Stenciled Stairs Quotes

#1. Everything is 'smart' now. The library cataloging system is smart, classification and indexing information entered into a uniform online database. People wept and lamented the loss of the old cards, then forgot them. They pretty much forget everything they weep over and lament. Clop-clop of hooves on the street. The humble art of carrying a block of ice up the stairs, pincered by a pair of tongs. Rotary phones and 33 rpm records. Stamp-pad ink and poster paint. #Quote by Christopher Sorrentino

#2. Those who visited that exhibition-room found an auto-de-fé of immense skies in ignition, globes blotted out by bleeding suns; hemorrhages of stars, flowing down in purple cataracts over tumbling tufts of clouds. Against this background of terrible din, silent women passed, nude or appareled in jeweled stuffs, like the bindings of the old Evangelists; women with hair of shaggy silk, with pale blue eyes, hard and fixed, and flesh of the frozen whiteness of milk; Salomes holding, motionless upon a platter, the head of the Baptist, which shone, soaked in phosphorus, under the quincunxes with shorn leaves, of a green that was almost black; goddesses galloping on hippogriffs and streaking, with the lapis lazuli of their wings, the agony of the clouds; feminine idols, in tiaras, upright on thrones, at the top of stairs submerged in extraordinary flowers, or seated, in rigid poses, upon the backs of elephants with green-mantled foreheads and breasts strung with pearl-ropes like cavalry bells, stamping about upon their own heavy image, reflected in a sheet of water and splashed by the columns of the ring-circled legs! #Quote by Joris-Karl Huysmans

#3. Saying good-bye to Ben is Sarina's least favorite activity. So sad the number of times she's had to do it. Ball games, recitals, the homes of friends, rented shore houses, through car windows after dropping off some forgotten camera to Annie. Goodbye. See you later. Nice seeing you. She has mastered it: A dismissive peck on the cheek. A hug like an afterthought. Telling herself, Do not watch him walk away. Watching him walk away. Watching him drive away. Watching him descend the stairs to the subway. How many times have they said goodbye to each other? Already tonight, twice.
He interrupts her before she can get the second goodbye out.
"How would you feel," he says, "about missing your train?"
Once at the beach, Sarina watched a crane bathing in a gully at dusk. It used its wings to funnel the water over its back, then shook out the excess in a firework of droplets. After several minutes it took off, arcing out over the fretless sea. That felt like this. #Quote by Marie-Helene Bertino

#4. They rode in a narrow enfillade along a trail strewn with the dry round turds of goats and they rode with their faces averted from the rock wall and the bakeoven air which it rebated, the slant black shapes of the mounted men stenciled across the stone with a definition austere and implacable like shapes capable of violating their covenant with the flesh that authored them and continuing autonomous across the naked rock without reference to sun or man or god. #Quote by Cormac McCarthy

#5. Jogging down the stairs and out the door leading to the player's hallway, I rehearsed what I would say.
I would say, Hello, Bryan. I have a bit of time before the end of the day. Perhaps I could take a look at your knee.
Or, I might say, Bryan, let's have a look at your knee. I hear it's still giving you trouble.
Or maybe, Bryan, I understand you're having a bit of trouble with your knee. If you have time before the end of the day -
"Eilish."
I stopped short, almost colliding with William Moore. Automatically, his beefy hands reached to steady me.
"William. Sorry. Sorry about that." I backed up a step and out of his grip, counting three other players behind him, and swallowed with some difficulty when I realized Bryan was one of them.
"You okay?" William asked, dipping his chin to catch my eye.
I nodded, looking beyond him, and pointed at Bryan. "You."
Bryan stiffened, his eyes widening. "Me?"
"Yes. You. Meniscus tear. Follow me," I said, turned away from him, and promptly grimaced.
Real smooth, E.
Real professional.
Great job.
That wasn't weird at all.
Leading the way to the training room, I didn't wait to see if he'd followed. I was too busy berating myself for speaking like Tarzan.
So much for rehearsing. #Quote by L.H. Cosway

#6. So with Easter. It was fun, as a child, to bound down the stairs to find seasonal sweet-treats under each plate, but again, with the passing of time, and the shadow of death over our broken family circle, I've seen Easter as highest necessity. If hope is to flourish, it had better be true. #Quote by Gerhard E Frost

#7. The Pomegranate

The only legend I have ever loved is
the story of a daughter lost in hell.
And found and rescued there.
Love and blackmail are the gist of it.
Ceres and Persephone the names.
And the best thing about the legend is
I can enter it anywhere. And have.
As a child in exile in
a city of fogs and strange consonants,
I read it first and at first I was
an exiled child in the crackling dusk of
the underworld, the stars blighted. Later
I walked out in a summer twilight
searching for my daughter at bed-time.
When she came running I was ready
to make any bargain to keep her.
I carried her back past whitebeams
and wasps and honey-scented buddleias.
But I was Ceres then and I knew
winter was in store for every leaf
on every tree on that road.
Was inescapable for each one we passed.
And for me.
It is winter
and the stars are hidden.
I climb the stairs and stand where I can see
my child asleep beside her teen magazines,
her can of Coke, her plate of uncut fruit.
The pomegranate! How did I forget it?
She could have come home and been safe
and ended the story and all
our heart-broken searching but she reached
out a hand and plucked a pomegranate.
She put out her hand and pulled down
the French sound for apple and
the noise of stone and the proof
that even in the place of death,
at t #Quote by Eavan Boland

#8. We climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Osama bin Laden died early in the morning of May 2, 2011. #Quote by Peter L. Bergen

#9. If you have to walk up the endless-looking stairs to reach your target, do never waste your time thinking, just walk up the stairs! #Quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan

#10. I used to think love was two people sucking
on the same straw to see whose thirst was stronger,

but then I whiffed the crushed walnuts of your nape,
traced jackals in the snow-covered tombstones of your teeth.

I used to think love was a non-stop saxophone solo
in the lungs, till I hung with you like a pair of sneakers

from a phone line, and you promised to always smell
the rose in my kerosene. I used to think love was terminal

pelvic ballet, till you let me jog beside while you pedaled
all over hell on the menstrual bicycle, your tongue

ripping through my prairie like a tornado of paper cuts.
I used to think love was an old man smashing a mirror

over his knee, till you helped me carry the barbell
of my spirit back up the stairs after my car pirouetted

in the desert. You are my history book. I used to not believe
in fairy tales till I played the dunce in sheep's clothing

and felt how perfectly your foot fit in the glass slipper
of my ass. But then duty wrapped its phone cord

around my ankle and yanked me across the continent.
And now there are three thousand miles between the u

and s in esophagus. And being without you is like standing
at a cement-filled wall with a roll of Yugoslavian nickels

and making a wish. Some days I miss you so much
I'd jump off the roof of your office building

ju #Quote by Jeffrey McDaniel

#11. Even with the questions and worries that flooded her, Lillian was overcome with sudden exhaustion. The waking nightmare had come to a precipitate end, and it seemed that for now there was nothing more she could do. She waited docilely, her cheek resting against the steady support of Marcus's shoulder, only half hearing the conversation that ensued.
"… have to find St. Vincent…" Marcus was saying.
"No," Simon Hunt said emphatically, "I'll find St. Vincent. You take care of Miss Bowman."
"We need privacy."
"I believe there is a small room nearby - more of a vestibule, actually…"
But Hunt's voice trailed away, and Lillian became aware of a new, ferocious tension in Marcus's body. With a lethal shift of his muscles, he turned to glance in the direction of the staircase.
St. Vincent was descending, having entered the rented room from the other side of the inn and found it empty. Stopping midway down the stairs, St. Vincent took in the curious tableau before him… the clusters of bewildered onlookers, the affronted innkeeper… and the Earl of Westcliff, who stared at him with avid bloodlust.
The entire inn fell silent during that chilling moment, so that Westcliff's quiet snarl was clearly audible. "By God, I'm going to butcher you."
Dazedly Lillian murmured, "Marcus, wait - "
She was shoved unceremoniously at Simon Hunt, who caught her reflexively as Marcus ran full-bore toward the stairs. Instead of skirting around the banister #Quote by Lisa Kleypas

#12. To the sound of this voice, to the music of the chessboard's evil lure, Luzhin recalled, with the exquisite, moist melancholy peculiar to recollections of love, a thousand games that he had played in the past ... There were combinations, pure and harmonious, where thought ascended marble stairs to victory; there were tender stirrings in one corner of the board, and a passionate explosion, and the fanfare of the Queen going to its sacrificial doom. #Quote by Vladimir Nabokov

#13. Everyone is a raconteur without realizing it. We speak to our friends, we speak to our doctors and therapists about the nothing-meaning nonsense that goes on in our lives, but the difference in telling a story and complaining about the ills of one's life is in the delivery. We can talk about how someone slighted you at work, or we can talk about how that person looked when they promptly fell down the stairs a moment after disdaining you. There, you see, is the difference: people will often notice the main but not the nuance; they will notice the face of the person yelling at them and the pitch of their shouts, but will not notice the comfort that the ululations of agony and twisted limbs lying on the bottom stile can promise. #Quote by Michelle Franklin

#14. I knew that by this time tomorrow, I was going to be eternally grateful for falling down the stairs and knocking myself unconscious. Smartest dumbest thing I'd ever done. #Quote by Erin McCarthy

#15. Frank sniffed. 'You know me well, wife. I thought those were in the
basement.'
'They were. You should have been an English teacher, Frank.'
'What are we going to do?' Henry asked.
'We're going to build a wooden horse, stick you inside it, and offer
it up as a gift,' Frank answered.
'Burn your bridges when you come to them,' Dotty said. She smiled at
Frank, picked up the empty plates, and walked back into the kitchen.
'Can we watch?' Henrietta asked.
'You,' Frank said, 'can go play in the barn, the yard, the fields, or
the ditches, so long as you are nowhere near the action. C'mon, Henry.'
The girls moaned and complained while Henry followed his uncle up the
stairs. At the top, they walked all the way around the landing until
they faced the very old, very wooden door to Grandfather's bedroom.
Uncle Frank set down his tools.
'Today is the day, Henry. I can feel it. I never told your aunt this,
but my favorite book's in there. I was reading it to your Grandfather
near the end. It's been due back at the library for awhile now, and
it'd be nice to be able to check something else out. #Quote by N.D. Wilson

#16. Before I could respond, Thalia tromped up the stairs. She was officially not talking to me now, but she looked at Grover and said, "Tell Percy to get his butt downstairs."
"Why?" I asked.
"Did he say something?" Thalia asked Grover.
"Um, he asked why."
"Dionysus is calling a council of cabin leaders to discuss the prophecy," she said. "Unfortunately, that includes Percy. #Quote by Rick Riordan

#17. Perhaps because of all the money poured into this, the things behind the spanking displays look old and crummy, like articles from a time that has been left behind. I slap down the stairs in my sandals. I am annoyed that this past can look so tawdry and so safe, as if destined from the outset to end up behind glass, securely roped off and under pressure-button control. And I am annoyed at myself: what's the problem? Isn't a museum the place for things that are over? #Quote by Anna Funder

#18. Shawn slowly climbed the old wooden stairs, listening to the low creak that sounded from his footsteps. He hoped the wood wouldn't collapse beneath him. But the stairs held strong and a moment later he joined his friend in the kitchen of the old house, a wave of suffocating humidity washing over them as they stepped deeper into its secrets. #Quote by Joe DeRouen

#19. Standing on the left side of the runway was my battle-worn X-wing fighter. Parked on the right side was my DeLorean. Sitting on the runway itself was my most frequently used spacecraft, the Vonnegut. Max had already powered up the engines, and they emitted a low, steady roar that filled the hangar. The Vonnegut was a heavily modified Firefly-class transport vessel, modeled after the Serenity in the classic Firefly TV series. The ship had been named the Kaylee when I'd first obtained it, but I'd immediately rechristened it after one of my favorite twentieth-century novelists. Its new name was stenciled on the side of its battered gray hull. I'd looted the Vonnegut from a cadre of Oviraptor clansmen who had foolishly attempted to hijack my X-wing while I was cruising through a large group of worlds in Sector Eleven known as the Whedonverse. The #Quote by Ernest Cline

#20. I am pleased to say I find nothing funny, sir," Bent replied as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "I have no sense of humor whatsoever. None at all. It has been proven by phrenology. I have Nichtlachen-Keinwortz syndrome, which for some curious reason is considered a lamentable affliction. I, on the other hand, consider it a gift. I am happy to say that I regard the sight of a fat man slipping on a banana skin as nothing more than an unfortunate accident that highlights the need for care in the disposal of household waste." "Have you tried - " Moist began, but Bent held up a hand. "Please! I repeat, I do not regard it as a burden! And may I say it annoys me when people assume it is such! Do not feel impelled to try to make me laugh, sir! If I had no legs, would you try to make me run? I am quite happy, thank you!" He #Quote by Terry Pratchett

#21. I don't need any bonus material to throw me over the edge later.
Or don a flight of stairs, under a bus, and straight back to the mental ward. #Quote by Myra McEntire

#22. A young Captain Bradford is waiting for you in the ballroom.He's spent many hours filling out parliamentary paperwork,as well as a lengthy wait for parliamentary approval,before I would allow him to see you.
The full meaning of this sank into Azalea's mind, and she fairly leaped up the stairs,giddy to her center. #Quote by Heather Dixon

#23. Descending the stairs from her room, I was tempted to go outside and find out if the shivering gut-wrench I'd felt as I came in really meant what I thought it did. But I stayed in the warmth of the house. I felt like I knew something about myself that I hadn't before, a bit of knowledge so new that if I became a wolf now, I might lose it and not remember it whenever I became Cole again.
I wandered down the main stairs, mindful that her father was somewhere in the house's depths while Isabel stayed up in her tower alone.
What would it be like, growing up in a house that looked like this? If I breathed too hard it would knock some decorative bowl off the wall or cause the perfectly arranged dried flowers to weep petals. Sure, my family had been affluent growing up - successful mad scientists generally are - but it never looked like this. Our lives had looked ... lived in. #Quote by Maggie Stiefvater

#24. Just then, in that instant, I saw His eyes. I recognised them. They were the eyes of that trembling father in a smoke-filled room on the ninety-third floor of Tower One, dialing his little girls for the last time. Those were the eyes behind that calming voice singing 'Amazing Grace' in a crowded and slippery stairwell, trapped outside a roof door when the ceilings began to cave. The eyes of the people who stayed behind with the handicapped victims waiting for police officers who never made it up the stairs. Those were the eyes of firemen who pushed me to safety, the doctor who cared for me for more than a year free of charge, the therapist who visited my home regularly so that I could sleep a little, the children who loved me, the brother who prayed nonstop, and the pastor who became my friend. Those were the eyes of God. #Quote by Leslie Haskin

#25. And besides, can't I do it the way I always used to as a child in matters that were dangerous? I don't even need to go to the country myself, it isn't necessary. I'll send my clothed body. If it staggers out of the door of my room, the staggering will indicate not fear but its nothingness. Nor is it excitement if it stumbles on the stairs, if it travels in the country, sobbing as it goes, and there eats its supper in tears. For I myself am meanwhile lying in my bed, smoothly covered over with the yellow-brown blanket, exposed to the breeze that is wafted through the seldom-aired room. The carriages and people in the street move and walk hesitantly on shining ground, for I am still dreaming. #Quote by Franz Kafka

#26. I don't like lifts and will walk up 20 flights of stairs if I have to. Crowded rooms make me uncomfortable, too, although I can sing to a stadium full of thousands of people no bother. #Quote by Robin Gibb

#27. Sometimes now, I wake at night, thinking I have heard the sound of my father's footsteps on the stairs or the shuffling boots and low murmur of the hoot-owl shift going to work. In that half-world between sleep and wakefulness, I can almost hear the ringing of a hammer on steel and the dry hiss of the arc welder at the little machine shop by the tipple. But it is only a trick of my imagination; nearly everything that I knew in Coalwood is gone. #Quote by Homer Hickam

#28. I peer through the spectral, polluted, nicotine-sodden windows of my sock at these old lollopers in their kiddie gear. Go home, I say. Go home, lie down, and eat lots of potatoes. I had three handjobs yesterday. None was easy. Sometimes you really have to buckle down to it, as you do with all forms of exercise. It's simply a question of willpower. Anyone who's got the balls to stand there and tell me that a handjob isn't exercise just doesn't know what he's talking about. I almost had a heart-attack during number three. I take all kinds of other exercise too. I walk up and down the stairs. I climb into cabs and restaurant booths. I hike to the Butcher's Arms and the London Apprentice. I cough a lot. I throw up pretty frequently, which really takes it out of you. I sneeze, and hit the tub and the can. I get in and out of bed, often several times a day. #Quote by Martin Amis

#29. Coach Hedge came pounding up the stairs with Hazel at his hooves.
"Where are they?" he demanded. "Who do I kill?"
"No killing!" Annabeth ordered. "Just defend the ship!"
"But they interrupted a Chuck Norris movie! #Quote by Rick Riordan

#30. Um, I think I left my handkerchief on the table," Jane said. "I'll just run down and fetch it. There's no need to wait for me--you go on to bed."
Lisette stopped to stare at her in bewilderment. "Your handkerchief will be perfectly fine where it is. A footman will find it and give it to you in the morning."
"No, I dare not leave it or I'll forget about it in the confusion of our departure." She was already turning to descend the stairs. "And it's my favorite."
Jane didn't stop to see if Lisette believed that nonsense. She just hastened down, trying to figure out how to get Dom alone.
Fortunately, just as she approached the dining room, she heard the duke say from inside, "Sorry to be a wet blanket, old chap, but I shall turn in, too. Lisette and I don't usually rise as early as we did this morning."
"So I've noticed." Then Dom added hastily, "Not that it matters, mind you. Everyone has his own habits."
"Yes, that's true." The duke's puzzled tone showed he was unaware of what his wife had said yesterday about his "habits."
"Don't forget that we must leave as early tomorrow as possible."
"Of course."
"I'm hoping Tristan will have arrived by then, but if not, we'll press on without him."
"Certainly," Max said, rather stiffly now. He probably wasn't used to being ordered about by anyone, even his brother-in-law. "Well, good night, then."
Hearing footsteps approaching, Jane darted quickly into an alcove and waited with heart p #Quote by Sabrina Jeffries

#31. You see,' she said, snapping the top, and walking down the stairs, 'you are so very different from Rebecca #Quote by Daphne Du Maurier

#32. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her flawless skin had a slight sheen from her dash across the parking lot and up the stairs. Sexy, but he suspected the fantasy the sheen inspired was better than the reality. She was the job. Probably wore Kevlar to bed. End of story. Still, he did enjoy playing with her. He liked her big blue eyes, cute little nose, slim athletic body, and her earnest dedication to making the world a more law-abiding place. It made his dedication to crime much more interesting. #Quote by Janet Evanovich

#33. The handyman who'd helped rescue them was sitting at the front desk, his arm propped on his toolbox as he listened to a handheld radio, and he waved when he saw them. "How were the stairs?"
Better than the elevator," Owen said. "Any news?"
"No power until tomorrow at the earliest," he reported, his mustache twitching. "They're saying it goes all the way up into Canada." He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "It must be quite a sight from up in space. #Quote by Jennifer E. Smith

#34. I was awakened at dawn to the sound of Marlboro Man knocking on the front door. A rancher through and through, he'd made good on his promise to show up at six. I should have known. He'd probably gotten fewer than five hours of sleep.
I stumbled down the stairs, trying in vain to steady myself so I'd look like I'd been awake for longer than seven seconds. When I opened the door he was there, in his Wranglers, looking impossibly appealing for someone so profoundly sleep-deprived. The sweetness of his gentle grin was matched only by his adorably puffy eyes, which made him look like a little boy despite the steel gray hair on his head. My stomach fluttered; I wondered if there'd ever be a time when it would stop.
"Good morning," he said, stepping inside the door and nuzzling his face into my neck. A thousand tiny feathers tickled my skin. #Quote by Ree Drummond

#35. to join a red puddle on the stairs. Her arms were pulled up above her lolling head. Her wrists #Quote by Jo Nesbo

#36. My landlord lives in the flat at the bottom of the stairs. I rent a studio flat from him, and live at the top of the staircase. There are two more flights of stairs and four more flats, but it's me he is obsessed with. #Quote by Craig Stone

#37. With a glance over her shoulder to ensure no one saw them, she charged up the stairs. Mr. Aldercy fell into step behind her, and they hurried like schoolchildren afraid of being caught in a prank.
However, at the top of the stairs, games stopped. He whisked her up the last step, twirled her around until her back was against the wall, and kissed her. #Quote by Cathy Maxwell

#38. I climbed the stairs and got back into bed, pulling a pillow over my face to block out the summer light. But there was no hiding from reality that morning. #Quote by Jeffrey Eugenides

#39. It's Also Tradition to Wear White,I Study Myself in The Mirror Now,as Annabelle Curls My Hair. My Dress is Strapless,Layers of ivory
chiffon Floating to The Floor.a Necklace of Diamonds and Rubies Sparkles at My Throat

Garnet Leans Against The Newel Post and Whistles As I Come Down The Stairs. My Cheeks Flush.

Have You Been To The Royal Palace Yet? Garnet Asks Me.I Stare at Him for a Second
Wondering if He's Joking. Yes, I Say Slowly. You Bumped Into Me at The Exetor's Ball.

Did I? Garnet's Eyebrows Pinch Together. Huh
Well,You Haven't Seen Anytging Until You've Seen The Winter Ball Decorations.

We are Escorted to a Extension Made Entirely of Glass. It is Lit with Thousands of Candles. Giving The Room a Beautiful Golden Glow. The Floor is Made Out Of Blue Glass and Enormous Ice Sculptures Glitter in The Flickering Light. I See What Garnet Meant-The Whole Effect is Magnificent. #Quote by Amy Ewing

#40. He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. Her blue felt hat would show off the bronze of her hair against the darkness and the dark panels of her skirt would show off the light ones. Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter. #Quote by James Joyce

#41. Ryder's heart beats madly against my ear as we cling to each other, holding on for dear life. Adrenaline races through my veins, making my breath come in short gasps. I can feel Ryder's fingers in my hair, his nails digging into my scalp as he presses me tightly against his body, his muscles bunched and rigid.
I know I'm supposed to hate him, but all I can think right now is how glad I am he's here--glad that I'm not alone. I've never been so scared in all my life, but I know it would be worse without him.
It's over in a matter of seconds. The freight-train roar quiets, the rain returning with a vengeance. I don't need Jim Cantore to tell me it's a rain-wrapped tornado. I've watched enough Storm Chasers to recognize it, even from my little hidey-hole under the stairs. If we had been outside, we probably wouldn't have seen it coming, not till it was too late.
Ryder releases his grip on my head, and I pull away slightly, peering up at him. His deep brown eyes are slightly wild-looking, but otherwise he looks okay. His face isn't a shade of green, at least. I lean back against him, my head resting on his shoulder now. We're still holding hands, our fingers intertwined. Somehow, it doesn't seem at all weird. It just feels…safe.
Neither of us says a word, not till the sirens are silenced a few minutes later.
"I guess we should give it a few minutes," I say, my voice slightly hoarse. "You know, just to make sure that's it. No point in going out just to clim #Quote by Kristi Cook

#42. The more I know you, the more I wonder who you are." He counted off her qualities on his fingers. "You have the accent of a lady. You dress like a peasant. You shoot like a marksman. You view the world cynically, yet you venerate Miss Victorine. Your face and body would be the envy of a young goddess, yet you sport an air of innocence. And that innocence hides a criminal mind and the cheek to pull off the most outrageous of felonies."
"So I'm Athena, the goddess of war."
"Definitely not Diana, the goddess of virginity."
As the last shot hit home, he saw Amy's mask slip. Blood rushed to her face. She bit her lip and looked toward the stairs as if only now realizing she could have - should have - left this whole discussion behind.
He laughed softly, triumphantly. "Or perhaps I'm mistaken. Perhaps you have more in common with Diana than I thought."
"Pray remember, sir, that Diana was also the goddess of the hunt." Amy leaned across the table, intent on making her point - but the blush still played across her cheeks. "She carried a bow and arrow, and she always bagged her quarry. Have a look at the bullet hole in the rock behind you and remember my skill and my cynicism. For we do know things about each other. I know that if you escape, you'll make sure I'm hung from a gibbet. You know that if I catch you escaping, I'll shoot you through the heart. Remember that as you cast longing glances toward the window." With a flourish, she picked up the breakfast t #Quote by Christina Dodd

#43. How clever of you to figure that out,' said a voice at the top of the stairs, and Violet, and Klaus were so surprised they almost dropped the lamp. It was Stephano, or, if you prefer, it was Count Olaf. It was the bad guy. #Quote by Lemony Snicket

#44. There was another crashing sound, this time coming from directly overhead, and a chorus of excited bellows from the onlookers caused the walls to tremble. Above it all, the innkeeper could be heard complaining shrilly that his building would soon be reduced to matchsticks.
"Mr. Hunt," Lillian exclaimed, "I do wish that you would try to be of some use to Lord Westcliff!"
Hunt's brows lifted into mocking crescents. "You don't actually fear that St. Vincent is getting the better of him?"
"The question is not whether I have sufficient confidence in Lord Westcliff's fighting ability," Lillian replied impatiently. "The fact is, I have too much confidence in it. And I would rather not have to bear witness at a murder trial on top of everything else."
"You have a point." Standing, Hunt refolded his handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket. He headed to the stairs with a short sigh, grumbling, "I've spent most of the day trying to stop him from killing people. #Quote by Lisa Kleypas

#45. So, are you going to tell me what I did to piss you off that year? Because I'm coming up totally blank."
I turn on him. "Seriously? You're coming up blank?"
"Why don't you help me out here?"
I just stare at him uncomprehendingly.
"C'mon, Jemma," he taunts. "Use your words."
I rise, my hands curled into fists by my sides. "Oh, I'll use my words all right, douchebucket. Remember the eighth-grade dance? Is that ringing any bells for you?"
He scratches his head, looking thoughtful for a moment. And then…"You mean the graduation dance? If I remember correctly, you didn't even show up."
"Is that what you think? That I didn't show up?" I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it--Ryder trying to act like the injured party, as if I'd stood him up.
"You got a better explanation?" he asks.
"I shouldn't have to explain it to you. Jerk," I add under my breath. And then, "I'm going for a walk."
He rises, towering over me now. "So you're just going to storm off? Really, Jem?"
"Yes," I say, nodding furiously. "That's exactly what I'm going to do. How clever of you to figure it out."
I can feel Ryder's eyes boring a hole in my back as I flounce down the stairs and hurry down the drive with as much dignity as I can muster. #Quote by Kristi Cook

#46. Are you alright?" he asked warily. "Sure," I lied as I turned and headed for the stairs. So softly that only a werewolf could hear, I added, "You can't lose what you never had. #Quote by Kathleen Peacock

#47. Next Ashlynn walked up the stairs. Apple expected the princess to exhibit the same eagerness, but her steps were slow. The large mirrors hanging from posts around the pedestal broadcast images of Ashlynn's face to the audience. But the mirrors didn't show the book, so Apple couldn't see Ashlynn's "flash-forward" story, just Ashlynn's face as she watched it. Her expression was nervous, hopeful, and then ... then sad. How could she be sad? Her story ended joyously! It was almost as if Ashlynn had been hoping to see something or someone in her story who didn't show. Ashlynn took the pen and closed her eyes as she quickly signed. #Quote by Shannon Hale