Boy Please Quotes & Sayings

You are beyond frustrating," she grumbled. "Why can't you do what I ask you to do without issuing a million questions first?"
"I could say the same of you."
"I don't
Argh." She raised a fist at him. "So maybe I do ask a lot of questions. So what. Anyone in my position would do the same. Besides, I'm a girl and that's my job. You're a boy. You're supposed to pound your chest with your fists and grunt, then do everything in your power to please me."
"Hardly. The man you just described is more likely to knock you over the head with a club and drag you away by the hair."
-Annabelle and Zacharel — Gena Showalter

Please don't entertain for a moment the utterly mistaken idea that there is no drudgery in writing. There is a great deal of drudgery in even the most inspired, the most noble, the most distinguished writing. Read what the great ones have said about their jobs; how they never sit down to their work without a sigh of distress and never get up from it witout a sigh of relief. Do you imagine that your Muse is forever flamelike
breathing the inspired word, the wonderful situation, the superb solution into your attentive ear? ... Believe me, my poor boy, if you wait for inspiration in our set-up, you'll wait for ever. — Ngaio Marsh

Please stop sniffing the robot boy, Noemi tells herself, jerking out of the trance. — Claudia Gray

I couldn't stand boy companions," he [Jules Feiffer] wrote in his 1965 essay " The Great Comic Book Heroes. "Robin was my own age. One need only look at him to see he could fight better, swing from a rope better, play ball better, eat better and live better...He was obviously an A student, the center of every circle, the one picked for greatness in the crowd - God, how I hate him. You can imagine how please I was when, years later, I heard he was a fag. — Glen Weldon

Oh boy. His chest was smooth and warm and hard as stone, and she
wanted to both touch and nibble.
And lick. Could she pretty please lick? — Jill Shalvis

He ducked down under the wooden slats used to separate the stalls in the barn and crawled into the adjacent stall where he began rubbing the belly of the chestnut mare.
"Lay down, Lady. Please ... it's awful cold tonight. Please lay down."
The mare complied as she always did to the soothing tone in his voice. Drawing the blanket up tightly around him, he lay down beside the horse, moving in close to her side. He was careful to place his frozen feet near enough to her for warmth, but not so near that she'd protest.
"They had a real purty tree, Lady, with candles. Bet it didn't look as purty from the inside, though. Weren't no snow on the inside."
He snuggled in closer to the warm beast. "Merry Christmas, Lady," he whispered.
The mare nickered and moved her head in closer to the boy as he drifted off to sleep, the scent of hay and livestock surrounding them. — Lorraine Heath

A pockmarked boy with a scraggy ponytail and four tiny rings in his right ear leaned against the wall of the armory, holding his dog on a leash, a sign hanging from his neck: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PET MY DOG. IT MAY MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. — Jay McInerney

Sky passed out on the road today," Karen says, changing the subject. "Some adorable man-boy carried her inside." I laugh.
"Guy, Mom. Please just say guy. — Colleen Hoover

My husband doesn't listen because his mother didn't make him listen. What am I going to do, beat him? I mean: firstborn of a southern family? Firstborn boy? Please. I mean, I love him to death, but is he going to take the garbage out? No. — Carol Bartz

Girl, you better stop apologizing to me. I'm just glad you're all right. Now, here is Master Jax's number. You need to call him. He has gone to your house looking for you. I ain't never seen the boy all worked up and worried as he was when you didn't show. Don't you worry about a thing, and call him, please, before he gets the police searching for you. — Abbi Glines

The wounded child inside many males is a boy who, when he first spoke his truths, was silenced by paternal sadism, by a patriarchal world that did not want him to claim his true feelings. The wounded child inside many females is a girl who was taught from early childhood that she must become something other than herself, deny her true feelings, in order to attract and please others. When men and women punish each other for truth telling, we reinforce the notion that lies are better. To be loving we willingly hear the other's truth, and most important, we affirm the value of truth telling. Lies may make people feel better, but they do not help them to know love. — Bell Hooks

It was Eric's voice not Simon's, on the recorded message. "Ladies, ladies " he said. Though it was the millionth time she'd heard the recording, Clary couldn't help rolling her eyes. "If you've reached this message that means our boy Simon is out partying. But please don't fight among yourselves. There's always enough Simon to go around." There was a muffled yell, some laughter, and then the long sound of the beep. — Cassandra Clare

Father, so often I feel like the boy's father who first exclaimed, "I do believe!" then in a flood of sincerity cried out, "Help me overcome my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24) Please help me to overcome my own unbelief, Lord, so I can start taking You at Your Word. — Beth Moore

I don't want you to describe to me - not ever - what you were doing to that poor boy to make him sound like that; but if you ever do it again, please cover his mouth with your hand. — John Irving

The Talmud, the compilation of discussions of Jewish Law which I have quoted earlier in this book, gives examples of bad prayers, improper prayers, which one should not utter. If a woman is pregnant, neither she nor her husband should pray, "May God grant that this child be a boy" (nor, for that matter, may they pray that it be a girl). The sex of the child is determined at conception, and God cannot be invoked to change it. Again, if a man sees a fire engine racing toward his neighborhood, he should not pray, "Please God, don't let the fire be in my house." Not only is it mean-spirited to pray that someone else's house burn instead of yours, but it is futile. A certain house is already on fire; the most sincere or articulate of prayers will not affect the question of which house it is. — Harold S. Kushner

Oh, I think my new slave is a wanton little slut. Aren't you?"
"No, I'm a good boy," he moaned as he pushed his ass back on my hand. "I'm not a whore!"
"You're my whore," I growled and fucked him with my fingers as I picked up the flogger someone had left on the table. I started spanking him hard with it. "Does my boy want to come?"
"Yes," he hissed and jumped when I slapped him with the toy again. "Please, master? I'll do anything you want."
"You'll do it whether I let you come or not!" I pulled my fingers free and walked over to the wall of toys. I grabbed a large butt plug and quickly pushed it into his ass. Then, before he could even get used to the size of it, I slapped the flogger against it. "Admit you're a dirty slut."
"No! I'm a good boy," Shely cried out again. "Please don't breach my ass! I've never been with a man before. — Joyee Flynn

You're all Helen talks about. She's been reading Welsh history books and plaguing the family with accounts of Owain Glynd and something called the Eistedfodd." His eyes sparkled with friendly mockery. "Helen was hacking and spitting so much the other day that we thought she was coming down with a cold, until we realized she was practicing the Welsh alphabet."
Ordinarily Rhys would have made some sarcastic retort, but he'd barely noticed the gibe. His chest had gone tight with pleasure.
"She doesn't have to do that," he muttered.
"Helen wants to please you," Devon said. "It's her nature. Which leads to something I want to make clear: Helen is like a younger sister to me. And although I'm obviously the last man alive who should lecture anyone about propriety, I expect you to behave like an altar boy with her for the next few days."
Rhys gave him a surly glance. "I *was* an altar boy, and I can tell you that reports of their virtue are highly exaggerated. — Lisa Kleypas

A psychologist once told me that for a boy being in the middle of a conflict between two women is the worst possible situation. There's always a desire to please each one. — Hillary Clinton

The way I figure it ... every red-blooded boy wants to make out with some hot heroine from the comic books. So, you could, you know, fulfill that dream for me. Please. — Linda Robertson

Wrong again. I'll tell you, shall I?" The djinni fixed him with its black-eyed stare. "You knocked yourself out, like the idiot you are. The golem was approaching, doubtless planning to take the Staff and crush your head like a melon. It was foiled - "
"By your prompt action?" Nathaniel said. "If so, I'm grateful, Bartimaeus."
"Me? Save you? Please - someone I know might be listening. No. My magic is canceled out by the golem's, remember? I sat back to watch the show. In fact ... it was the girl and her friend. They saved you. Wait - don't mock! I do not lie. The boy distracted it while the girl climbed on the golem's back, tore the manuscript from its mouth, and threw it to the ground. Even as she did so, the golem seized her and the boy - incinerated them in seconds. Then its life force ebbed and it finally froze, inches from your sorry neck. — Jonathan Stroud

Please, I'm a transgender former boy-bander. You think I don't know how to defend myself? — Libba Bray

Please. The boy gets a boner every time you walk into the room.
My eyes pop back open. Does she mean that figuratively or has she actually seen something? No. Focus, Anna. — Stephanie Perkins

Yes and no. I thought maybe there could be something more, but I couldn't deny that I still wanted you in the dirtiest ways." He ran his thumb along the seam of my jeans. "Then I watched you crumble. I never expected you to get that call from the doctor and watching you break made me see a whole other side of you. I want to be your knight in shining armor. To take away the pain. I've never felt like this before and whatever we have, I don't want to lose it. I don't care if it's just starting and may be the most fucked up thing. I just want to give it a try. So please call me? — Magan Vernon

Ida, dear, please, do I complain? It is right a child should not love the mama the way the mama loves the child; children are ashamed of the love a mama has for them: that is part of it. But when a boy grows into a man it is right his time should be for other ladies. — Truman Capote

Where to?" said the bear.
The boy wobbled back to the rear seat, concentrating as the hull rolled and bounced beneath him. He half sat and half fell onto the hard wooden bench, bashing his wrist painfully against the edge as he landed.
"Ow!" he said. "Just over to the other side, please." He waved his unbashed hand vaguely out across the water without looking up.
"Right you are," said the bear. — Dave Shelton

Dear Mom and Dad,
I know you're only trying to do what's best for me, but I don't think anyone knows for sure what's best. I love you and don't want to be a problem, so I've decided to go away. I know you'll say I'm not a problem, but I know I am. If you want to know why I'm doing this, you should ask Dr. Luce, who is a big liar! I am not a girl. I'm a boy. That's what I found out today. So I'm going where no one knows me. Everyone in Grosse Pointe will talk when they find out.
Sorry I took your money, Dad, but I promise to pay you back someday, with interest.
Please don't worry about me. I will be ALL RIGHT!
Despite it's contents, I signed this declaration to my parents: "Callie."
It was the last time I was ever their daughter. — Jeffrey Eugenides

We want things we cannot have. We seek to reclaim a certain moment, sound, sensation. I want to hear my mother's voice. I want to see my children as children. Hands small, feet swift. Everything changes. Boy grown, father dead, daughter taller than me, weeping from a bad dream. Please stay forever, I say to the things I know. Don't go. Don't grow. — Patti Smith

He might have run off then, and thus avoided a great many adventures to come, but the girl cried, "Wait!" and he turned to face her. "Please," she implored from the window. "Don't go. Come with us. I promise you won't regret it."
For a moment, Peter stood in the road indecisively, staring into the girl's eyes as if trying to penetrate a great mystery. — Christopher Daniel Mechling

When I was a boy, I choked on a piece of candy outside the kitchen window for a few minutes while watching my parents making dinner. I thought I was going to die, but I didn't want to scare them. Our existence was so separate, a dying and a doing well, an outside and an inside. Trey Moody's poems hover in that cold, wet, refrigerator-lit place between the dying and the doing well, the outside and the inside. His poems are the thoughts of the person you love who is always standing behind you, slowly and silently suffocating. But they're not afraid to say hello, and please, and I'm scared. — Zachary Schomburg

Be selfish, be unreasonable, and don't worry about it. We're girls, so we are allowed. Being a girl is a privilege, and we should take full advantage of that fact. We have the right and the duty to act as we please. But a boy who makes a girl cry is worthless and he brings shame into the romance and makes it untrue. — CLAMP

My dear boy, " Miss Frost said sharply. "My dear boy, please don't put a label on me - don't make a category before you get to know me! — John Irving

Bedroom. "And, please, stay away from Venable, Jock. Don't let him talk you into doing anything like this again." He didn't answer, and she glanced back over her shoulder. He smiled, that beautiful, gentle smile that had first drawn her to him when he was a boy scarcely out of his teens. "Things aren't good for you, Jane. I have to make them better." She shook her head helplessly. In his way, he was an implacable force on the same scale as MacDuff. "Good night." She closed the bedroom door — Iris Johansen

The story we hear over and over again is: Boy in science class, very nice to the girl, says, "Please come to our party on Saturday night." She, of course, shows up. He hands her two, three, four, five drinks. She becomes so inebriated he says, "You can sleep it off in my room. It'll be safe." Or, "I'll walk you home." It's all premeditated with the intention of having sex with that woman without her consent when she's passed out. It's a huge issue. — Kirsten Gillibrand

[Speculating thoughts after an interview with A. A. Milne] The main point was that Mr. Milne took his writing very seriously, "even though I was taking it into the nursery," as he put it. There was no question of tossing off something that was good enough for the kiddies. He was writing first to please and satisfy himself. After that he wanted to please his wife. He depended utterly upon doing this. Without her encouragement, her delight and her laughter he couldn't have gone on. With it who cared what the critics wrote or how few copies Methuens sold? Then he hoped to please his boy. This came third, not first, as so many people supposed. — Christopher Milne

A man after God's own heart is ...
a man who yearns to please God,
a man who desires to grow spiritually,
a man who had a heart that obeys. — Jim George

The sand where he sat was warm to the touch but the night beyond the fire was sharp with the cold. He got up and dragged fresh wood in under the bridge. He stood listening. The boy didnt stir. He sat beside him and stroked his pale and tangled hair. Golden chalice, good to house a god. Please dont tell me how the story ends. — Cormac McCarthy

But I cannot flash fire from my eyes unless I am very angry."
"Can't you get angry 'bout something, please?" asked Ojo.
"I'll try. You just say 'Krizzle-Kroo' to me."
"Will that make you angry?" inquired the boy.
"Terribly angry."
"What does it mean?" asked Scraps.
"I don't know; that's what makes me so angry," replied the Woozy. — L. Frank Baum

He can talk!"
"Yes, I can speak any language you want, fly, and breath fire." Air Raid said proudly.
"Can you do anything else?" the boy asked.
Air Raid thought for a moment then said, "I can sing."
"No, he can't. And please don't ask him to prove it," Ally quickly said looking at the fawn haired girl pleadingly.
"I'll believe you this time," the fawn hair girl said. After being proven wrong several times already she didn't want to take any more chances. — Jennifer Priester

I didn't want to be different. I longed to be everything grownups wanted, so they would love me. I followed all their rules, tried my best to please. But there was something about me that made them knit their eyebrows and frown. No one ever offered a name for what was wrong with me. That's what made me afraid it was really bad. I only came to recognize its melody through this constant refrain: 'Is that a boy or a girl?' — Leslie Feinberg

When the ship suddenly pitched more steeply, the bookworm lost his grip. He came skipping over the toilet seats - his ass made a slapping sound - until he collided with my father at the opposite end of the row of toilets. "Sorry - I just had to keep reading!" he said. Then the ship rolled in the other direction, and the soldier sallied forth, skipping over the seats again. When he'd slid all the way to the last toilet, he either lost control of the book or he let it go, gripping the toilet seat with both hands. The book floated away in the seawater. "What were you reading?" the code-boy called. "Madame Bovary!" the soldier shouted in the storm. "I can tell you what happens," the sergeant said. "Please don't!" the bookworm answered. "I want to read it for myself! — John Irving

Oh God," I said, through my fingers. "I'm. I'm gay."
I had been playing with the idea for a while. But at that moment there was no fucking doubt about it. I wanted Owen. Heck, I would have done anything he asked me to, and said "please" before and "thank you very much" after. Repeatedly. His hard, boy's body was everything I could ever dream of. Done. — Eli Easton

Whenever Ingrid and I got out of the suburbs, into Berkeley or San Francisco, and saw how other people lived, Ingrid would cry at the smallest of things- a little boy walking home by himself, a discarded cardboard sign saying HUNGRY PLEASE HELP. She would snap a picture, and by the time she lowered her camera, tears would already be falling. I always felt kind of guilty that I didn't feel as sad as she did, but now, watching Dylan, I think that's probably a good thing. I mean, you see a million terrible things every day, on the news and in the paper, and in real life. I'm not saying that it's stupid to feel sad, just that it would be impossible to let everything get to you and still get some sleep at night. — Nina LaCour

Sadie, please, come talk to me." "I need to get to work." He reached out for my hand, and I immediately snatched it back and pocketed both of my hands. "Sadie, please." I hated the insecure, little boy I saw in his eyes and the fact it got to me. Dang it. — Abbi Glines

Clutter, a young boy with his whole life before him, tied helplessly in sight of his father's death struggle. Or young Nancy Clutter, hearing the gunshots and knowing her time was next. Nancy, begging for her life: 'Don't. Oh, please don't. Please. Please.' What agony! What unspeakable torture! And there remains the mother, bound and gagged and having to listen as her husband, her beloved children died one by one. Listen until at last the killers, these defendants before you, entered her room, focused a flashlight in her eyes, and let the blast of a shotgun end the existence of an entire household." Pausing, Green gingerly touched a boil on — Truman Capote

What did I think I was doing? What did she think she was doing? When I want to kiss people in that way now, with mouths and tongues and all that, it's because I want other things too: sex, Friday nights at the cinema, company and conversation, fused networks of family and friends, Lemsips brought to me in bed when I am ill, a new pair of ears for my records and CDs, maybe a little boy called Jack and a little girl called Holly or Maisie, I haven't decided yet. But I didn't want any of those things from Alison Ashworth. Not children, because we were children, and not Friday nights at the pictures, because we went Saturday mornings, and not Lemsips, because my mum did that, not even sex, especially not sex, please God not sex, the filthiest and most terrifying invention of the early seventies. — Nick Hornby

I know, sweetie. But I've seen you with him. I've seen how he looks at you. Maybe this is the big one. You won't know unless you try." She touched my face. "I'm happy for you, and I think you've got to go with a little leap of faith here. So far Mr. Blackstone is on my good list. If that should change or if he hurts one smooth hair on your innocent head, then his pretty-boy balls are gonna be transformed into a set of Klik-Klaks. And please tell him I said that. — Raine Miller

God, I was just six years older than you are now. That's terrifying." She raised her shoulder, nudging my head. "Please don't make me a grandmother in six years, okay?"
I scoffed. "Trust me, after the Boy Issues I've had, I'm becoming a nun."
"Well, that's good to know."
We stayed there, dangling our feet over the creek, talking, until the sun was high overhead. By the time we made our way back to the compound, I was feeling a little better. Sure, my life was still intensely screwed up, but at least I had some answers. — Rachel Hawkins

Fuck Tris. I would give body parts to have a guy write something like that for me. My kidney? Oh, both of them? Here, Nick, they're yours - just write more for me. I'll give you a start: boy in punk club asks strange girl to be his girlfriend for five minutes, girl kisses boy, boy kisses back, boy then meets girl - what did you notice about this girl? Nick, let's hear some lyrics. Please? Ready. Set. Go. — Rachel Cohn

Radical Christians are not people who wear Christian t-shirts. Radical Christians are those who bear fruit of the Holy Spirit ... A little boy, Andrew, a Muslim shot him five times through the stomach and left him on a sidewalk simply because he said, 'I am so afraid, but I can not deny Jesus Christ! Please don't kill me! But I will not deny Him!' He died in a pool of blood, and you talk about being a radical Christian because you wear a t-shirt! — Paul Washer

Please. She sighed. 'Can't a girl have high standards? I don't want an ordinary boy. — Sarah Dessen

My father gave me a ruined boy to compensate for the fact that he does not love me.
The boy is fragile, broken - broke himself - broke everything.
I asked him why he did it. He said because the world was unlivable. He said it was unlovable, but I think he meant himself. I think he meant that loneliness is sometimes painful.
I curl against him, tuck my head beneath his chin and listen to his heart. It says stay and wait. It says regret. He knows what it is to want love, a love so fierce you grow roots. I hear his heart say please.
He went looking for angels and found me instead, girl of the sorrows, sad but not sorry. I waited for a sign, a star to fall. He reached for a knife and drew branches. — Brenna Yovanoff

I was gushing and I knew it. I surprised myself with my eagerness to please, felt myself saying too much, explaining too much, overinvolved and overexcited in the way you are when you're a kid and you think you've found a soul mate in the new boy down the street and you feel yourself drawn by the force of the courtship and so act as you don't normally do and a lot more openly than you may even want to. — Philip Roth

Oh, Auntie, please take Jenny to the Dering ball next week!" she said impulsively. "You will come, won't you, sweet?"
Jennifer blushed and stammered.
"To be sure," nodded her ladyship. "Of course she will come! James, sit down! You should know by now the sight of anyone on their feet fatigues me, silly boy! Dear me, child, how like you are to your brother! Are you looking at my wig? Monstrous, isn't it? — Georgette Heyer

So could we please not mob the three-thousand-plus-year-old reaper like tweens at a boy-band concert? — Rachel Vincent

Please do not go to Kmart and buy twenty pairs of jeans because each costs five dollars. The jeans are not running away. They will be there tomorrow at an even more reduced price. You are now in America: do not expect to have hot food for lunch. That African taste must be abolished. When you visit the home of an American with some money, they will offer to show you their house. Forget that in your house back home, your father would throw a fit if anyone came close to his bedroom. We all know that the living room was where it stopped and, if absolutely necessary, then the toilet. But please smile and follow the American and see the house and make sure you say you like everything. And do not be shocked by the indiscriminate touching of American couples. Standing in line at the cafeteria, the girl will touch the boy's arm and the boy will put his arm around her shoulder and they will rub shoulders and back and rub rub rub, but please do not imitate this behavior. — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Oh no! Akri-Nicky! You okay? The Simi didn't know it was her favorite blue-eyed demon boy when she hit him so hard so as to protect his precious akra-mama. Oh no! You still living and breathing and not broken? 'Cause if you not, can the Simi eat your dead, meaty remains? Please, please, please? Maybe some of them bones, too, 'cause the marrow can be quite tasty in its own right. Simi. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

It's a Belgian beer, sweetie. Please tell me you've at least heard of it. (Blaine)
Boy, I was born in Brussels and the last time I checked, this was my new homeland, America, not my birthplace. So you can either order an American-made beer or I'll bring you water and you can sit there and act all superior until you puke, okay? (Aimee) — Sherrilyn Kenyon

However much I might please Henry, he was still her boy - her lovely indulged spoilt golden boy. He might summon me or any other girl to his room, without disturbing the constant steady affection between them which had sprung from her ability, long ago, to love this man who was more foolish, more selfish, and less of a prince than she was a princess. — Philippa Gregory

Then he squeezed me with his arms and dipped his face close.

"Give me that mouth again, babe, then get outta here."

"Is the word 'please' in your vocabulary?"

"No, but you throw more attitude at me before givin' me your mouth, tonight, that word is gonna be in your vocabulary and I'm gonna make you use it often."

Oh boy. — Kristen Ashley

Ed Friedman: [talking about Patti Smith] One time she told me, "Allen Ginsberg thought I was a cute boy and he tried to pick me up, so I said, "LOOK AT THE TITS, ALLEN! NOTICE THE TITS! — Legs McNeil

Dear Mr Lipwig,
I feel that you are a dear, sweet man who will look after my little Mr Fusspot. Please be kind to him. He has been my only friend in difficult times. Money is such a crude thing in these circumstances, but the sum of $20,000 annually will be paid to you (in arrears) for performing this duty, which I beg you to accept.
If you do not, or if he dies of unnatural causes, your arse will belong to the Guild of Assassins. $100,000 is lodged with Lord Downey, and his young gentlemen will hunt you down and gut you like the weasel you are, Smart Boy!
May the gods bless you for your kindness to a widow in distress. — Terry Pratchett

Oh, please could you spare us a little water?" "Certainly," replied the old gentleman; "take as much as you want, and leave the rest." "Thank you so much," murmured George, looking about him. "Where - where do you keep it?" "It's always in the same place my boy," was the stolid reply: "just behind you. — Jerome K. Jerome

I pushed his hair away from his eyes and took a closer look at his cheek. Maybe there really had been a boy in the street, but I also wouldn't put it past Cole to make one appear,if he had that power.
Jack's eyes opened fully,and he looked at me with half a grin. "You remember the first time I told you I loved you?" His words slurred together.
"Shhhhh.Don't talk.The paramedics are on their way."
"Do you?"
I touched his cheek and he winced. I could almost taste his pain,as if it were a tangible element in the air.I could feel my body hungering for the hurt.It was the first time since I'd Returned that I craved someone else's energy.Even at my lowest point,those last moments in the Everneath,I'd never felt a need for it.Until now.Until I was faced with emotions this strong.
He tilted his head toward me,and I jerked back. The taste in the air became bitter and sweet,a mixture of pain and longing.
"Tell me you remember," he said. "Please. — Brodi Ashton

At twenty-one, Richard Wright was not the world-famous author he would eventually be. But poor and black, he decided he would read and no one could stop him. Did he storm the library and make a scene? No, not in the Jim Crow South he didn't. Instead, he forged a note that said, "Dear Madam: Will you please let this nigger boy have some books by HL Mencken?" (because no one would write that about themselves, right?), and checked them out with a stolen library card, pretending they were for someone else. With the stakes this high, you better be willing to bend the rules or do something desperate or crazy. To thumb your nose at the authorities and say: What? This is not a bridge. I don't know what you're talking about. Or, in some cases, giving the middle finger to the people trying to hold you down and blowing right through their evil, disgusting rules. Pragmatism is not so much realism as flexibility. — Ryan Holiday

touched her shoulder, she flinched. "I need to do this, Vicky. It's the right thing to do. I need to do everything I can to make sure my boy has his mum." Still no reply. "Please?" "What if you're not back?" "I'll be back." "I'm not so sure about that." "Trust me, Vicky, I'll be back. I promise." The same darkness sat on her features, but something had changed. — Michael Robertson

Why don't people's hearts tell them to continue following their dreams?" the boy asked the alchemist.
"Because that's what makes a heart suffer most, and hearts don't like to suffer."
From then on, the boy understood his heart. He asked it, please, never to stop speaking to him. He asked that, when he wandered far from his dreams, his heart press him and sound the alarm. The boy swore that, every time he heard the alarm, he would heed its message. — Paulo Coelho

Please allow me the honour of allowing you to bestow upon me a blowjob. — Daniel Clowes

Don't go for the ones that know your worth even when you don't.
Even when you call them to pick you up because some fuck boy left you with only a few hickeys and no ride home.
Please don't pay attention to the boys who take your self hate and say 'you really don't see yourself the way others see you, do you?'
Oh god.
just don't fall in love with them.
Please, just don't.
Because it's the ones that kiss your eyelids and stretch marks that fuck you over.
It;s the ones that tell you the truth that bring you to your knees.
It's the good ones that leave you curled up in a ball for months begging for the bleeding in your gut to stop.
And it's all because they're the unforgettable ones.
The boys who leave so many marks of love on you that no one can compare.
God knows they're it.

Fuck.
You were it. — Unknown

The freckle-faced corporal from Iowa grinned. "Geez, Major, whatever you gave that German broad last night sure got her talking. Was it some new Russian drug? Something from HQ?"

"That's my affair." Major Rosemary Wilson ignored the grinning boy and lit a cigarette, blowing out smoke as she gazed through the one way mirror. The German girl, Waller, looked pale and lost under the interrogation lights, but she was still exceptionally pretty. No doubt last night had been her first time with a woman. Still, Greta had been an enthusiastic learner, responsive and eager to please. The Major had every intention of continuing the girl's education -- once Werewolf and his Nazi pack were back behind bars. — Joseph Heywood

The door stayed closed and Shane heartlessly
bawled that I was to do as bidden and go to bed in the single room. I
stepped up my campaign. Dropping to my knees I rested my forehead
against the door beseeching and wailing: "please, please don't make me
sleep alone, Daddy, don't make me go back in there. There's things
under the bed, evil things with fangs and a taste for boy blood. Daddy
please, I'm frightened. They're coming, let me in! They're coming for
me! DADDY, save me!"
I fell flat on my face as the door was suddenly flung open,
fortunately the men folk were laughing too much to do anything other
than call me a tiresome brat and put me under tickle torture. — Gillibran Brown

Who is he?"
"Rupert St. John."
"Isn't he-oh,my,that handsome boy of Julie's? Well, that explains a bit, I suppose. He always did dazzle you whenever you saw him,didn't he?"
"Yes,until I got to know him," Rebecca replied, then wished she'd kept that grumble to herself.
Up went Lilly's brow. "Something else is wrong aside from the fact that you had to get married?"
"I suppose that the bride and groom hate each other could be considered a little something else," Flora said.
This time Lilly sat down.She started to say something, but changed her mind. She opened her mouth to start again, but again snapped it shut. Finally she burst out, "This sort of thing was never supposed to happen to you!" Then after giving herself a brief shake, she said, "Very well, as briefly as you can, please,so I can get beyond this sudden urge to go find a pistol. — Johanna Lindsey

The other night I took Jims with me for a walk down to the store. It was the first time he had ever been out so late at night, and when he saw the stars he exclaimed, 'Oh, Willa, see the big moon and all the little moons!' And last Wednesday morning, when he woke up, my little alarm clock had stopped because I had forgotten to wind it up. Jims bounded out of his crib and ran across to me, his face quite aghast above his little blue flannel pyjamas. 'The clock is dead,' he gasped, 'oh Willa, the clock is dead.' "One night he was quite angry with both Susan and me because we would not give him something he wanted very much. When he said his prayers he plumped down wrathfully, and when he came to the petition 'Make me a good boy' he tacked on emphatically, 'and please make Willa and Susan good, 'cause they're not.' "I — L.M. Montgomery

My friends call me Wrath," says Raffe. "My enemies call me Please Have Mercy. What's your name, soldier boy? — Susan Ee

You still love him."
"I love the boy he was. I could love the man, too. I don't know, and that's why I have to find out."
"Oh, Aimee," she said sadly, pulling me into a tight hug. "Please be careful."
"Too late," I whispered. — Jane Harvey-Berrick

Are you planning on asking my daughter's permission to ravish me as I deserve? If so, please take heed when she informs you that I am lonely and need a woman in my life. She's been nagging me for the last five years to find one."
"In your dreams, bat boy. — Katie MacAlister

Okay, you're right; she's so hot I could walk on three legs every time I see her."
"Now you're talkin'."
"I'll break your back and chop off your legs if you call her."
"That's my boy! — Linda Howard

I'll be a good boy, please make me well. I promise you anything, get me out of this hell. Cold turkey has got me on the run. — John Lennon

Your mother brought a strange man to this house once, Katarina. I had hoped it might be a few years before history repeated itself."
Kat rolled her eyes at the mention of her father. "Uncle Eddie, I brought Hale home ages ago," she reminded him; but her uncle just shook his head.
"I've known my great-niece's friend. A boyfriend, on the other hand ... that is a most different matter."
"Yes, sir," Hale said. He stood up a little straighter, spoke a little louder.
"You have a powerful family, boy."
"Yes, sir," Hale said. "Please don't hold them against me."
Then Eddie gave a wry smile. "Who says I was talking about them? — Ally Carter

The little boy leaned against his father's chest and slowly nodded. "Yes," he said. "I heard all of the
names, but I don't remember the other two ... just the man who hurt Gillian."
"That's the name I most want," Brodick said softly. "Who is he, Alec?"
"Alec, please," Gillian began.
"Tell me, Alec. Who is he?"
"Baron," Alec whispered. "His name is Baron. — Julie Garwood

I saw him glance briefly round the chamber as though to make sure he had not overlooked anything that might appertain to my comfort. He went across to close the wooden shutters at the window and, when he returned to set a glass of water on the table beside the bed, I reached up on impulse to squeeze his cold hand. "You're a good boy, Erik," I said fondly, "I'd like to think you won't ever let anyone persuade you otherwise." He held on to my fingers for a moment, enclosing them between his palms and I became aware that he had started to tremble. My God ... the boy was crying ... crying because I had spoken kindly and touched him with affection!
"Erik ... " I whispered helplessly.
"I'm sorry!" he stammered, dropping my hand and stepping back from the bed hastily, "I'm very sorry! Please forgive me!"
And before I could say a word to stop him he fled from the room. — Susan Kay

I'm leaving." Her cold lips barely moved as she mouthed the words.
Horror fisted around his vitals. "No."
For the first time she met his eyes. Hers were red-rimmed but dry. "I have to leave,
Simon."
"No." He was a little boy denied a sweet. He felt like falling down and screaming.
"Let me go."
"I can't let you go." He half laughed here in the too-bright, cold London sun before his own
house. "I'll die if I do."
She closed her eyes. "No, you won't. I can't stay and watch you tear yourself apart."
"Lucy."
"Let me go, Simon. Please." She opened her eyes, and he saw infinite pain in her gaze.
Had he done this to his angel? Oh, God. He unclasped his hands. — Elizabeth Hoyt

He would cry out, stretch his back in an arch, and his eyes would roll back in his head, and I was terrified that I would lose him before reaching the hospital. I kept crying out to God to save my boy. "Please, Lord! Please, Lord! Don't let him die! — Helen Goldie

Bumblebee," he said as the kitchen went dark. "I want you to thank your friend next time you see him."
"My friend?"
"Yeah. The boy who was with you last night. What's his name?"
"Wesley," I muttered.
"Right," Dad said. "Well, I deserved it. He was brave to do what he did. I don't know what's going on between you two, but I'm glad you have a friend who's willing to stand up for you. So please tell him I said thanks. — Kody Keplinger

Then, before leaving, she handed the president a note from one of her young sons. The boy asked the president if he would be so kind, while he was staying there, as to please remember to feed his goldfish. When the president read that, he assured the Aga Khan and his wife, "Absolutely." He said he would be honored to do it and promised that he would do it himself. So one of the first things he did the next morning was feed the goldfish. And he did it every morning that they were there. — Joseph Petro

Sometimes the teachers would ask her to translate bad news. "Please tell Mrs. Fondulas that her son is very disruptive." And my mom would nod and say in Greek, "George is a lovely boy." Because she knew if she really translated that, the kid would get a beating and the mother would hate her forever out of embarrassment. — Tina Fey