in the back of my hair. #Quote by Chloe Neill

#22. I'm a working-class former apprentice electrician; at the age of 14, if you'd told me I would one day be standing on a stage with Mel Brooks, I'd have thought you were off your head. But these things can happen. #Quote by John Gordon Sinclair

#23. Get over it. It's all in your head. I get so fucking tired of that line. Of course it's in my goddamned head. If I knew how to get it out, I'd have already found a way to crack open my skull and scoop the shit out. Smear it all over the fucking walls and light it on fire. Watch it burn to the shitty-ass ground I have to walk on every single day. #Quote by K. Webster

#24. The first woman may have been Eve, but the first girl will always be Alma.

Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone's hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted - wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don't look at me. If you don't, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me.

If you remember the first time you saw Alma, you also remember the last. She was shaking her head. Or disappearing across a field. Or through your window. Come back, Alma! you shouted. Come back! Come back!

But she didn't.

And though you were grown up by then, you felt as lost as a child. And though your pride was broken, you felt as vast as your love for her. She was gone, and all that was left was the space where you'd grown around her, like a tree that grows around a fence.

For a long time, it remained hollow. Years, maybe. And when at last it was filled again, you knew that the new love you felt for a woman would have been impossible without Alma. If it weren't for her, there would never have been an empty space, or the need to fill it.

Of course there are certain cases in which th #Quote by Nicole Krauss

#25. Now Justin stood in our reading room, leaning up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He was tall, with a wiry athletic build. Usually, he was Mr. Ultra-Casual, with sun-kissed blond hair that he kept out of his eyes by pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead. Today, that messy blond hair was clean-cut, and he'd traded his typical board shorts and loose T-shirt for a striped shirt and khakis. His father, the mayor of Eastport, was running for re-election. Since the campaign started last month, Justin had become the mayor's sixteen-year-old sidekick. I'd heard he was spending the summer working for his dad down at the town hall, which would explain the nice clothes. What sucked for me was that the new style fit him. He looked even better, the jerk.
"I heard you and Tiffany got into a catfight over me at Yummy's," Justin announced with an overconfident grin that pissed me off.
I slammed the door behind me. "First off, I dumped a soda over her head. That was it."
"Damn, a catfight sounded much hotter. I was picturing ripped shirts, exposed skin."
I rolled my eyes. "And second, it wasn't over you, egomaniac. You can date every girl in town as far as I'm concerned. I hate you. I pray every night that you'll fall victim to some strange and unusual castration accident." I pointed to the door. "So get the hell out."
His lips twitched, fighting a smile.
Ugh. I was going for "crazy ex filled with hate" not "isn't she cute when she's mad?"
#Quote by Kim Harrington

#26. ...I've been ripped off, lied to, slandered, gossiped about slapped, falsely accused, and had my truths not believed. I've had my heart broken, had my pride stomped on, witnessed unforgivable acts, and heard words that hurt so much I withed that they would not replay in my head, but they did. In all these moments--some tear-soaked, some life-defining, but all character-building moments--I have felt vulnerable.
And I believe these feelings of vulnerability--when a person feels scared and alone and overwhelmed and pissed off, wen the sting of unfairness bites deep--while miserable to live through, are the basis for writing compelling fiction. #Quote by Jessica Page Morrell

#27. It's never the world at large you want to prove yourself to. It's someone in particular. Doesn't matter how old you get, you're still hoping for Mom or Dad to kiss you on the head.
And yes, that person should ideally be yourself, just as the answers to all our questions and the objects of our quests should most likely be found within our own souls. But they're not. We need more. Someone or something bigger than us. A magical other.
And that's why we reach for the gods.
Or for someone to love. #Quote by Michael Rutger

#28. I don't like to make mistakes. Which is why I haven't been with a man before now."
He as thrown off balance so quickly and completely, he coud hear his own brain stumble. "Well,that's...that's wise."
He took one definite step back, like a chessman going from square to square.
"It's interesting that makes you nervous," she said, countering his move.
"I'm not nervous,I'm...finished up here, it seems." He tried another tactic, stepped to the side.
"Interesting," she continued, mirroring his move, "that it would make you nervous,or uneasy if you prefer, when you've been...I think it's safe to use the term 'hitting on me' since we met."
"I don't think that's the proper term at all." Since he seemed to be boxed into a corner,he decided he was really only standing his ground. "I acted in a natural way regarding a physical attraction. But-"
"And now that I've reacted in a natural way, you've felt the reins slip out of your hands and you're panicked."
"I'm certainly not panicked." He ignored the terror gripping claws into his belly and concentrated on annoyance. "Back off, Keeley."
"No." With her eyes locked on his, she stepped in.Checkmate.
His back was hard up against a stall door and he'd been maneuvered there by a woman half his weight.It was mortifying. "This isn't doing either of us any credit." It took a lot of effort when the blood was rapidly draining out of his head, but he made his voice cool and firm. "The fact is I've ret #Quote by Nora Roberts

#29. Should she slam his head into the bar or toss her beer on him? Damn shame to waste good beer. #Quote by Mina Khan

#30. I went after him and picked him off with a right, like a predator and was all over him like a rash! I was in to him with a right hand lead and out to inflict pain, but it wasn't all one-sided! This guy was on a wing and a prayer when he threw a chopping right hand that whizzed past me with him on the other end of it ... I was blessed, or something!
I had to turn it on and step it up, because if he connected with one of those shots then I was chicken fodder! I could see that his wasted efforts were tiring him by the second. I boxed him from range and kept tying him up, I was now in to a rhythm, I swung lefts and rights, all of them smashing in to his head with an unrelenting ferocity.
By now his face was covered in blood and he was about to go down when the ref stepped in and stopped it. I won; I had defeated Goliath. #Quote by Stephen Richards

#31. The goat gave a high, questioning bleat. It was staked out in the middle of the boneyard. It was a brown-and-white-spotted goat with those strange yellow eyes they sometimes have. It had floppy white ears and seemed to like having the tope of its head scratched. Larry had petted it in the Jeep on the drive over. Always a bad idea. Never get friendly with the sacrifices. Makes it hard to kill them.
I had not petted the goat. I knew better. This was Larry's first goat. He'd learn. Hard or easy, he'd learn. There were two more goats at the bottom of the hill. One of them was even smaller and cuter than this one. #Quote by Laurell K. Hamilton

#32. The head nerd of the Cadets is my partner and when it's over he asks me for my number. I'm very flattered and he looks a bit crestfallen when I say no.
"It's because they don't have coverage out here," Griggs tells him.
"No," I say, looking up at Griggs. "It's actually because my heart belongs to someone else." And if I could bottle the look on his face, I'd keep it by my bedside for the rest of my life. #Quote by Melina Marchetta

#33. Connor dipped his head and kissed from her neck to her collarbone, and down her arm as he slipped the sark off her shoulder revealing the satiny skin beneath. When he got to her fingers, he nipped her ring finger and Mackenzie gasped as he drew it into his mouth and sucked. He raised his eyes back to hers and trapped her gaze in his own. Connor slid her sark down her body and Mackenzie was helpless to do anything but stare into the dark blue pools of molten desire his eyes had become. It was a heady feeling to know that she was the reason his eyes were so dark; she had never before felt so powerful. He wanted her and this time she knew what to do.

Mackenzie unwrapped his plaid from the chieftain brooch and pushed it off his shoulder. Connor held perfectly still and let it fall to the floor with Mackenzie's pile of clothes. Next Mackenzie dragged his shirt over his head; it too joined the growing pile of clothing. Mackenzie couldn't help but marvel at his hard body with all its scars hinting at the power and danger this man carried. She let her fingers trail down from his chest to the patch of hair on his stomach, and lower still. She could feel his muscles clench and his breath stop as she wrapped her fingers around his erection. She quickly found his rhythm and knelt down to press her lips to his lower abs. Trailing her mouth down to where her hand was, she gently licked the tip. She felt a thrill of satisfaction as his hands gripped her shoulders and as her mout #Quote by Laura Hunsaker

#34. The jump did not go as planned. My father gashed his head and tore his parachute on the tail of the plane. He hit the water hard and submerged. When he surfaced, his head was bleeding, he was vomiting from swallowing seawater, and he had been stung by a Portuguese man-of-war. #Quote by George W. Bush

#35. Now, tell me everything."
He chuckled and leaned against the door. "That's a comprehensive command! Where to begin?"
"With Galdran. How did he die?"
"Vidanric. Sword," Bran said, waving his index finger in a parry-and-thrust. "Just after Galdran tried to brain you from the back. Neatest work I've ever seen. He promised to introduce me to his old sword master when we get to Athanarel."
"'We'? You and the Marquis?"
"We can discuss it when we meet for supper, soon's he gets back. Life! I don't think he's sat down since we returned yestereve. I'm tied here by the heels, healer's orders, but there'll be enough for us all to do soon."
I opened my mouth to say that I did not want to go to Athanarel, but I could almost hear his rallying tone--and the fact, bitterly faced but true, that part of my image as the ignorant little sister guaranteed that Bran seldom took me seriously. So I shook my head instead. "Tell me more."
"Well, that's the main of it, in truth. They were all pretty disgusted--both sides, I think--when Galdran went after you. He didn't even have the courage to face me, and I was weavin' on my horse like a one-legged rooster. One o' his bully boys knocked me clean out of the saddle just after Galdran hit you. Anyway, Vidanric went after the King, quick and cool as ice, and the others went after Debegri--but he nearly got away. I say 'nearly' because it was one of his own people got him squarely in the back with an arrow--what's more, t #Quote by Sherwood Smith

#36. From the passenger seat Kitty sighs heavily and rests her head against the window.
"What's up with you?" Peter asks.
"The bridesmaids won't let me go on the bachelorette night," she says. "I'm the only one left out."
I narrow my eyes at the back of her head.
"That's bullshit!" Peter looks at me in the rearview mirror. "Why won't you guys let her go?"
"We're going to a karaoke bar! We can't bring Kitty in because she's too young. Honestly, I think I was barely allowed to go."
"Why can't you guys just go to a restaurant like we're doing?"
"Because that's not a real bachelorette."
Peter rolls his eyes. "It's not like you guys are going to a strip club or something--wait, did you change your mind? Are you going to a strip club?"
"No!"
"Then what's the big deal? Just go somewhere else."
"Peter, it's not my decision. You'll have to take it up with Kristen." I smack the back of Kitty's arm. "Same goes for you, you little fiend! Quit trying to weasel your way in by manipulating Peter. He has no power here."
"Sorry, kid," Peter says.
Kitty slumps in her seat and then straightens. "What if I came to the bachelor night instead?" she suggests. "Since you're just going to a restaurant?"
Peter stutters, "Uh--uh, I don't know, I'd have to talk to the guys…"
"So you'll ask? Because I like steak too. I like it so much. I'll order steak with a baked potato on the side, and for dessert I'll have a strawberry sundae with #Quote by Jenny Han

#37. He pulled her into a tight embrace. There was the sting of tears on her cheeks, but they weren't hers. He kissed the top of her head and murmured something. She didn't hear what he'd said, but that didn't matter. He was alive.
Riley wanted to stay in his arms, but ... #Quote by Jana Oliver

#38. Trying to draw Matthew into our conversation, I said, "Look, here's Matthew's." I pointed out his card; on it, a smiling young man with an oblivious expression walked a desolate land, carrying a rucksack and a single white rose. A yapping dog nipped at his heels.
Matthew tilted his head at the likeness. "In a place where nothing grows, I carry a flower. The memory of you."
I smiled at him. "That is so sweet."
He frowned. "That literally happened."
"Oh. #Quote by Kresley Cole

#39. In the middle of the night, I was startled awake by the sharp smell of tequila. My eyes snapped open. The heath bush I'd transplanted from an alley off Divisadero stretched its needled arms over my head. Between the new growth and glowing bell-shaped blossoms, I saw the outline of a man bend over and snap a stem of my helenium. His tequila bottle leaned over as he did, alcohol splashing out of the top and landing on the shrub concealing my body. A girl behind him reached for the bottle. She sat down on the ground with her back to me and tilted her face to the sky. #Quote by Vanessa Diffenbaugh

#40. She should have been a man – a great navigator. Her powerful reason would have deduced new spheres of discovery from the knowledge of the old; and her strong imperious will would never have been daunted by opposition or difficulty, never have given way but with life. She had a head for logic, and a capability of argument unusual in a man and rarer indeed in a woman... impairing this gift was her stubborn tenacity of will which rendered her obtuse to all reasoning where her own wishes, or her own sense of right, was concerned.

On Emily Bronte #Quote by Constantin Heger

#41. A shot fired. A shock wave pulsed through Cinder's body.

She didn't know where it came from. She saw blood, but didn't know who had been hit.

Then Maha's legs collapsed and she fell face-first onto the hard ground. Her three deformed fingers remained stretched out over her head.

Still reeling from the concussion of the gunshot, Cinder stared at Maha's body, unable to breathe. Unable to move.

She heard Wolf's intake of breath. His energy crystallized into something still and fragile.

The world stilled, balancing on a needle point. Silent. Incomprehensible. #Quote by Marissa Meyer

#42. Ten-to-one odds Callum has either Sore or Lance on Bryn-duty tonight," I said, changing the subject with an unspoken apology for bringing up the previous one at all. "You Macalisters seem to be Team Bryn favorites at the moment."
Devon's lips settled into an easy, practiced smirk, and the nearly imperceptible tension in his neck and shoulder muscles receded. "If there's any justice in this world, watching you should convince them how lucky they've been to be blessed with a son such as myself."
"He says with patented Smirk Number Three."
Devon shook his head and made a sound somewhere in the neighborhood of tsk-tsk. "You're getting rusty, Bronwyn. That was clearly Smirk Number Two: sardonic with a side of wit. #Quote by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

#43. The boy…Is he dead?"
There was complete silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he felt their concentrated gaze; it seemed to press him harder into the ground, and he was terrified a finger or an eyelid might twitch.
"You," said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."
Harry did not know who had been sent to verify. He could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined, but at the same time noting, small comfort though it was, that Voldemort was wary of approaching him, that Voldemort suspected that all had not gone to plan…
Hands, softer than he had been expecting, touched Harry's face, pulled back an eyelid, crept beneath his shirt, down to his chest, and felt his heart. He could hear the woman's fast breathing, her long hair tickled his face. He knew that she could feel the steady pounding of life against his ribs.
"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?"
The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.
"Yes," he breathed back.
He felt the hand on his chest contract; her nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn. She had sat up.
"He is dead!" Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.
And now they shouted, now they yelled in triumph. Narcissa knew that the only way she would be permitted to enter Hogwarts, and find her son, was #Quote by J.K. Rowling

#44. Daemon poked me in the back with his pen.
Lesa's brows arched, but she wisely said nothing as I twisted around. "Yes?"
His half grin was all too familiar. "Reindeer socks today?"
"No. Polka dots."
"Sock mittens?"
"Regular", I said, fighting a stupid grin.
"I'm not sure how I feel about that." He tapped his pen on the edge of his desk. "Regular socks just seem so boring after seeing the reindeer socks."
Lesa cleared her throar. "Reindeer socks?"
"She has these socks that have reindeers on them and are kind of like mitten for the toes." He explained.
"Oh, I have a pair like that," Carissa said, grinning. "But mine have stripes on them. Love them in the winter."
I passed Daemon a smug look. My socks were cool.
"Am I the only person who is wondering how you saw her socks"? Lesa asked.
Carissa punched her on the arm.
"We live next door to each other," he reminded her. "I see lots of things."
I shook my head frantically. "No, he doesn't. He hardly sees anything."
"Blushing," he said, pointing at my cheeks with the blue cap of his pen. #Quote by Jennifer L. Armentrout

#45. So come on, tell me all the dirt about your date. Did he tie you up with his black belt? Show off his mystic knowledge of Eastern sex practices? What?" I let my head slump into my hands. "He gave me a kiss and said good night." "He didn't! The bastard. #Quote by J.L. Merrow

#46. That's it. Take your time." He leans back and his hand moves from my back to the nape of my neck. It feels strangely pleasant for him to knead the muscles around my shoulders while I slowly slide his shaft through my lips and suck the head of his cock. A strange impatience comes over me and I start moving faster, faster. Quentin grunts and his hips buck, and I can feel the tension in his stomach as I rest my head on him. I can feel him holding it in, but it's too much and he can't hold back the power of his own release. He fills my mouth #Quote by Abigail Graham

#47. When things are serious and either Amy Eleni or I need to beat our personal hysteric, the informal code is to seize your head and twist coils of your hair around your fingers and groan, "I'm not mad! I'm not mad! I don't want to die!" And if you have a friend who knows, then the friend grabs her head too and replies, "There's someone inside of me, and she says I must die!" That way it is stupid, and funny, and serious.

Our hysteric is the revelation that we refuse to be consoled for all this noise, for all this noise and for the attacks on our softnesses, the loss of sensitivity to my scalp with every batch of box braids. Sometimes we cannot see or hear or breathe because of our fright that this is all our bodies will know. We're scared by the happy, hollow disciple that lines our brains and stomachs if we manage to stop after one biscuit. We need some kind of answer. We need to know what that biscuit-tin discipline is, where it comes from. We need to know whether it's a sign that our bones are turning against the rest of us, whether anyone will help us if our bones win out, or whether the people who should help us will say "You look wonderful!" instead. #Quote by Helen Oyeyemi

#48. Francis Marion Tarwater's uncle had been dead for only half a day when the boy got too drunk to finish digging his grave and a Negro named Buford Munson, who had come to get a jug filled, had to finish it and drag the body from the breakfast table where it was still sitting and bury it in a decent and Christian way, with the sign of its Savior at the head of the grave and enough dirt on top to keep the dogs from digging it up. Buford had come along about noon and when he left at sundown, the boy, Tarwater, had never returned from the still. #Quote by Flannery O'Connor

#49. Piper decided to jump off the roof. It wasn't a rash decision on her part. This was her plan: Climb to the top of the roof, pick up speed by running from one end all the way to the other. Jump off. Finally, and most importantly, don't fall. She didn't make plans in the event she did fall, because if you jump off the roof of your house and land on your head, you really don't need any plans from that point on. Even Piper knew that. So that's what she did. She jumped clean off her roof. But before we get to what happens next, you'll probably need to know a thing or two about a thing or two ... #Quote by Victoria Forester

#50. Rowan coughed and spluttered on his gulp of beer. "I've never played with my pussy," he said with an amused glint in his eye."

Her cheeks heated at his dirty language, but the tingles running under her skin made her aware of her reaction to being alone in the hotel room with Rowan, sitting on the big bed and playing silly games. "I've never touched a woman's breasts beside my own."

"I've never given a blow job."

"I've never received a blow job," she said, tilting the mini wine bottle to her mouth and realizing it was empty.

"I've never played I never with a woman I love before," he said, setting his beer can on the nightstand with a clink.

"I've never kissed a man in a hotel room before." She pressed forward onto her hands and knees to reach and kiss him. Their lips lingered for a long moment before she leaned back and waited for his next I never.

"I've never removed a woman's shirt in a hotel room." Now it was his turn to lean forward and tug her sweater up over her head.

She thought long and hard about her next words, knowing he would act on whatever she said. "I've never ordered a man to take off his shirt in a hotel room," she said finally and watched happily as he removed his long sleeve navy cotton T–shirt. She'd never tire of seeing his smooth skin over hard pectorals. A narrow line of hair trailed down the center of his belly disappearing into jeans. She'd licked her way along that lin #Quote by Lynne Silver

#51. Further, the constitution of our consciousness is the ever present and lasting element in all we do or suffer; our individuality is persistently at work, more or less, at every moment of our life: all other influences are temporal, incidental, fleeting, and subject to every kind of chance and change. This is why Aristotle says: It is not wealth but character that lasts.
And just for the same reason we can more easily bear a misfortune which comes to us entirely from without, than one which we have drawn upon ourselves; for fortune may always change, but not character. Therefore, subjective blessings - a noble nature, a capable head, a joyful temperament, bright spirits, a well-constituted, perfectly sound physique, in a word, mens sana in corpore sano, are the first and most important elements in happiness; so that we should be more intent on promoting and preserving such qualities than on the possession of external wealth and external honor. #Quote by Arthur Schopenhauer

#52. It will be dark in a few hours," she said at last, anxiously. "Suppose you don't finnish it in time?"
"I have finnished!" he snapped, irritated. "I've finnished a dozen times already, but I'm not happy with it." He lowered his voice to a wisper brfore he went on. "There are so many questions. Suppose the Shadow turns on you or me or the prisners once he's killed Capricorn? And is killing Capricorn really the only solution? What's going to happen to his men afterward? What do I do with them?"
"What do you think? The Shadow must kill them all!" Meggie whispered back. "How else are we ever going to get back home or rescue my mother?"
"Good heavens, what a heartless creature you are!" he wispered . "Kill them all! Haven't you seen how young some of them are?" He shook his head. "No! I'm not a mass murderer, I'm a writer! I'm sure I
can think of some less bloodthirsty ending." And he began writing again . . . and crossing out words . . . and writing more, while outside the sun sank lower and lower until its rays were gliding the hilltops. #Quote by Cornelia Funke

#53. He was ridiculously gorgeous, even with bed-head
maybe because of it. It made her sick
like violently, ill.
He could at least be polite and have some scars, a third nipple, or a low-hanging ear on the side of his head.
But no. He was perfect and adorable and in her bed. And, oh yeah, she felt like punching the shit out of him. #Quote by Daniel Marks

#54. The Whiteman told of another country beyond the sea where a powerful woman sat on a throne while men and women danced under the shadow of her authority and benevolence. She was ready to spread the shadow to cover the Agikuyu. They laughed at this eccentric man whose skin had been so scalded that the black outside had peeled off. The hot water must have gone into his head.

Nevertheless, his words about a woman on the throne echoed something in the heart, deep down in their history. It was many, many years ago. Then women ruled the land of the Agikuyu. Men had no property, they were only there to serve the whims and needs of the women. Those were hard years. So they waited for women to go to war, they plotted a revolt, taking an oath of secrecy to keep them bound each to each in the common pursuit of freedom. They would sleep with all the women at once, for didn't they know the heroines would return hungry for love and relaxation? Fate did the rest; women were pregnant; the takeover met with little resistance. #Quote by Ngugi Wa Thiongo

#55. If you're anything like me,
You bite your nails,
And laugh when you're nervous.
You promise people the world,
because that's what they want from you.
You like giving them what they want...
But darling, you need to stop,

If you're anything like me,
You knock on wood every time you make plans.
You cross your fingers, hold your breath,
Wish on lucky numbers and eyelashes
Your superstitions were the lone survivors of the shipwreck.
Rest In Peace, to your naive bravado...
If life gets too good now,
Darling, it scares you.

If you're anything like me,
You never wanted to lock your door,
Your secret garden gate or your diary drawer
Didn't want to face the you you don't know anymore
For fear she was much better before...
But Darling, now you have to.

If you're anything like me,
There's a justice system in your head
For names you'll never speak again,
And you make your ruthless rulings.
Each new enemy turns to steel
They become the bars that confine you,
In your own little golden prison cell...
But Darling, there is where you meet yourself.

If you're anything like me
You've grown to hate your pride
To love your thighs
And no amount of friends at 25
Will fill the empty seats
At the lunch tables of your past
The teams that picked you last...
But Darling, you keep trying.

If yo #Quote by Taylor Swift