Out The Cut Quotes

#1. I used to believe, bless my naive little heart, that I had something to offer the robbed dead. Not revenge-there's no revenge in the world that could return the tiniest fraction of what they've lost-and not justice, whatever that means, but the one thing left to give them: the truth. I was good at it. I had one, at least, of the things that make a great detective: the instinct for truth, the inner magnet whose pull tells you beyond any doubt what's dross, what's alloy, and what's the pure, uncut metal. I dug out the nuggets without caring when they cut my fingers and brought them in my cupped hands to lay on graves, until I found out-Operation Vestal again-how slippery they were, how easily they crumbled, how deep they sliced and, in the end, how very little they were worth. #Quote by Tana French

#2. I look at people in a different
perspective. I saw you differently. Shy
with a smart-ass mouth. Reserved, but you
know exactly how to cut loose. Girls like you
I have to watch out for. Girls like you are the
deadliest ones. #Quote by Shanora Williams

#3. His kisses fade to nuzzle along my face and neck, soft and poignant. "Al," he whispers. "You taste so sweet ... like honeysuckle."
"Don't," I murmur, in a daze.
He draws back, eyes heavy and dark. "You want me to stop?"
"No." I've fallen asleep praying for you to look at me like this. To touch me like this. "Don't break my heart."
Moth shadows glide above him in the mirrored ceiling, distracting me from the fierceness of his frown. "I'd cut mine out first."
I believe he would. Stretching to tiptoe, I clasp his ponytail. This time, I kiss him. He responds with a spine-tingling growl, fingers digging into my hips. #Quote by A.G. Howard

#4. I think of all the people throughout history who found themselves in a place like this, stepping out from the shadows, raising their voices. Finding their courage, facing their fears so that they could be free. There were so many we lost, the ones who were taken, cut down, for the color of their skin, or the religion they practiced, or the person they loved. All they wanted was to live. #Quote by Samira Ahmed

#5. The instructor stared at me with cold, cut-me-no-slack determination, then got into a fighting stance, holding one hand out, beckoning me.
"I saw that movie too!"I said."It was like the coolest movie of all-"
He launched himself at me.
That was when his day really went downhill. #Quote by James Patterson

#6. Pauline kept a scrapbook into which she pasted important articles that she had cut out of the newspapers. These were about the courageous deeds that had been done by people even if they only had one leg or couldn't see or had been dropped on their heads when they were babies.
'It's to make me brave,' she'd explained to Annika. #Quote by Eva Ibbotson

#7. But I think Cybil was my biggest fan. She cut out my articles and hung them in her locker and we were always cracking up how if you wrote the simplest, most obvious thing in the world people thought you were a genius. #Quote by Blake Nelson

#8. For many of us, the hospital was as much a refuge as it was a prison. Though we were cut off from the world and all the trouble we enjoyed stirring up out there, we were also cut off from the demands and expectations that had driven us crazy. What could be expected of us now that we were stowed away in a loony bin? #Quote by Susanna Kaysen

#9. They were no longer standing the way he'd stood them, no longer engaged in the glorious basking that overwhelmed him on the headland. They were leaning toward the light now, craning toward it. He'd been dead wrong about the blitheness. The buttercups now seemed to know - to understand with that purely physical knowledge that all living things possess - that something was wrong. Their craning was like a cry: they were calling out with all the body language they possessed for a life or a place they had no minds with which to remember. #Quote by David James Duncan

#10. Atari collapsed in '84, and I went freelance, and that was when I started spreading out and doing my own thing. I really cut loose and did a game called 'Trust and Betrayal', which was the first game solely about interpersonal relationships. #Quote by Chris Crawford

#11. The ancient, animal story, the same whether it was on a spinning rock surrounded by hard vacuum or the stamp-sized chimpanzee preserves on Earth. Even in the Belt, youth brought invulnerability, immortality, the unshakable conviction that for you, things would be different. The laws of physics would cut you a break, the missiles would never hit, the air would never hiss out into nothing. Maybe for other people - the patched-together fighting ships of the OPA, the water haulers, the Martian gunships, the Scopuli, the Canterbury, the Donnager, the hundred other ships that had died in small actions since the system had turned itself into a battlefield - but not you. #Quote by James S.A. Corey

#12. Crowds have one expression, cruel and fixed. You let yourself be trapped by a look. You let yourself be carried off and shut away in a place of silence. There your eyes may be ripped out, your tongue cut off, and your fingers hammered until the little bones splinter. The walls are splashed with thick clots of blood. Words are the worst kind of dog, they drag us along despite ourselves to somewhere we didn't want to go, they obsess us, they don't let us have a moment's rest, a moment's rest.

But before that? Before that is another place altogether. Memory blanks things out methodically. It has several floors, sealed off from one another and there is no passage joining them. One of them is hell. When you fall in, at the very instant you lose your footing, you forget everything, even what light is like. But once you are back in the world you retain only a faint memory of being shut up. It resonates like the dull echo of pain. #Quote by Marie Desplechin

#13. A little later, just for something to do, I picked up an old newspaper and read it. I cut out an advertisement for Kruschen Salts and stuck it in an old notebook where I put things from the papers that interest me. #Quote by Albert Camus

#14. If for instance the sentiment possessing for the moment the empire of our mind is sorrow, will not the genius sharpen the sorrow and the sorrow purify the genius? Together, will they not be like a cut diamond for which language is only the wax on which they stamp their imprint? I believe that genius, thus awakened, has no need to seek out details, that it scarcely pauses to reflect, that it never thinks of unity: I believe that the details come naturally without search by the poet, that inspiration takes the place of reflection and as for unity, I think there is no unity so perfect as that which results from a heart filled with a single idea ... The nature of genius is related to that of instinct; it's operation is both simple and marvelous. #Quote by Charlotte Bronte

#15. Few sciences are as rooted in shame, infamy, and bad PR as human anatomy. The troubles began in Alexandrian Egypt, circa 300 B.C. King Ptolemy I was the first leader to deem it a-okay for medical types to cut open the dead for the purpose of figuring out how bodies work. #Quote by Mary Roach

#16. Finding that out was a blast, you know, waking up on the mortuary slab, about to be cut open after being declared dead. #Quote by Trevor Alan Foris

#17. Isabell, she treads so lightly, floating in her gipsy dresses
Even as her words cut deep, I can't deny the truth in them
On the phone, she talks a lot, and me, I listen hopelessly
So directionless, I head into oblivion
And then I decide to give another random memory
To remind her of the first time we sang out to the sea
Oh Isabell, you always understood me
Please Isabell, forgive me now #Quote by Ben Jelen

#18. One of the great lessons I've learned in athletics is that you've got to discipline your life. No matter how good you may be, you've got to be willing to cut out of your life those things that keep you from going to the top. #Quote by Bob Richards

#19. So what if you end up buying a size 6 instead of a 4? You can always cut out the label at home, and you'll pretty soon forget whatever that number was because you'll be too busy admiring how fantastic you look. #Quote by Victoria Beckham

#20. ......cut us off from our families, our history. So we made it our own place - Chinatown. A place for preservation and self-preservation; give them what they feel what's right, is safe; make it fit the idea of what is out there..Chinatown and indeed being chinese is and always has been, from the very beginning a construction,a performance of features, gestures, culture and exoticism, invention/reinvention of stylization. #Quote by Charles Yu

#21. You've got to stop and ask yourself once in a while ... why some asinine politicians would quicker cut out social security than the space program ... Go figure. #Quote by Timothy Pina

#22. I just want to sleep. The whole point of not talking about it, of silencing the memory, is to make it go away. It won't. I'll need brain surgery to cut it out of my head. #Quote by Laurie Halse Anderson

#23. But thanks to my rapidly dividing cells, I no longer have that feeling - although I remember it very well - that if I just buckled down to the great work at hand, lived more authentically, stopped procrastinating, cut out sugar, then my best self was just there right around the corner. Yeah, no. I'm done with all that. I #Quote by David Rakoff

#24. INEZ: To forget about the others? How utterly absurd! I feel you there, in every pore.Your silence clamours in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out - but you can't prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I'm certain you hear mine. It's all very well skulking on your sofa, but you're everywhere, and every sound comes to me soiled because you've intercepted it on its way. Why, you've even stolen my face; you know it and I don't ! And what about her, about Estelle? You've stolen her from me, too; if she and I were alone do you suppose she'd treat me as she does? No, take your hands from your face, I won't leave you in peace - that would suit your book too well. You'd go on sitting there, in a sort of trance, like a yogi, and even if I didn't see her I'd feel it in my bones - that she was making every sound, even the rustle of her dress, for your benefit, throwing you smiles you didn't see... Well, I won't stand for that, I prefer to choose my hell; I prefer to look you in the eyes and fight it out face to face. #Quote by Jean-Paul Sartre

#25. You've a sentimental streak along with that iron,Keeley."
"Yes,I do.And a latent romantic one."
"Is that so?" he murmured, a little surprised when she turned and ran her hands up his chest.
"Apparently.I didn't think you for riding to my rescue last night."
"I don't recall riding anywhere." His lips twitched as she backed him out of the box.
"In a manner of speaking.You cut a bully down to size for me.I was upset and worried about the gelding, so I didn't really think about it at the time.But I did later,and I wanted to thank you."
"Well, you're welcome."
"I haven't finished thanking you." She bit lightly on his bottom lip, heard his quick indrawn breath.
"If that's what you have in mind, you could finish thanking me up in my bedroom."
"Why don't I just show you what I have in mind? Right here."
She had his shirt unbuttoned before he realized they were standing in an empty stall, freshly bedded with hay. "Here?" He laughed, taking both her hands to tug her out again. "I don't think so."
"Here." She countered his move by ramming his back against the side wall. "I know so."
"Don't be ridiculous." His lungs were clogged, and his mind insisted on following suit. "Anyone could come along?"
"Live dangerously." She pulled the stall door shut behind them.
"I have been,since I first set eyes on you. #Quote by Nora Roberts

#26. There's a crack in my mind,
That I don't know how to heal.
There are demons in my head,
People tell me are not real.

The voices are my own,
Speaking words I don't believe.
Convincing me I'm worthless,
And that everyone will leave.

You want me to be better,
Don't you think I want the same?
But you've convinced yourself it's nothing,
Or that I'm the one to blame.

So I'll tell you that I'm 'fine,'
Because that's all you want to hear.
And I'll conceal it with a smile,
While hiding all the fear.

I'll bury all the feelings,
And I'll cut out all the pain.
But that won't mean I'm healed,
I've just chosen to not 'complain.'

Because being sad was only half of it,
And it was not the half to kill.
The downfall began when I started to feel nothing,
When I slowly lost my will. #Quote by Jeannine Allison

#27. Closeness can lead to emotions other than love. It's the ones who have been too intimate with you, lived in too close quarters, seen too much of your pain or envy or, perhaps more than anything, your shame, who, at the crucial moment, can be too easy to cut out, to exile, to expel, to kill off. #Quote by Daniel Mendelsohn

#28. In the clearing stands the boxer, and a fighter by his trade.
And he carries a reminder of every glove that laid him down ...
or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame
"I am leaving! I am leaving" but the fighter still remains. #Quote by Paul Simon

#29. Anyway," the agent said abruptly. "I just . . . wanted you to know that I'm sorry for everything. I want to help you and the rest of the Order in any way I can, so if there is anything you need, you know where I am."

"Chase," Dante said as the male turned to leave the room. "Apology accepted, man. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I haven't been fair to you either. Despite our differences, know that I respect you. The Agency lost a good one the day they cut you loose."

Chase's smile was crooked as he acknowledged the praise with a short nod.

Dante cleared his throat. "And about that offer of help . . ."

"Name it."

"Tess was walking a dog when the Rogues attacked her tonight. Ugly little mutt, not good for much more than a foot-warmer, but it's special to her. Actually, it was a gift from me, more or less. Anyway, the dog was running loose on its leash when I saw it a block or so away from Ben Sullivan's place."

"You want me to go retrieve a wayward canine, is that where this is heading?"

"Well, you did say anything, didn't you?"

"So I did." Chase chuckled. "All right. I will."

Dante dug his keys to his Porsche out of his pocket and tossed them to the other vampire. As Chase turned to be on his way again, Dante added, "The little beast answers to the name Harvard, by the way."

"Harvard," Chase drawled, shaking his head and throwing a smirk in Dante's direction. " #Quote by Lara Adrian

#30. DJing is an art that I have the utmost respect for, and I've been practising it since I was 17 years old. Doing Tom Cruise wedding-type things becomes the focal point of every interview, and you realize that you have to cut it out if you don't want to be answering questions about that. #Quote by Mark Ronson

#31. Acting is a tough industry. There are a lot of kids out there at drama schools and not a lot of money about, especially as the arts are being cut. #Quote by Phil Daniels

#32. I love directing more than anything in the world, and I love being in the editing room. I love cutting. When I'm shooting, I cut it in my head anyway. That's not to say that it always turns out that way, but you have a sense when you're composing a sequence or a scene how you want it to look anyway. #Quote by Hart Bochner

#33. To age is to embrace a slow hurt inside and out, to collect scars like rings on a tree, dark and withered and sometimes only visible if someone cuts deep enough. Scars keep the past close enough to touch, but healing is forgetting. Healing invites another cut. Healing is the tide that smoothes away our line in the sand. For life to begin, the damage must be permanent. #Quote by Fred Venturini

#34. So it's an interesting process just going through and seeing what works and what doesn't work, and what's the best version of it. It was a good process because I think we all collectively, when everyone would run into issues in the cut or know that things weren't working, they kind of glaringly stuck out so we could focus on fixing those things and it wasn't a situation where you would show it to ten people and you would have ten problems. #Quote by Bryan Burk

#35. Similarly with the plongeur. He is a king compared with a rickshaw puller or a gharry pony, but his case is
analogous. He is the slave of a hotel or a restaurant, and his slavery is more or less useless. For, after all, where is
the REAL need of big hotels and smart restaurants?
They are supposed to provide luxury, but in reality they provide only a cheap, shoddy imitation of it. Nearly everyone hates hotels. Some restaurants are better than others, but it is impossible to get as good a meal in a restaurant as one can get, for the same expense, in a private house. No doubt hotels and restaurants must exist, but there is no need that they should enslave hundreds of people. What makes the work in them is not the essentials; it is the shams that are supposed to represent luxury. Smartness, as it is called, means, in effect, merely that the staff work more and the customers pay more; no one benefits except the proprietor, who will presently buy himself a striped villa at Deauville.
Essentially, a 'smart' hotel is a place where a hundred people toil like devils in order that two hundred may pay through the nose for things they do not really want. If the nonsense were cut out of hotels and restaurants, and the work done with simple efficiency, plongeurs might work six or eight hours a day instead of ten or fifteen. #Quote by George Orwell

#36. Another common recommendation is to turn lights off when you leave a room, but lighting accounts for only 3% of household energy use, so even if you used no lighting at all in your house you would save only a fraction of a metric ton of carbon emissions. Plastic bags have also been a major focus of concern, but even on very generous estimates, if you stopped using plastic bags entirely you'd cut out 10kg CO2eq per year, which is only 0.4% of your total emissions. Similarly, the focus on buying locally produced goods is overhyped: only 10% of the carbon footprint of food comes from transportation whereas 80% comes from production, so what type of food you buy is much more important than whether that food is produced locally or internationally. Cutting out red meat and dairy for one day a week achieves a greater reduction in your carbon footprint than buying entirely locally produced food. In fact, exactly the same food can sometimes have higher carbon footprint if it's locally grown than if it's imported: one study found that the carbon footprint from locally grown tomatoes in northern Europe was five times as great as the carbon footprint from tomatoes grown in Spain because the emissions generated by heating and lighting greenhouses dwarfed the emissions generated by transportation. #Quote by William MacAskill

#37. For me, I just like to cut out bread. I like to keep the good carbs in my diet - I love pasta and Italian food - but I try to eat just that on the weekends and cut out carbs during the week. #Quote by Ashley Tisdale

#38. Wakefulness is the only saintliness there is, and sleepiness, unconsciousness, is the only sin there is; all other sins are born out of it. Cut the root, cut the very root! Don't go on pruning the leaves. #Quote by Rajneesh

#39. Despite the gloom she could make out enough of his finely chiseled features to fleetingly rethink the CPR issue. The man was a knock out, with cheek bones sharp enough to cut cheese on, an arrow straight nose, a strong jaw, and a well cut mouth that subjected both cruelty and sensuality.

He stirred groaning softly, hands flailing as if he was searching for something. Mary moved out the way as he rolled towards her coming to rest on his back. As she lent over him to get another look dark eyelashes flickered, opened. His eyes were pale and striking, something flashing in them like lightning cutting through turbulent storm clouds. A pair of fey owlish brows slanted down in to a perplexed frown as he stared up at her.

Mary let out a startled yelp when she was grabbed, and then rolled beneath a larger body, his heavy weight, her arms pinioned above her in just one of his large hands. Her hat yanked off and her features quickly scanned. Outrage quickly turned in to fear. The glacial scrutiny made her tremble as if an arctic wind had caressed her body, not that the shear brute strength the stranger wielded alone was not frightening enough.

"I'm just trying to help you." Mary breathed, fighting down the rising panic as his gaze bored in to her. "You must have fallen of your bike."

She had worked Crown defense long enough to have encountered more then a few clients who were nothing more then malicious, ill tempered, brutal thugs. This ma #Quote by D.M. Alexandra

#40. I began the process of cutting up my random fabrics into strips. Of course, I chose easy things first, items that didn't' hurt me very much to cut up: torn sheets. A flannel nightgown so tattered it could never be worn again, one of Steve's worn-out t-shirts, couch upholstery.

The resulting balls of fabric yarn that I wound together after cutting astounded me. They were gorgeous--each one prettier than the last, which made me braver.

I took some photographs. And I heaved a sigh. Things in me were changing, I could feel it...so many months focusing on Stuff, Stuff, STUFF had made me bolder. What's the worst that could happen? I thought to myself. It reminded me of the day I finally, after ten years of kicking and screaming, took that first half pill [for OCD]. To someone else it might be no big deal, but to me? It felt like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. #Quote by Eve O. Schaub

#41. Months later, when I rarely saw the Angels, I still had the legacy of the big machine -- four hundred pounds of chrome and deep red noise to take out on the Coast Highway and cut loose at three in the morning, when all the cops were lurking over on 101. My first crash had wrecked the bike completely and it took several months to have it rebuilt. After that I decided to ride it differently: I would stop pushing my luck on curves, always wear a helmet and try to keep within range of the nearest speed limit ... my insurance had already been canceled and my driver's license was hanging by a thread.

So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast. I would start in Golden Gate Park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head ... but in a matter of minutes I'd be out at the beach with the sound of the engine in my ears, the surf booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz ... not even a gas station in the whole seventy miles; the only public light along the way is an all-night diner down around Rockaway Beach.

There was no helmet on those nights, no speed limit, and no cooling it down on the curves. The momentary freedom of the park was like the one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon. I would come out of the park near the soccer field and pause for a moment at the stop sign, wondering if I knew anyone parked out ther #Quote by Hunter S. Thompson

#42. If I had an axe on the evening at Newport when [Dylan] broke out the electric guitar, I'd have cut his cable. #Quote by Pete Seeger

#43. Well, last night in a tavern, a captain in the king's guard offered violence to the sweetheart of a young solider, who naturally ran him through. But it seems there is some cursed law against killing guardsmen, and the boy and his girl fled away. It was bruited about that I was seen with them, and so today I was haled into court, and a judge asked me where the lad had gone. I replied that since he was a friend of mine, I could not betray him. Then the court waxed wroth, and the judge talked a great deal about my duty to the state, and society, and other things I did not understand, and bade me tell where my friend had flown. By this time I was becoming wrathful myself, for I had explained my position.

But I choked my ire and held my peace, and the judge squalled that I had shown contempt for the court, and that I should be hurled into a dungeon to rot until I betrayed my friend. So then, seeing that they were all mad, I drew my sword and cleft the judge's skull; then I cut my way out of the court, and seeing the high constable's stallion tied near by, I rode for the wharfs, where I thought to find a ship bound for foreign parts.

- Conan the Cimmerian, Queen of the Black Coast #Quote by Robert E. Howard

#44. I was a giant fan of 'Whose Line Is It Anyway' in high school, and I was obsessed with Jim Carrey and cut out any picture of Jim Carrey that ever came in any kind of magazine. I put it all over my walls. At the time, I thought humor was just repeating lines from 'Ace Ventura' ad nauseum in the back of my advanced math class. #Quote by Jordan Klepper

#45. Syn paid the bill and they headed to the door with lust so thick around them, Syn couldn't help but wonder if anyone else could see it. Furi reached back for Syn's hand and he gladly offered it. He looked over his shoulder and threw him a seductive wink when Syn crowded in close behind him. As soon as Syn made it out the door, he saw four members of his team walking up the sidewalk. Well fuck me.

"Hey, Sarge." Pendleton, his demolitions expert was the first to speak up.

Syn threw down Furi's hand and quickly put some distance between them. "Yeah, hey fellas." They'd all stopped and were staring back and forth between him and Furi. Syn couldn't even look Furious in his eye after what he'd just done.

Detective Green cleared his throat and pointed at Furi. "Don't I know you?"

"Hardly," Furi mumbled.

"Um, this is ... uh, uh. He's my ... uh." Syn cursed under his breath. Obviously his team already knew who Furious was. They all had detailed lists of Illustra's entertainers and Furious' image was not easy to forget.

"Sarge, who's your friend?" Detective Ruxsburg asked, a sly smile playing on his handsome face.

"He's um."

"He's leaving," Furi's deep voice cut in as he eased his way through and walked in the opposite direction of Syn's truck.

"Fuck," Syn whispered as he watched Furi turn the corner.

"You better go after him and be ready to do some serious groveling," his IT D #Quote by A.E. Via

#46. Actually, there are," she'd said. "Want to see who can make the most inappropriate picture out of
Mickey Mouse Clubhouse?"
So they'd done that. She hadn't realized how ... creative a bunch of teen boys could get. But at
least it had cut through some of their tension. #Quote by Brigid Kemmerer

#47. For a long time he frowned at the brick path that lay between himself and the bird, and then he let go of the wall. He took one step and then more, buoyed up by some impossible antigravity. After two steps the hummingbird was gone, but Nicholas still headed for the air it had occupied, his hands grasping at vapour. It was as if an invisible balloon floated above him, tied to his overall strap, dragging him along from above. He swayed and swaggered, stabbing one toe at a time down at the ground, pivoting on the ball of one foot, and then suddenly the string was cut and down he bumped on his well-padded bottom. He looked at me and screamed.

'You're walking,' I told Nicholas. 'I promise you it gets easier. The rest of life doesn't, but this really does.'

I stayed out there with my book for the rest of the afternoon, surreptitiously watching as he tried it over and over. He was completely undeterred by failure. The motivation packed in that small body was a miracle to see.

I wished I could bottle that passion for accomplishment and squeeze out some of the elixir, one drop at a time, on my high-school students.

They would move mountains. #Quote by Barbara Kingsolver

#48. Hillary has her work cut out for her. Her Democratic challengers are a 'Who's Who' of 'who's that?' Jim Webb, Lincoln Chafee, Silas Phelps, Peter Wilks ... now those last two were characters from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. You didn't even notice, did you? #Quote by Cecily Strong

#49. They laid me down again while somebody fetched a stretcher. As soon as I knew that the bullet had gone clean through my neck I took it for granted that I was done for. I had never heard of a man or an animal getting a bullet through the middle of the neck and surviving it. The blood was dribbling out of the comer of my mouth. 'The artery's gone,' I thought. I wondered how long you last when your carotid artery is cut; not many minutes, presumably. Everything was very blurry. There must have been about two minutes during which I assumed that I was killed. And that too was interesting - I mean it is interesting to know what your thoughts would be at such a time. My first thought, conventionally enough, was for my wife. My second was a violent resentment at having to leave this world which, when all is said and done, suits me so well. I had time to feel this very vividly. The stupid mischance infuriated me. The meaninglessness of it! To be bumped off, not even in battle, but in this stale comer of the trenches, thanks to a moment's carelessness! I thought, too, of the man who had shot me - wondered what he was like, whether he was a Spaniard or a foreigner, whether he knew he had got me, and so forth. I could not feel any resentment against him. I reflected that as he was a Fascist I would have killed him if I could, but that if he had been taken prisoner and brought before me at this moment I would merely have congratulated him on his good shooting. It may be, though, that if y #Quote by George Orwell

#50. Elegy on Toy Piano"

For Kenneth Koch
You don't need a pony
to connect you to the unseeable
or an airplane to connect you to the sky.

Necessary it is to love to live
and there are many manuals
but in all important ways
one is on one's own.

You need not cut off your hand.
No need to eat a bouquet.
Your head becomes a peach pit.
Your tongue a honeycomb.

Necessary it is to live to love,
to charge into the burning tower
then charge back out
and necessary it is to die.
Even for the trees, even for the pony
connecting you to what can't be grasped.

The injured gazelle falls behind the
herd. One last wild enjambment.

Because of the sores in his mouth,
the great poet struggles with a dumpling.
His work has enlarged the world
but the world is about to stop including him.
He is the tower the world runs out of.

When something becomes ash,
there's nothing you can do to turn it back.
About this, even diamonds do not lie. #Quote by Dean Young

#51. Might be that marriage was not the death of a woman and the end of her true self, but the unfolding of her. It might be that a woman could be a wife without having to cut the pride and the spirit out of herself. A woman might blossom into being a wife, not be trimmed down to fit. #Quote by Philippa Gregory

#52. When you're working with wood, every stroke of the tool dulls the edge just a little. Once, in my last year at the violin-making school, I had been passing through the workshop when I overheard one of the younger students ask the instructor how it was that his tools stayed sharp so much longer than ours. "I use them less," he said, looking out the window, which was where he addressed his replies to obvious questions. It took him two cuts to get where we took fifty. Art didn't need to cut a hundred times to get where he wanted to be. He lived the life he wanted to live the first time around. #Quote by James N McKean

#53. They were a large family of women-always women, although I guess guys factored in there somewhere, seeing as how the family had been around for over a thousand years. Descended from a megapowerful white witch named Maeve Brannick, they'd dedicated themselves to ridding the world of evil.
Unfortunately, I fit their definition of evil.
The girl scowled. "You are something," she hissed, leaning in closer. "I can feel it. Whatever you are, it's not human. So you can either tell me what kind of freak you are, or I can cut you open and find out myself."
I stared at her. "You are one hard-core little kid."
Her scowl deepened.
"I'm looking for the Brannicks," I said in a rush. "And I'm guessing you are one because…you know, red hair and the violence and everything."
"What's your name?" she demanded as the stinging at my neck became actual pain.
"Sophie Mercer," I said through clenched teeth.
Her eyes widened. "No way," she said, sounding for the first time like the middle schooler she probably was.
"Way," I croaked. #Quote by Rachel Hawkins

#54. There's no way that I could do a 9 to 5 job. There's no way. I was not cut out for that. You come in and you work for three months on the one job. They say, 'Great,' you know, and you're on to the next one - and you never even got fired. It's wonderful. #Quote by Dennis Quaid

#55. She's Awakening,' Aiden said, voice tight.
'But the blood ... ' I heard Marcus move closer. 'Why is she bleeding?'
I eased onto my side. 'I'm being tattooed by a giant, mother fu-' Another strangled scream cut of my words as a different type of pain settled in, moving under my skin. It was like lighting racing through my veins, frying every nerve ending.
'This is ... wow,' Deacon said, and I pried my eyes open. There was a whole audience by the door.
'Get them out of here!' I screamed, jackknifing on the floor. 'Gods, this sucks!'
'Whoa,' I heard Deacon murmur. 'This is like watching a chick give birth or something.'
'Oh my gods, I'm going to kill him.' I could feel the beads of blood breaking out under my jeans. 'I'm going to punch him-'
'Everyone leave,' Aiden ground out. 'This isn't a godsdamn show.'
'And I think he's like the father,' Luke said.
Aiden rose to his feet. 'Get. Out. #Quote by Jennifer L. Armentrout

#56. I'm not asking you for a second chance. I know better than that. But you've got no right to ask me to settle for sex then expect me to give up the one thing that's kept me going. I gave you up, now I'm taking what's left."
"You didn't give me up," she tossed back. "You never wanted me."
"I never wanted anything the way I wanted you. I loved you." He dragged her painfully to her toes. "I've always loved you. I cut my own heart out when I sent you away. #Quote by Nora Roberts

#57. I think laying out a beautiful picture in a beautiful way is a bloody bore. I think you've got to blow it right across the page and down the side, crop it, cut it in half, combine it with something else ... do something with it. You've got to make something out of it. #Quote by Diana Vreeland

#58. CUTTING THROUGH
by
Kendra Kopelke

It takes five seconds

to cut across

someone's property.


I did it a lot. I led my dog

onto the grass

between two houses,


checked first to see if anyone

appeared to be home.

We wanted to catch


a break

from monotony.

Like thieves


we wanted what we wanted.

We wanted to thread through

the dull canvas


that was our neighborhood,

to make up for the people

who let us down.


We loved

empty backyards,

dead, twisted gardens,


the rush and fear of being

exposed and unseen

in broad daylight.


We were foxes, deer.

We were out there,

where nowhere is.


Maybe the neighbors

would look out their windows

and see us


for what we were.

We walked quickly

heads down,


imagined rifles

pointed at our backs,

fists shaking


behind glass,

voices putting us

in our place.


We told ourselves

each time

this is the last time. #Quote by Kendra Kopelke

#59. That dot covers all the places we've ever been. You could cut that piece of land out of the ground and sing it into this ocean and no one would even notice.
I feel that fear again, the fear of my own size. 'Right. So?'
'So? So everything I've ever worried about or said or done, how can it possibly matter?' He shakes his head. 'It doesn't.'
'Of course it does,' I say, 'All that land is filled with people, every one of them different, and the things they do to each other matter. #Quote by Veronica Roth

#60. They came to the high stone shaft with the face of Sul; they descended to the terrace below. And here Caradog waited, leaning on his silver-tipped rod and eying the horizon, until the delicate slip of the new moon moved out from behind the shoulder of Mount Damyake, with the mysterious, shadowy ghost of the old moon cradle inside it, like an egg inside its egg cup.

"Now it is time," he said.

"Blame it!" expostulated Dido. "It ain't right for me to die! Have you thought of that, mister? You're and old gager; you've lived nigh on fourscore years, I shouldn't wonder. You did a whole lot of things and learned a lot o' stuff --- though mussy knows, you ain't put it to very good use. But I haven't hardly done nothing! And I ain't learned much, neither, except the use of the globes that Mr. Holy taught me, and how to curtsy and cut up whales."

At the thought of Mr. Holystone her voice, to her shame, began to wobble dangerously; she stopped speaking and drew a deep breath.

"Cease repining, child, and go down those steps," said Caradog. "Do not quarrel with your destiny. If Sul wishes you to die, then it is your time."

Dido remembered the story that Bran had told about the man who picked up the necklace. Well, if it is my destiny, she thought, best not to make a pother about it. #Quote by Joan Aiken

#61. What?" I cut him off. "That's not true - I do take this seriously - "

"Bullshit." He laughs a short, sharp, angry laugh. "All you do is sit around and think about your feelings. You've got problems. Boo-freaking-hoo," he says. "Your parents hate you and it's so hard but you have to wear gloves for the rest of your life because you kill people when you touch them. Who gives a shit?" He's breathing hard enough for me to hear him. "As far as I can tell, you've got food in your mouth and clothes on your back and a place to pee in peace whenever you feel like it. Those aren't problems. That's called living like a king. And I'd really appreciate it if you'd grow the hell up and stop walking around like the world crapped on your only roll of toilet paper. Because it's stupid," he says, barely reining in his temper. "It's stupid, and it's ungrateful. You don't have a clue what everyone else in the world is going through right now. You don't have a clue, Juliette. And you don't seem to give a damn, either." I swallow, so hard. "Now I am trying," he says, "to give you a chance to fix things. I keep giving you opportunities to do things differently. To see past the sad little girl you used to be - the sad little girl you keep clinging to - and stand up for yourself. Stop crying. Stop sitting in the dark counting out all your individual feelings about how sad and lonely you are. Wake up," he says. "You're not the only person in this world who doesn't want to get out of bed in #Quote by Tahereh Mafi

#62. It were depression, too. They cut my wages down once at the foundry. They cut my wages down again. Then they cut my wages out, also the job. #Quote by Langston Hughes

#63. Wes sat in a cracked vinyl booth picking at his fries and listening to Amanda go on and on about the dress she'd found.
' ... and it has these little lavender bows. Oh, Wes, I can't wait 'til you see it.' She gesticulated wildly, and her only saving grace right now was her amazing rack that swayed and bounced with each movement. Sometimes he swore that was the only reason he ever looked crosswise at Amanda Price. That, and her daddy's checkbook.
'And I found these shoes

'Uh huh, that's nice,' he cut her off and slid free from the booth. He held out his hand. 'Got the card?' He waved the bill in the air at her questioning gaze. Was she a little cross-eyed, maybe? He thought so. #Quote by Brandi Salazar

#64. When the weather's nice, my parents go out quite frequently and stick a bunch of flowers on old Allie's grave. I went with them a couple of times, but I cut it out. In the first place, I don't enjoy seeing him in that crazy cemetery. Surrounded by dead guys and tombstones and all. It wasn't too bad when the sun was out, but twice - twice - we were there when it started to rain. It was awful. It rained on his lousy tombstone, and it rained on the grass on his stomach. It rained all over the place. All the visitors that were visiting the cemetery started running like hell over to their cars. That's what nearly drove me crazy. All the visitors could get in their cars and turn on their radios and all and then go someplace nice for dinner - everybody except Allie. I couldn't stand it. I know it's only his body and all that's in the cemetery, and his soul's in Heaven and all that crap, but I couldn't stand it anyway. I just wished he wasn't there. #Quote by J.D. Salinger

#65. I'm willing to find out what this thing is going on between us. Are you?"
"If we weren't outside," he says, "I'd show you--"
I cut him off by grabbing the thick hair at the base of his neck and pulling that gorgeous head of his down. If we can't exactly have privacy right now, I'll settle for being real. Besides, everyone who we need to keep this a secret from is in school.
Alex keeps his hands at his side, but when I part my lips, he groans against my mouth and his wrench drops to the ground with a loud clink.
His strong hands wrap around me, making me feel protected. His velvet tongue mingles with mine, creating an unfamiliar melting sensation deep within my body. This is more than making out, it's . . . well, it feels like a lot more.
His hands never stop moving; one circles my back while the other plays with my hair.
Alex isn't the only one exploring. My hands are roving all over him, feeling his muscles tense beneath my hands and heightening my awareness of him. I touch his jaw and the roughness of a day's growth scratches my skin #Quote by Simone Elkeles

#66. When the generation after me started getting on the cut, a lot of them would call me over to hang out or go jam and scratch and they were always separate from each other. #Quote by Eric San

#67. I have written various words, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs, and bits of dismantled sentences, fragments of expressions and descriptions and all kinds of tentative combinations. Every now and again I pick up one these particles, these molecules of texts, hold it up to the light and examine it carefully, turn it in various directions, lean forward and rub or polish it, hold it up to the light again, rub it again slightly, then lean forward and fit it into the texture of the cloth I am weaving. Then I stare at it from different angles, still not entirely satisfied, and take it out again and replace it with another word, or try to fit it into another niche in the same sentence, then remove, file it down a tiny bit more, and try to fit it in again, perhaps at a slightly different angle. Or deploy it differently. Perhaps farther down the sentence. Or at the beginning of the next one. Or should I cut it off and make it into a one-word sentence on its own?
I stand up. Walk around the room. Return to the desk. Stare at it for a few moments or longer, cross out the whole sentence or tear up the whole page. I give up in despair. I curse myself aloud and curse writing in general and the language as a whole, despite which I sit down and start putting the whole thing together all over again. [p.268] #Quote by Amos Oz

#68. Vade Mecum
I want the scissors to be sharp
and the table perfectly level
when you cut me out of my life
and paste me in that book you always carry. #Quote by Billy Collins

#69. When we turn the body into human capital, the political consequences of the body disappear. Hands that are raised, legs that move, fingers that point, floors that are mopped, mouths that are fed. Our economy is built on bodies.

If the body was taken seriously as a starting point for the economy, it would have far-reaching consequences. A society organized around the shared needs of human bodies would be a very different society from the one we know now.

Hunger, cold, sickness, lack of healthcare, and lack of food would be central economic concerns. Not like today: unfortunate by-products of the one and only system.

Our economic theories refuse to accept the reality of the body and flee as far from it as they can. That people are born small and die fragile, and that skin cut with a sharp object will bleed no matter who you are, no matter where you come from, no matter what you earn, and no matter where you live. What we have in common starts with the body. We shiver when we are cold, sweat when we run, cry out when we come, and cry out when we give birth. It's through the body that we can reach other people. So, economic man eradicates it. Pretends it doesn't exist. We observe it from the outside as if we were foreign capital.

And we are alone. #Quote by Katrine Marçal

#70. The uncertainty principle signaled an end to Laplace's dream of a theory of science, a model of the universe that would be completely deterministic. We certainly cannot predict future events exactly if we cannot even measure the present state of the universe precisely!
We could still imagine that there is a set of laws that determine events completely for some supernatural being who, unlike us, could observe the present state of the universe without disturbing it. However, such models of the universe are not of much interest to us ordinary mortals. It seems better to employ the principle of economy known as Occam's razor and cut out all the features of the theory that cannot be observed. #Quote by Stephen Hawking

#71. When you are insulted by someone or humiliated, guard against angry thoughts, lest they arouse a feeling of irritation, and so cut you off from love and place you in the realm of hatred. You should know that you have been greatly benefited when you have suffered deeply because of some insult or indignity; for by means of the indignity self-esteem has been driven out of you. #Quote by Maximus The Confessor

#72. Ranger was the second biggest complication in my life, and now that Morelli was out of the picture, I supposed Ranger was elevated to numero uno. He's close to six foot, one way or the other, is Latino, with medium brown skin and dark brown hair cut short. His teeth are white and even, and he has a killer smile that is seen only on special occasions. He dresses in black, and today he was wearing a black T-shirt and black cargo pants. #Quote by Janet Evanovich

#73. Just making sure you know I got home. Two hours ago. when I beeped the first time.

Clearly, I am not cut out for a life of crime. #Quote by Carol M. Tanzman

#74. And even beyond the flaws, there are just some simple differences between Felipe and me that we will both have to accept. He will never - I promise you - attend a yoga class with me, no matter how many times I may try to convince him that he would absolutely love it. (He would absolutely not love it.) We will never meditate together on a weekend spiritual retreat. I will never get him to cut back on all the red meat, or to do some sort of faddish fasting cleanse with me, just for the fun of it. I will never get him to smooth out his temperament, which burns at sometimes exhausting extremes. He will never take up hobbies with me, I am certain of this. We will not stroll through the farmer's market hand in hand or go on a hike together specifically to identify wildflowers. And although he is happy to sit and listen to me talk all day long about why I love Henry James, he will never read the collected works of Henry James by my side - so this most exquisite pleasure of mine must remain a private one. #Quote by Elizabeth Gilbert

#75. River, the word, contains within it all rivers, which flow like tributaries into it. And this word contains not only all rivers, but more important all my rivers: every accesible experience of every river I've seen, swum in, fished, heard about, felt directly or been affected by in any other manner oblique, secondhand or otherwise. These "rivers" are infinitely tessellating rills and affluents that feed fiction's ability to spur the imagination. I read the word river and, with or without context, I'll dip beneath its surface. (I'm a child wading in the moil and suck, my feet cut on a river's rock-bottom; or the gray river just out the window, now, just to my right, over the trees of the park-spackled with ice. Or-the almost seismic eroticism of a memory from my teens-of the shift of a skirt on a girl in spring, on a quai by an arabesque of a river, in a foreign city...)

This is a word's dormant power, brimming with pertinence. So little is needed from the author, when you think of it.

(We are already flooded by river water, and only need the author to tap this reservoir. #Quote by Peter Mendelsund

#76. Actually, when I look at my old notebooks, I think I have been a bit self-indulgent and have given myself too much time to meander in my discursive thoughts. I could have cut through sooner. Yet it is good to know about our terrible selves, not laud or criticize them, just acknowledge them. Then, out of this knowledge, we are better equipped to make a choice for beauty, kind consideration and clear truth. We make this choice with our feet firmly on the ground. We are not running wildly after beauty with fear at our backs. #Quote by Natalie Goldberg

#77. Kyran stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "You're needed, River. It's not by accident that you know what you do about the Fae and were put in our path. You're destined to aid us in this."

When she didn't respond, he tried again. "Think of all the innocents, like your family and Jordyn's, who were killed. You have a chance to help us put an end to such things for everyone. The half-Fae will no longer need to fear for their lives. And I promise you I'll figure out who has hunted your family and end it."

Her resigned look cut through him. "You can't do that. You work for Death. I doubt you'll be given leave to help me."

"Let me deal with that. Whether you help me or not, I'm going to find out why the Dark are hunting your family. And then I'm going to make sure it never happens again."

River swung her gaze to him. She tucked a long length of hair behind her ear. "Do I have your word you'll stop whoever is after me?"

"Aye." Kyran held out his hand.


River stared at it a moment before she leaned up and took it. They shook, her small hand in his. "Then I'll help you. #Quote by Donna Grant

#78. I don't like DVD extras. No. Especially when they do things like put out alternative endings? I find all of that a little bizarre, because there should only be one ending. I don't like to be told, 'Oh, we could have had it this way,' for the director's cut. #Quote by Aidan Gillen

#79. The food crank is by definition a person willing to cut himself off from human society in the hopes of adding five years onto the life of his carcase; that is, a person out of touch with common humanity. #Quote by George Orwell

#80. If I could cut out my beating heart
and put it in a box
and forget about it,
I would.
Maybe I would pad the box with our photos of you,
our love letters, a lock of your hair and that heart-shaped perfume bottle,
the one that I gave you for your birthday.
You always said it was your favorite.
Maybe if I put the box up in the attic,
some place out of sight and sound,
I could forget you.

(sigh)

I force myself to look around my yard.
The sun is brilliant against the bright blue sky,
birds are singing out their borders
and gathering twigs and grasses for nesting,
and the late-season daffodils
are bursting an egg-yolk yellow.
I feel myself smile.

For the first time this season,
I spot a Peace rose,
a sunshine-swelled bloom of yellow and pink flame.
I inhale the bloom's faintly sweet fragrance,
which floats delicate memories of you
across my mind's eye - I am happy.

Without thinking, I turn to the house
to call you.

If only It was that easy. #Quote by Jeffrey A. White

#81. Summer came whirling out of the night and stuck fast. One morning late in November everybody got up at Cloudstreet and saw the white heat washing in through the windows. The wild oats and buffalo grass were brown and crisp. The sky was the color of kerosene. The air was thin and volatile. Smoke rolled along the tracks as men began to burn off on the embankment. Birds cut singing down to a few necessary phrases, and beneath them in the streets, the tar began to bubble. The city was full of Yank soldiers; the trams were crammed to standing with them. The river sucked up the sky and went flat and glittery right down the middle of the place and people went to it in boats and britches and barebacked. Where the river met the sea, the beaches ran north and south, white and broad as highways in a dream, and men and babies stood in the surf while gulls hung in the haze above, casting shadows on the immodest backs of the oilslicked women. #Quote by Tim Winton

#82. Roark reached for the 'link again, cursed himself for a fool, then turned away from it.
He wasn't going to keep calling her, her friends, her haunts, hoping for a scrap.
Bugger that.
She'd be home when she came home. Or she wouldn't.
Christ Jesus, where was she?
Why the hell was she putting him through this? He'd done nothing to earn it. God knew he'd done plenty along the way to earn her wrath, but not this time. Not this way.
Still, that look on her face that morning had etched itself in his head, on his heart, into his guts. He couldn't burn it out.
He'd seen that look once or twice before, but not on his account.
He'd seen it when they'd gone to that fucking room in Dallas where she'd once suffered beyond reason. He'd seen it when she tore out of a nightmare.
Didn't she know he'd cut off his own hand before he'd put that look on her face?
She bloody well should know it. Should know him.
This was her own doing, and she'd best get her stubborn ass home right quick so they could have this out as they were supposed to have things out. She could kick something. Punch something. Punch him if that would put an end to it. A good rage, that's what was needed here, he told himself, then they'd be done with this nonsense once and for all.
Where the fucking hell was she?
He considered his own rage righteous, deserved - and struggled not to acknowledge it hid a sick panic that she didn't mean to come back to him.
S #Quote by J.D. Robb

#83. So," I said. "Exactly how long have the two of you been together? I assume that you've been going hot and heavy ever since that night at Fletcher's house when the bounty hunters interrupted you. Am I right?"
Finn and Bria didn't look at me or each other.
"Right," Bria mumbled. "Although if it makes you uncomfortable - "
"Then Gin's just going to have to deal with it," Finn cut her off.
Bria stared at him in surprise.
"What?" Finn said. "I worked too hard and too long to get you into my bed to just cut you loose now, cupcake."
Bria's eyes narrowed. "Cupcake?"
"Cupcake." Finn grinned at her. "Or would you prefer snuggle bunny?"
Bria's hand drifted down to the gun on her leather belt, as though she wanted to pull it out and shoot Finn with it. Well, it was good to know I wasn't the only one who occasionally had that reaction to him.
...
Then I fixed them both with a hard stare. "Just don't ask me to take sides when the two of you go at each other. Okay?"
They nodded, then looked at each other. Finn waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, and Bria snorted. But she couldn't stop a grin from curving her lips. #Quote by Jennifer Estep

#84. Eating properly is great. I mean you cut the fat down, cut the cholesterol out, but still you got to get your rest and you got to have some form of exercise. #Quote by Mike Ditka

#85. The weird job of acting is that it is so simple. You just see the person in the situation. It is whatever you have to do to get there. Some people want to stay up all night or cut their toe off. For me it is a bunch of reading, and hanging out with real people, I do that. You never know what you are going to get. It might be the shoes people wear. #Quote by Jason Isaacs

#86. The night was a river. After the candle was blown out, they lay together on the old bed in strips of silver moonlight filtered through the shutters, drifting lazily, cut loose from their past and future. The night took care of them. #Quote by Steve Wilson

#87. I was in the mood for some savory scones- I couldn't eat only sweet things, no matter what Mrs. T said.
I cut cold butter into flour with my pastry blender, added minced sun-dried tomatoes, fresh Parmesan, salt and pepper, sprinkled in oregano, and then, on a whim, tossed in crushed fennel seeds. I mixed in an egg and some milk. I kneaded the dough a few times, cut out rounds, and plopped them on a cookie sheet. I brushed the tops with more milk and slid the sheet into the hot oven. #Quote by Rajani LaRocca

#88. I stopped struggling, going limp in his arms. He reached around us and shoved the door closed, spinning around and facing us toward the kitchen.
"I was trying to make you breakfast."
It took a moment for his words and their meaning to sink in. I stared dumbfounded across the room and past the island. There was smoke billowing up from the stove and the window above the sink was wide open.
Bowls and spoons littered the island and there was a carton of eggs sitting out.
He was trying to cook.
He was really bad at it.
I started to laugh.
The kind of laugh that shook my shoulders and bubbled up hysterically. My heart rate was still out of control, and I took in a few breaths between laughs to try and calm it down.
He said something, but I couldn't hear him because the fire alarm was still going off. I had no doubt half the neighborhood was now awake from the sound. He didn't bother to put me down, instead hauling me along with him, where he finally set me down, dragged a chair over near the alarm, and climbed up to remove the battery.
The noise cut off and the kitchen fell silent.
"Well, shit," he said, staring at the battery in his hand.
A giggle escaped me. "Does this always happen when you cook?"
He shrugged. "The only time I ever cook is when it's my turn at the station." His forehead creased and a thoughtful look came over his face. "The guys are never around when it's my night to cook. Now I know why." H #Quote by Cambria Hebert

#89. He removed his hand from his worn, pleasantly snug jeans…and it held something small. Holy Lord, I said to myself. What in the name of kingdom come is going on here? His face wore a sweet, sweet smile.
I stood there completely frozen. "Um…what?" I asked. I could formulate no words but these.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead he took my left hand in his, opened up my fingers, and placed a diamond ring onto my palm, which was, by now, beginning to sweat.
"I said," he closed my hand tightly around the ring. "I want you to marry me." He paused for a moment. "If you need time to think about it, I'll understand." His hands were still wrapped around my knuckles. He touched his forehead to mine, and the ligaments of my knees turned to spaghetti.
Marry you? My mind raced a mile a minute. Ten miles a second. I had three million thoughts all at once, and my heart thumped wildly in my chest.
Marry you? But then I'd have to cut my hair short. Married women have short hair, and they get it fixed at the beauty shop.
Marry you? But then I'd have to make casseroles.
Marry you? But then I'd have to wear yellow rubber gloves to do the dishes.
Marry you? As in, move out to the country and actually live with you? In your house? In the country? But I…I…I don't live in the country. I don't know how. I can't ride a horse. I'm scared of spiders.
I forced myself to speak again. "Um…what?" I repeated, a touch of frantic urgency to my voice.
"You h #Quote by Ree Drummond

#90. When students scoff at the idea of a magical relation between a picture and what it represents, ask them to take a photograph of their mother and cut out the eyes. #Quote by W. J. T. Mitchell

#91. A moment later, Helen had returned; she was walking slowly now, and carefully, her hand on the back of a thin boy with a mop of wavy brown hair. He couldn't have been older than twelve, and Clary recognized him immediately. Helen, her hand firmly clamped around the wrist of a younger boy whose hands were covered with blue wax. He must have been playing with the tapers in the huge candelabras that decorated the sides of the nave. He looked about twelve, with an impish grin and the same wavy, bitter-chocolate hair as his sister.

Jules, Helen had called him. Her little brother.

The impish grin was gone now. He looked tired and dirty and frightened. Skinny wrists stuck out of the cuffs of a white mourning jacket whose sleeves were too long for him. In his arms he was carrying a little boy, probably not more than two years old, with the same wavy brown hair that he had; it seemed to be a family trait. The rest of his family wore the same borrowed mourning clothes: following Julian was a brunette girl about ten, her hand firmly clasped in the hold of a boy the same age: the boy had a sheet of tangled black hair that nearly obscured his face. Fraternal twins, Clary guessed. After them came a girl who might have been eight or nine, her face round and very pale between brown braids.

The misery on their faces cut at Clary's heart. She thought of her power with runes, wishing that she could create one that would soften the blow of loss. Mourning runes ex #Quote by Cassandra Clare

#92. Drinking's funny. When I look back on it, all of our important decisions have been figured out when we were drinking. Even when we talked about having to cut back on drinking, we'd be sitting at the kitchen table or out at the picnic table with a six-pack or whiskey. #Quote by Raymond Carver

#93. A surgeon will cut off a limb in order to protect the body from disease. And a commander-in-chief should pull out of a war that cannot be won in order to protect a nation. #Quote by Michael Huffington

#94. Adorable
Yet, at the same time that adorable says everything, it also says what is lacking in everything.

I encounter millions of bodies in my life; of these millions, I may desire some hundreds, but of these hundreds, I love only one.

The choice, so vigorous that it retains only the Unique, constitutes, it is said, the difference between the analytical transference and the amorous transference; one is universal, the other specific. It has taken many accidents, many surprising coincidences (and perhaps many efforts), for me to find the Image which, out of thousand, suits my desire.

Herein a great enigma, to which I shall never possess the key: why is it that I desire so-and-so? Why is it that I desire so-and-so lastingly, longingly? It is the whole so-and-so I desire.

In that case, what is it in this loved body which has the vocation of a fetish for me? what perhaps incredibly tenuous portion -- what accident? The way a nail is cut, a tooth broken slightly aslant, a lock of hair, a way of spreading fingers while talking, while smoking? About all these folds of the body, I want to say that they are adorable. Adorable means: this is my desire, insofar as it is unique.

The adorable is what is adorable. Or again, I adore you because you are adorable, I love you because I love you. #Quote by Roland Barthes

#95. Thank you again for standing up for me."

He grumbled, "Stop it."

I smiled a little more genuinely. "I have this cream for bruises, let me go grab it."

Aiden jerked his head back like I was about to try to shove a hot dog in his mouth. "You know I don't care about bruises."

"Too bad. I do. He can be black and purple tomorrow - and I freaking hope he is - but I'd rather you didn't." I winced at the small crack in his lip. "What did he have to do? Take a running start to reach your face?"

Aiden burst out laughing, not even grimacing as his cut split wide.

"Seriously, Aiden." I reached up to touch his bruised jaw gently with my fingertips. "Did he sucker punch you?"

The big guy shook his head.

"He actually managed to get a fair shot in?" I wasn't going to lie. I was a little disappointed. Aiden getting punched was almost like finding out Santa Claus wasn't real. He'd gotten into a handful fights in his career before - I'd seen footage of it online when I shared it on his fan page because people were vicious and loved that kind of thing - and while he wasn't this hotheaded asshole who liked to get into it for no reason, each time it happened, he beat the shit out of whoever tried to start something with him.

It was impressive. What could I say?

Then he gave me that dumb look that drove me nuts and I frowned. "No. I made sure he hit me first, and I let him do it twice befor #Quote by Mariana Zapata

#96. Woe to the one by whom scandal comes!" Jesus reserves his most solemn warning for the adults who seduce children into the infernal prison of scandal. The more the imitation is innocent and trusting, the more the one who imitates is easily scandalized, and the more the seducer is guilty of abusing this innocence. Scandals are so formidable that to put us on guard against them, Jesus resorts to an uncharacteristic hyperbolic style: "If your hand scandalizes you, cut it off; if you eye scandalizes you, pull it out" (Matt. 18:8-9). #Quote by Rene Girard

#97. Writer's groups work for some new writers, not for others. I was never cut out for a writer's group. So much depends on the people in it. What are they criticizing about your work? Grammar, syntax, plot holes? Or are they criticizing your personal style, your world view and your personal philosophy? If they're criticizing the latter, it's not a good group for you, no matter what support you might think you're getting from it. Your style, your perspective, and your philosophy of life are the main things you have to sell; they are what make you different, and you shouldn't
in fact you can't
change them. #Quote by Dean Koontz

#98. You okay?" his sleep-rough voice reached out to me from across the room, sending an unexpected shiver across my skin. My head snapped in his direction of its own mind and he had already kicked in the leg rest. His feet were on the ground, spread wide. His leather cut was gone, leaving him just in jeans and the tight black tee. His elbows were on his knees, his back curled forward, his sleep-puffy eyes on me. "Fine," I strangled out, fighting the urge to put my hand over where my heart was slamming in my chest. "Don't lie," he chastened quietly, shaking his head at me. "Don't wanna talk, don't." He paused. "But don't lie." Well then. I kind of liked that. Everyone else wanted to pry. Everyone thought they had the right to demand I spill all my dark secrets. It was really refreshing to come across someone who acknowledged my right to keep my private feelings private. #Quote by Jessica Gadziala

#99. Following his doctor's orders, Nikita (Khrushchev) has cut his drinking in half. He's leaving out the water. #Quote by Bob Hope

#100. If you're a physicist, for heaven's sake, and here is the experiment, and you have a theory, and the theory doesn't agree with the experiment, then you have to cut out the theory. You were wrong with the theory. #Quote by Ivar Giaever