He Left Me Behind Quotes & Sayings

It was a relationship born out of loneliness between two people who couldn't be more different. We took from each other what we needed. We left nothing behind for anyone else. He drank me dry. I ate him whole. We were dysfunctional. We were dangerous to each other. — A Meredith Walters

I had less control over my thoughts than I'd have liked. The little ring hung around my neck, under my gown, where nobody could see it. When I was alone, I took it out sometimes, wondering how he had judged the size, with nothing but my swollen, knotted fingers to go by. Wondering if my hands would ever be as they once were, small, white, and fine. By the time that happened, if it ever did, I would be long gone from here. I would have left behind both husband and wedding ring. It mattered little whether the size were right or no. Yet, when I thought this, I found my hand closing around the ring as if I did not want to let it go. It's mine, something inside me would say. — Juliet Marillier

Jazz shook his head. "No. The fingers. Your average murderer doesn't mutilate a body like that. And he especially doesn't take trophies. But it's more than that. It's that he left one behind. He left the middle one behind." "Are you serious?" "Yeah. He literally gave the cops the finger. He's saying, 'Come and get me. Catch me if you can.' That's a serial killer." For — Barry Lyga

Before I entered the service, all I did was take orders. Next thing I knew, I was giving them.
Peacetime was one thing. Got a lot of wise guy recruits. But then the war started and the new men flooded in- young men, like you- and they were all saluting me, wanting me to tell them what to do. I could see the fear in their eyes. They acted as if I knew something about war that was classified. They thought I could keep them alive. You did too, didn't you?'
Eddie had to admit he did.
The Captain reached back and rubbed his neck. 'I couldn't, of course. I took my orders, too. But if I couldn't keep you alive, I thought I could at least keep you together. In the middle of a big war, you go looking for a small idea to believe in. When you find one, you hold it the way a soldier holds his crucifix when he's praying in a foxhole.
For me, that little idea was what I told you guys every day. No one gets left behind. — Mitch Albom

He looked at the mud. "If I pull you free, will you promise to bed me for my pains?"

"Here's what I'll promise, Logan MacKenzie. If you don't get me free, I will come back from the grave and haunt you. Relentlessly."

"For a timid English bluestocking, you can be quite fierce when you choose to be. I rather like it."

She hugged herself to keep her hands out of the creeping mud. "Logan, please. I be you, stop teasing and get me out of this. I'm cold. And I'm frightened."

"Look at me."
She looked at him.
His gaze held hers, blue and unwavering.

All teasing went out his voice. "I'm not leaving. Ten years in the British Army, and I've never left a man behind. I'm not leaving you. I'll have you out of this. Understand? — Tessa Dare

He pulls the door shut behind him and drags me against him, murmuring softly, "I understand why you left. I understand everything." I cling to him, holding on for what feels like dear life. "I should have told you." "You would have." He pulls back to look at me. "When you were ready. We all have to deal with our inner demons in our own way, in our own time. — Lisa Renee Jones

What happens to a marriage? A persistent failure of kindness, triggered at first, at least in my case, by the inequities of raising children, the sacrifices that take a woman by surprise and that she expects to be matched by her mate but that biology ensures cannot be. Anything could set me off. Any innocuous habit or slight or oversight. The way your father left the lights of the house blazing, day and night. The way he could become so distracted at work that sometimes when I called, he'd put me on hold and forget me, only remembering again when I'd hung up and called back. The way he wore his pain so privately, whistling around the house after we'd had a spat, pretending nonchalance, protecting you and your sisters from discord, hiding behind his good nature, inadvertently — Jan Ellison

You didn't call me last night."
"Was I supposed to?"
He looked down. "Just figured now that you had my number ... Kept my phone on all night, just in case." He laughed. "I started to worry that it didn't work. Actually went out to a pay phone to test it."
"You could have called me. That way you left me after lunch on Saturday, I figured ... " I ended there and shrugged, not wanting to be mad at him or get into any kind of argument. "Anyway, after auditions I went to the gym with Steph, and I'm so behind in my homework it's not even funny." Of course I'd punched in his number about eighteen times without actually ever calling him. I wasn't sure what I'd say, and worried about how I'd feel if he didn't answer.
"I shouldn't have left like that on Saturday."
"Yeah, well." I waved my hands. "Don't worry about it. I have to finish getting ready. There's cereal and stuff ... just make yourself at home. — Sara Zarr

Well, don't you look lovely," his voice dripped behind me, his breath tickling my ear as his words trickled in my brain.
Turning slowly, I saw him in his usual attire, a white t-shirt and jeans, but he looked incredible. His dark hair appeared darker in the dimmed lighting, his eyes shone with eagerness.
"You're here," I said dumbly. Like he didn't know he was here. I was such an idiot sometimes.
"I am," he said, a sexy smirk showing on one side of his mouth. "Wanna dance?" he asked, his leg shaking nervously, his eyes desperately searching mine for an answer.
I nodded, unable to speak. We'd kised, but only a couple of times. He grabbed me, pulling me to a spot close to where we stood. Warm fingers of one hand circled around my waist, while the others held my had. He pulled me close, every inch of our bodies touching. His eyes never left mine as we swayed and spun. I was lost in all that was Cade Kelling. — Felicia Tatum

I don't know if I can ever live up to the legacy that he left behind. I don't know if I want to. But Liz, he died. And you're still alive. And there is so much left of your life to live. I want to live it with you. I want to be a part of everything that remains for you, good and bad. I want to be there for your kids, for your stressful days, for your amazing days, for all of your nights and for every moment in between. We tried the time apart, but we are better together. Both of us. Yes, Grady was your great love, but you are mine. And if you would let me, I would be yours too. There isn't a limit on how much we can love, Liz. You had Grady. Now have me. — Rachel Higginson

When I left you," he whispered, "you were already more beautiful than anything I
dared to dream. In our years apart, my imaginings did their best to improve on your perfection. At night,
your face was forever behind my eyes. And now I see that that vision who kept me company in my
loneliness was a hag compared to the beauty now before me. — William Goldman

He reaches out quickly and tucks my hair behind my ear. I freeze at his touch and the feeling his fingers have left across my cheek.

"Sorry, I just wanted to see your face."

I pull back shyly. "And why would you want to do that?"

He sits up and looks me dead in the eye. The air around us suddenly feels warm, making me shiver as the temperature around my skin changes. "Because you're beautiful. — Beckie Stevenson

I had a nervous breakdown at 17 when my first love left me, and he was a typical bad boy, albeit a charismatic one, with a string of broken hearts trailing behind him. — Caroline Leavitt

Vic kept looking at Wilson's wagging jaw and thinking of the multitude of people like him on earth, perhaps half the people on earth were of his type, or potentially his type, and thinking that it was not bad at all to be leaving them. The ugly birds without wings. The mediocre who perpetuated mediocrity, who really fought and died for it. He smiled at Wilson's grim, resentful, the-world-owes-me-a-living face, which was the reflection of the small mind behind it, and Vic cursed it and all it stood for. Silently, and with a smile, and with all that was left of him, he cursed it. — Patricia Highsmith

And then there was Joss. I met him in a dimly lit office, where he regaled me with tales of adventure, swashbuckling, shootings, spaceships, and narrow escapes. Um, where do I sign? He gave me a new identity, a costume, a gun, and a long brown duster for a cape. I remember that meeting so well; it was like a superhero "origin" issue. I remember Joss looking at Polaroid photos of my first costume fitting, holding up the one with the duster and gun saying, "Action figure, anyone?"
Never in my wildest. Like some sort of super-team benefactor, Joss made superheroes out of all of us, complete with a super-hideout spaceship. During filming, we'd all retreat to our dressing room trailers and emerge like Supermen with our alter egos. The boots, the suspenders, gun holstered low on my hip ... with a flick and a spin of that wicked awesome coat over my shoulders, I became someone else. — Nathan Fillion

Look, I've been doing this a long time. If I'm honest with you, then yes. The Families could have done both. The car thing is absolutely their style, like you said."

Luc frowned. "But you don't think they did it."

David shook his head. "No. Because you're alive. The Families wouldn't screw up twice." He left, closing the door behind him.

"If that was supposed to make me feel better," Curtis said, "it needed way more puppies. Or something from the chocolate family. — Nathan Burgoine

God is here, within these walls; before me, behind me, on my right hand, on my left hand. He who fills immensity has come down to me here. I am now about to bow at His feet, and speak to Him. . . . I may pour forth my desires before Him, and not one syllable from my lips shall escape his ear. I may speak to him as I would to the dearest friend I have on earth. — Timothy Keller

Howard thought, Is it not true: A move of the head, a step to the left or right, and we change from wise, decent, loyal people to conceited fools? Light changes, our eyes blink and see the world from the slightest difference of perspective and our place in it has changed infinitely: Sun catches cheap plate flaking
I am a tinker; the moon is an egg glowing in its nest of leafless trees
I am a poet; a brochure for an asylum is on the dresser
I am an epileptic, insane; the house is behind me
I am a fugitive. His despair had not come from the fact that he was a fool; he knew he was a fool. The despair came from the fact that his wife saw him as a fool, as a useless tinker, a copier of bad verses from two-penny religious magazines, an epileptic, and could find no reason to turn her head and see him as something better. — Paul Harding

Kaushik, what about a picture?" my father suggested. I shook my head. I had left my camera, my father's old Yashica, at school. "But you always have it with you." That look of irritated disappointment, the one that had appeared the day my mother died and was missing now that he'd married Chitra, passed briefly across my father's face. "I forgot it," I said. It was true, I did always have the camera with me. Even on quiet weekends when I came home and my father and I saw no one I would bring it, taking it with me on walks. This time I had left it behind, knowing that I would not want to document anything. "I don't understand," my father said. "Neither do I," I replied. "You haven't wanted a picture of anything in years." "That's not true." "It is." We were stating facts and at the same time arguing, an argument whose depths only he and I could fully comprehend. — Jhumpa Lahiri

We were moving off now. From each other. As cannot be. Helped. I didn't want it from that time on. You know. All that. When you said sit with me on the school bus. I said no. That inside world had caught alight and what I wanted. To be left alone. To look at it. To swing the torch into every corner of what he'd we'd done. Know it and wonder what does it mean. I learned to turn it off, the world that was not my own. Stop up my ears and everything. Who are you? You and me were never this. This boy and girl that do not speak. But somehow I've left you behind and you're just looking on. — Eimear McBride

The chair was Claire's, it belonged to my wife. Without a doubt, he could now feel her body heat, left behind on the seat, right through the cloth of his trousers. The thought of it made me furious. — Herman Koch

Sitting on the ground, she looked up at her best friend. "Danke," she said. "Thank you."
Rudy bowed. "My pleasure." He tried for a little more. "No point asking if I get a kiss for that, I guess?"
"For bringing my shoes, which you left behind?"
"Fair enough." He held up his hands and continued speaking as they walked on, and Liesel made a concerted effort to ignore him. She only heard the last part. "Probably wouldn't want to kiss you anyway
not if your breath's anything like your shoes."
"You disgust me," she informed him, and she hoped he couldn't see the escaped beginnings of a smile that had fallen from her mouth. — Markus Zusak

If he ever wanted vengeance on me for all I did, he has it now. This is the worst thing he could do to me. Now I know how it feels to be left behind. As I left him. — Robin Hobb

Let me think!' said Aragorn. 'And now may I make a right choice, and change the evil fate of this unhappy day!' He stood silent for a moment. 'I will follow the Orcs,' he said at last. 'I would have guided Frodo to Mordor and gone with him to the end but if I seek him now in the wilderness, I must abandon the captives to torment and death. My heart speaks clearly at last: the fate of the Bearer is in my hands no longer. The Company has played its part. Yet we that remain cannot forsake our companions while we have strength left. Come! We will go now. Leave all that can be spared behind! We will press on by day and dark! — J.R.R. Tolkien

He: Have you read Tolkien?
Me: No.
He: He's behind a lot of the way young people's minds are working. I can't make head or tail of it.

Chief of R&D for a transworld chemical industry (He) holding forth to R.D Laing (Me) about the infiltration of the 'extreme left wing' into American society [28 January 1973]. — R.D. Laing

We know one another. This is the present. There is no past and no future. Here I am washing my hands, and the cracked mirror shows me to myself, suspended as it were, in time; this is me, this moment will not pass.
And then I open the door and go to the dining-room, where he is sitting waiting for me at a table, and I think how in that moment I have aged, and passed on, how I have advanced one step towards an unknown destiny.
We smile, we choose our lunch, we speak of this and that, but - I say to myself-I am not she who left him five minutes ago. She has stayed behind. I am another woman, older, more mature ... — Daphne Du Maurier

There were some times-when things got bad-that I saw something flash across Rogerson's face, like he couldn't believe what he'd done. Like he'd just woken up and found himself standing over me, fist still clenched, looking down in disbelief at the place on my shoulder/arm/stomach/back/leg where he'd just hit me. I wondered if he was thinking of his father, and the marks he'd left behind. And even as I felt the spot with my own fingers, knowing already what the bruise would look like, I felt sorry for him, like for that one second he was just as scared as I was. It was so strange. Sorry for him. — Sarah Dessen

It was only after they had left the bridge and its gaurdian far behind that Theo realized he had left Tansy's telephone-brooch in the pocket of his jacket. He had no plans to go back for it, of course: as far as Theo was concerned, that piece of two-legged ugliness was welcome to blow out Tansy's long-distance bill or download a ton of troll-porn and charge it to the Daisy commune.
Betray me, huh? Taste the Revenge of Vilmos! — Tad Williams

His feet started in her direction, his body following rather as a dog would its master, with no thought of deviating from the path chosen by her for him
iAm grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "Don't even fucking think about it."
Trez's first impulse was to rip himself free, even if he left his own limb behind in his brother's grip. "I don't know what you're talking about - "
"Do not make me grab your hard-on to prove my point," iAm hissed.
Numbly, Trez looked down at the front of himself. Well. What do you know. "I'm not going to ... " Fuck her came to mind, but God, he couldn't use the f-word around that female, even in the hypothetical. "You know, do anything."
"You actually expect me to believe that."
Trez's eyes flipped over to the doorway she'd disappeared through. Shit. Talk about having no credibility on the subject of abstinence — J.R. Ward

Behind me, somebody cleared his throat. It was one of Annabeth's half-brothers, Malcolm. His face was bright red. "Um, sorry," he said. "Archery practice is starting, Annabeth. Chiron said to come find you." I stepped away from Annabeth. "We were just looking at maps," I said stupidly. Malcolm stared at me. "Okay." "Tell Chiron I'll be right there," Annabeth said, and Malcolm left in a hurry. — Rick Riordan

I couldn't help but think, as I watched him, of the barrels of toxic fluids that had accrued behind Hal's bike shop where the scrub lining the railroad tracks had offered local companies enough cover to dump a stray contaner or two. Everything had been sealed up, but things were beginning to leak out. I had come to both pity and respect Len in the years since my mother left. He followed the physical to try to understand things that were impossible to comphrehend. In that, I could see, he was like me. — Alice Sebold

When I think of antiquity, the detail that frightens me is that those hundreds of millions of slaves on whose backs civilization rested generation after generation have left behind them no record whatever. We do not even know their names. In the whole of Greek and Roman history, how many slaves' names are known to you? I can think of two, or possibly three. One is Spartacus and the other is Epictetus. Also, in the Roman room at the British Museum there is a glass jar with the maker's name inscribed on the bottom, 'FELIX FECIT'. I have a mental picture of poor Felix (a Gaul with red hair and a metal collar round his neck), but in fact he may not have been a slave; so there are only two slaves whose names I definitely know, and probably few people can remember more. The rest have gone down into utter silence. — George Orwell

It seems to me there are things we should have talked about. Like, what happens if you think you've found the love of your life, but you notice, whenever you go into the city together, that he walks ahead of you in the subway station, and doesn't look behind for you until after he's gotten on the subway? And what if you find yourself wishing you did not have to tell him to wait for you? What if being with him starts to mean having to say those things..."Honey, what for me?" And you start to resent him making you do that in order to keep him walking by your side? — Emily Arsenault

As a matter of fact, that's the reason why I've learned to speak this language, and to write it too: so I can speak in the place of a dead man, so I can finish his sentences for him. The murderer got famous, and his story's too well written for me to get any ideas about imitating him. He wrote in his own language. Therefore I'm going to do what was done in this country after Independence: I'm going to take the stones from the old houses the colonists left behind, remove them one by one, and build my own house, my own language. The murderer's words and expressions are my unclaimed goods. Besides, the country's littered with words that don't belong to anyone anymore. — Kamel Daoud

hear him breathing behind me, loud and fast. "Are you all right, Four?"

"Are you human, Tris? Being up this high..." He gulps for air. "It doesn't scare you at all?"

I look over my shoulder at the ground. If I fall now, I will die. But I don't think I will fall. A gust of air presses against my left side, throwing my body weight to the right. I gasp and cling to the rungs, my balance shifting. Four's cold hand clamps around one of my hips, one of his fingers finding a strip of bare skin just under the hem of my T-shirt. He squeezes, steading me and pushing me gently to the left, restoring my balance. Now I can't breathe. I pause, staring at my hands, my mouth dry. I feel the ghost of where his hand was, his fingers long and narrow.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," I say, my voice strained. — Veronica Roth

According to Cecilia, Valdivia's star rose when he met me and began to decline when he left me behind, a frightening theory because I do not want the glory for his successes or the guilt for his failures. Each of us is master of his or her own destiny. — Isabel Allende

Welcome, praetor!" he said. "You need any giants' faces smashed while you're in town, just let me know." "Thanks, Terminus," Percy said. "I'll keep that in mind." "Yes, good. Your praetor's cape is an inch too low on the left. There - that's better. Where is my assistant? Julia!" The little girl ran out from behind the pedestal. She was wearing a green dress tonight, and her hair was still in pigtails. When she smiled, Percy saw that her front teeth were starting to come in. She held up a box full of party hats. Percy tried to decline, but Julia gave him the big adoring eyes. "Ah, sure," he said. "I'll take the blue crown." She offered Hazel a gold pirate hat. "I'm gonna be Percy Jackson when I grow up," she told Hazel solemnly. Hazel smiled and ruffled her hair. "That's a good thing to be, Julia." "Although," Frank said, picking out a hat shaped like a polar bear's head, "Frank Zhang would be good too." "Frank!" Hazel said. — Rick Riordan

Jesus said several times, "Come, follow me." His was a program of "do what I do," rather than "do what I say." His innate brilliance would have permitted him to put on a dazzling display, but that would have left his followers far behind. He walked and worked with those he was to serve. His was not a long-distance leadership. He was not afraid of close friendships; he was not afraid that proximity to him would disappoint his followers. The leaven of true leadership cannot lift others unless we are with and serve those to be led. — Spencer W. Kimball

Oh my God," Mrs. McIntire screamed. She'd dropped to her knees, the dark sand and water soaking into her jeans. "Neely!"
Mr. McIntire held his wife while she screeched her daughter's name over and over. "She's going to be fine, sweetie," he kept saying.
I really wanted to believe him.
"Is she on the other side?" I paced the shore. I couldn't see anything except a piece of driftwood lying at the water's edge. "I don't see her."
Mr. McIntire didn't answer, only pointed across the rolling water.
A log had washed up on the shore. It looked like maybe the water had rubbed all the bark off and left a naked, saturated trunk behind.
"Tell me where she is." Aggravated, I stared until my eyes blurred with stress. "All I see is a damn log."
"Son," Sheriff Mills said from behind me. "That ain't a log. — K.D. Wood

But my attention's elsewhere, drawn to that warm wonderful pull, the familiar loving essence that only belongs to one person - only belongs to him
Watching as Damen cuts through the water, board tucked under his arm, body so sculpted, so bronzed, Rembrandt would weep. Water sluicing behind him like a hot knife through butter, cleanly, fluidly, as though parting the sea.
My lips part, desperate to speak, to call out his name and bring him back to me. But just as I'm about to, my eyes meet his and I see what he sees: me - hair tangled and wet - clothes twisted and clinging - frolicking in the ocean on a hot sunny day with Jude's tanned strong arms still wrapped around me.
I release myself from Jude's grip, but it's too late. Damen's already seen me.
Already moved on.
Leaving me hollow, breathless, as I watch him retreat.
No tulips, no telepathic message, just a sad, empty void left behind in his place. — Alyson Noel

He smiled. "You're into me, I can tell."
"I'm not into you," I said hotly. Hotly, because as soon as the words left my lips, sparklers erupted on top of my head.
Hudson looked at them, and a grin spread across his face. The baby cooed and reached out, trying to grab the flaring light. Hudson moved farther away. "Don't touch. Just look at Mommy's pretty liar hat."
He was enjoying this way too much. "Okay," I said. "Maybe I like you a little."
The sparklers dimmed, but didn't go out.
Hudson raised an eyebrow.
"All right," I said, nervously eyeing the area to make sure no one saw us. "I'm into you."
The sparklers died, but I didn't wait around for more commentary. I headed to the inn. Behind me I heard Hudson still talking to the baby. "Yes, we like Mommy's flaming hairdo, don't we? — Janette Rallison

Aye. He wills that I work his work in this place. Indeed. I am left behind to labor. Right
'And one day he may show his face beneath his damnable clouds to tell me what that work might be; what's worth so many tears; what's so important in his sight that is needs to be done this way ...
'O my sons!'Chauntecleer suddenly wailed at the top of his lungs, a light flaring before it goes out: 'How much I want you with me! — Walter Wangerin Jr.

I was just trying to stay alive, looking for ways to find you, hoping you hadn't left me behind."
"Never," I say. "Not never."
He looks back up at me. "I'd never leave you neither."
"You promise?"
"Cross my heart, hope to die," he says, grinning shyly.
"I promise, too," I say and I smile at him. "I ain't never leaving you, Todd Hewitt, not never again. — Patrick Ness

Mrs Farleigh," he called. She stopped and gave him her shoulder, not quite meeting his eyes. Still wary, and that made him angrier yet. "I want you to trounce me."
Her head snapped up. "Pardon?"
"It is down to you and me. We are battling it out, to see who will be king of the indifferent shots in this competition. Only one of us will prevail.I shall shoot to win." He really was angry, he realized - furious to imagine her spending her autumns deliberately hiding what she could do, hiding the extent of her ability from the man who should treasure it. It was as if she'd left a vast swath of her ability unclaimed, hidden behind a swirl of feminine smiles. He didn't like the idea. He didn't like it at all. — Courtney Milan

Four and I stay behind. I wait until the room is empty and the door is shut before looking at him again. He walks towards me. "Is your-" he begins. "You did that on purpose!" I shout. "Yes, I did," he says quietly. "And you should thank me for helping you." I grit my teeth. "Thank you? You almost stabbed my ear, and you spent the entire time taunting me. Why should I thank you?" "You know, I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!" He glares at me, and even when he glares, his eyes looks thoughtful. Their shade of blue is peculiar, so dark it is almost black, with a small patch of lighter blue on the left iris, right next to the corner of his eye. — Veronica Roth

I made a sudden decision. "and my dog has followed me from town and cought up with us here. I left him with friends, but he must have chewed his rope. here, boy, come to heel."
I'll chew your heel off for you, Nighteyes offerd savagely, but he came, following me out into the cleared yard.
"Damn big dog," Nick observed. He leaned forward. "looks more than half a wolf to me."
"Some in Farrow have told me that. It's a buck breed. We use them for harding sheep."
You will pay for this. I promise you.
In answer I leaned down to pat his shoulder and then scratch his ears. Wag your tail, Nighteyes.
"He's a loyal old dog. I should have known he wouldn't be left behind."
The things i endure for you. He wagged his tail. Once. — Robin Hobb

Any hint as to its meaning?'
'No. I asked Jessamy once, and she said she'd looked in the texts herself and found no mention of them. 'Perhaps they are an enigma left behind by our ancestors to inspire us to search for knowledge,' was what she said to me.' Shifting into the space between Elena's legs, he was patient as she traced the vibrant, living mark with her fingertips. — Nalini Singh

Wait, I need to know who you are," I replied, desperately needing to know him.
"Someone you can trust," he said ominously.
I frowned at that, but he just sighed. He brushed my fallen brown hair softly away from my face and gently tucked it behind my ear, then left a tender kiss on my forehead and broke away from me before I could protest. — Andrea Heltsley

Jacob remained by Mollie's side throughout the night, clinging to her hand as well as to her vow. She wasn't going to leave him. She'd given her word, and Mollie never broke a promise. He prayed. He tended the cuts she'd suffered from the blackberry brambles when she'd fallen. The vines had grown entangled within a cedar's branches, and as best he could tell, she'd climbed the tree in order to reach the ripe berries that other pickers had left behind. Unfortunately, the limb she'd shimmied out on had been weak and had broken beneath her weight. "You know, this tree climbing and dropping through busted church floors is going to have to stop after we're married. My heart won't be able to take the stress." He smiled and ran the back of his finger down the smooth line of her cheek. "Not that I expect any dictate I give you to have much effect. My only hope is that you'll grow to care enough about me that you'll take pity on me and cease taking unnecessary risks with your life. — Karen Witemeyer

Stricken down with consumption in 1819, Keats, after weeks in bed, wrote to Fanny Brawne: "Now I have had opportunities of passing nights anxious and awake, I have found thoughts obtrude upon me.'If I should die,' said I to myself,'I have left no immortal work behind me - nothing to make my friends proud of my memory - but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.'" "If I had had time" - this is the tragedy of all great men. Keats never wrote anything of importance after that; nevertheless, his friends are remembered because of him, and he has left behind him poems as immortal as English, and more perfect than Shakespeare.We — Will Durant

You feel well, Ali? You have a very faraway look on your face, beta,' my dad said. 'Like you have left your heart behind.'

He fixed me with eyes as liquid black as mine and for a moment I felt exposed, like he could see right through me. That irrational childhood thought that he could read my mind maybe.

'What nonsense, his heart is here with his mother and his family. Tell him, Ali,' my mother said.

'Begum, this generation of boys and girls, you know how they are.' My dad never said my mother's name; she was always Begum, the generic term for 'wife'. — Ruth Ahmed

Sound seemed muted, and night darker, scent and taste dulled. It was as if the world had been robbed of its brightness. He had left me behind to dwell alone in a dimmed and stale place. — Robin Hobb

But to the fighting soldier that phase of the war is behind. It was left behind after his first battle. His blood is up. He is fighting for his life, and killing now for him is as much a profession as writing is for me. — Ernie Pyle

Russell?"
"Yeah! You got my back now?" Russell asks in a sour tone, looking over the railing from the tower above. "'Cuz one of them freaky demon things almost ate me after y'all left!"
"A Riser nearly ate you?" Reed asks with humor in his tone
"Yeah, whatever - it's not funny!" he calls down, sounding irritated. "Next time, I want Zee for my wingman."
"That is because I am the ultimate assassin," Zephyr replies from behind Reed. — Amy A. Bartol

The intruder took a step forward, and Moody's voice asked, "Severus Snape?" Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its dead hand.
"It was not I who killed you, Albus," said a quiet voice.
The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make out the newcomer through the dense gray cloud it left behind.
Harry pointed his wand into the middle of it.
"Don't move!"
He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, "Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my house--"
Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry, wants pointing, like his, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below.
"Hold your fire, it's me, Remus!"
"Oh, thank goodness," said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. — J.K. Rowling

Gansey couldn't immediately find his voice, and when he did, he said, "I thought you were staying behind."

"Yeah, me too," Henry said. "Then I thought, I can't let Gansey Three wander around in the mysterious pit alone. We have such few old treasures left; it would be so careless to let them get destroyed. Plus, someone had to bring the rest of your court. — Maggie Stiefvater

Roth grinned then. Anyway, back to me. I'm all better and I am back. He slid me a sly look that made me want to punch him instead of cry into my pillow like a baby. I'm sure I was missed. He took a big bite of the hamburger and grinned around the mouthful. A lot.
I didn't know what happened that switched my emotions so fast. The hurt his rejection had left behind exploded into rage- like the head-spinning, spraying-green-vomit kind of rage. My brain kicked off. I wasn't thinking as I reached over and plucked the hamburger right out of his hand.
Twisting at the waist, I threw the hamburger on the floor behind Roth as hard as I could. The satisfactory splat it made as ketchup and mayo splattered like a gruesome burger massacre brought a wide smile to my face. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

The Song of the Defeated
My master has bid me while I stand at the roadside,
to sing the song of Defeat,
for that is the bride whom He woos in secret.
She has put on the dark veil,
hiding her face from the crowd,
but the jewel glows on her breast in the dark.
She is forsaken of the day,
and God's night is waiting for her with its lamps lighted and flowers wet with dew.
She is silent with her eyes downcast;
she has left her home behind her,
from her home has come that wailing in the wind.
But the stars are singing the love-song of the eternal to a face sweet with shame and suffering.
The door has been opened in the lonely chamber,
the call has sounded,
and the heart of the darkness throbs with awe
because of the coming tryst. — Rabindranath Tagore

Keep up," said an irritable voice in her ear. It was Jace, who had dropped back to walk beside her. "I don't want to have to keep looking behind me to make sure nothing's happened to you."
"So don't bother."
"Last time I left you alone, a demon attacked you," he pointed out.
"Well, I'd certainly hate to interrupt your pleasant night stroll with my sudden death."
He blinked. "There is a fine line between sarcasm and outright hostility, and you seem to have crossed it. — Cassandra Clare

It was during that time he made me realize the scariest part about death, about being left behind - nothing else freezes after losing a loved one besides you. — Jennifer Snyder

Oh ... my ... god,"Drew whimpered."Who ... "
Anubis ignored her (bless him for that) and held out his elbow for me - a sweet old-fashioned gesture.
" May I have this dance?"
"I suppose," I said,as non committally as I could. I looped my arm through his, and we left the Plastic Bags behind us, all of them muttering,"Oh my god! Oh my god!"
No ,actually, I wanted to say. He's my amazingly hot boy god. Find your own. — Rick Riordan

Some say I loved her to the point of madness, bordering on obsession. She said I put her on a pedestal that her real self couldn't attain. Perhaps they're all right. Perhaps I am mad. And if that's the case, to be frank, I don't give a damn. What I know is that she sets me on fire, and if you were to perform an intradermal test on me, you'd know when she was in it because you'd see the trails of blaze she left behind. Because that's what I feel at the mere thought of her, and I'd rather live my life in flames than be numb without her." He paused, and I let out a breath, but then he said one last thing. "Come back to me, my little Road Runner, my world is cold and boring without you. — Claire Contreras

Well
to put it briefly
Arianna and I had become
well
friends."
"I see."
"Nothing improper, you understand," Lelldorin said quickly. "But our friendship was such that
well
we didn't want to be separated." The young Asturian's face appealed to his friend for understanding. "Actually," he went on, "it was a little more than 'didn't want to.' Arianna told me she'd die if I left her behind."
"Possibly she was exaggerating," Garion suggested.
"How could I risk it, though?" Lelldorin protested. "Women are much more delicate than we are
besides, Arianna's a physician. She'd know if she'd die, wouldn't she? — David Eddings

When I left the house of bondage I left everything behind. I wasn't going to keep nothing of Egypt on me, an' so I went to the Lord an' asked him to give me a new name. And he gave me Sojourner because I was to travel up and down the land showing the people their sins and bein' a sign unto them. I told the Lord I wanted two names 'cause everybody else had two, and the Lord gave me Truth, because I was to declare the truth to the people. — Sojourner Truth

Edward was dead. The magnitude of the news reverberated through me, thickening the air. His suffering was over. Yet what had he left behind? An England torn between Catholic and Protestant. — Ella March Chase

Finn had finished his coffee run and was strolling back down the hallway, a mug of his steaming chicory brew in his left hand. He saw Vinnie heading toward him, sighed, and reached around behind his back with his right hand. Finn came up with a gun, which he leveled at Vinnie's head.
The Ice elemental froze in the doorway.
"Why don't you be a good boy, Vinnie, and go sit down," Finn said in a pleasant voice before taking a sip of his coffee. His eyes never left the other man, and his gun never wavered. Finn could be a bad-ass when he had to, just like me. — Jennifer Estep

For the first time in years the tears were streaming down his face. But they were for himself now. He did not care about mouth and eyes and moving hands. He wanted to care, and he could not care. For he had gone away and he could never go back any more. The gates were closed, the sun was gone down, and there was no beauty but the gray beauty of steel that withstands all time. Even the grief he could have borne was left behind in the country of illusion, of youth, of the richness of life, where his winter dreams had flourished.
"Long ago," he said, "long ago, there was something in me, but now that thing is gone. Now that thing is gone, that thing is gone. I cannot cry. I cannot care. That thing will come back no more. — F Scott Fitzgerald

Sir," said the guard from behind me. "I'd appreciate it if you left your club here."
I paused and looked over my shoulder, He had a gun. His hand wasn't exactly resting on it, but he'd tucked his thumb into his belt about half an inch away.
"It isn't a club," I said calmly. "It's a walking stick."
"Six feet long."
"It's traditional Ozark folk art."
"With dents and nicks all over it."
I thought about it for a second. "I'm insecure?"
"Get a blanket. — Jim Butcher

He kissed her again, bringing both hands up behind her head to hold her still, and his hot lips slanted sideways across her open moutb. Her head spun crazily. She was dizzy. She could not breathe in here. She would fall in front of the queen. They would all know what he had done. There was no time left, surely. The castle portcullis would swing up, the door would be opened and His Grace would see them!
He pulled his mouth away and said against her flushed cheek, I have never envied any other man his bed before this long, long week. Now two men will possess you and neither really loves you, Mary Bullen. Think of me when you spread your sweet thighs for them! — Karen Harper

On the night of our secret wedding
when he held me in his mouth like a promise
until his tongue grew tired and fell asleep,
I lay awake to keep the memory alive.
In the morning I begged him back to bed.
Running late, he kissed my ankles and left.
I stayed like a secret in his bed for days
until his mother found me.
I showed her my gold ring,
I stood in front of her naked,
waved my hands in her face.
She sank to the floor and cried.
At his funeral, no one knew my name.
I sat behind his aunts,
they sucked on dates soaked in oil.
The last thing he tasted was me. — Warsan Shire

I know I found his lips and let him caress me without realizing that I, too, was crying and didn't know why. That dawn, and all the ones that followed in the two weeks I spent with Julian, we made love to one another on the floor, never saying a word. Later, sitting in a cafe or strolling through the streets, I would look into his eyes and know, without any need to question him, that he still loved Penelope. I remember that during those days I learned to hate that seventeen-year-old girl (for Penelope was always seventeen to me) whom I had never met and who now haunted my dreams. I invented excuses for cabling Cabestany to prolong my stay. I no longer cared whether I lost my job or the grey existence I had left behind in Barcelona. I have often asked myself whether my life was so empty when I arrived in Paris that I fell into Julian's arms - like Irene Marceau's girls, who, despite themselves, craved for affection. — Carlos Ruiz Zafon

You left me.
Not realizing until I've said my final good-bye and closed the door behind me, that he's not referring to the past.
He's prophesying our future. — Alyson Noel

That's the second time you called me 'honey.' I can't decide if I like it or if
I'm starting to feel objectified," he teased.
She sighed. "I seriously don't think I can walk down an aisle with you."
His voice dipped lower, a slow drawl. "Careful, Sinclair. Those are very heady words to a guy like
me."
She left him standing there, by himself, at the base of the steps.
With a grin, he turned and watched her go. Yep, still cantankerous.
But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the view from behind. — Julie James

A ship doesn't look quite the same from inside, does it? A wise sailor,' Robert said, fanning his arms, 'will one time stand upon the shore and watch his ship sail by, that he shall from then on appreciate not being left behind.' He grinned and added, 'Eh?'

George gave him a little grimace. 'Who's that? Melville? Or C.S. Forrester?'

It's me!' Robert complained. "Can't I be profound now and again?'

Hell, no.'

Why not?'

Because you're still alive. Gotta be dead to be profound.'

You're unchivalrous, George. — Diane Carey

I never did try to make my daddy understand why I left for the army the way I did. I just thought, because he loved me, he should let it go, and if he couldn't, well then he didn't love me like I thought. Young folks get love and understandin' backward, don't they? Love don't come galloping across fresh pastures like a fine white horse with understandin' riding soft and easy on its back. Understandin' plods in like an old plow mule, breaking sod. It shades the earth with its body, and waters it with sweat. Love grows up in the furrow that's left behind. It takes some patience. I was an impatient young man. ~Claude Fisher — Lisa Wingate

All his ghosts, though, were gone. Except the boy. The boy cocked his head at Joe, as if surprised he was coming closer. Joe said, "You're me?" The boy seemed confused by the question. Because he wasn't the boy anymore. He was Vivian Ignatius Brennan. Saint Viv. The Gatekeeper. The Undertaker. "There were just too many mistakes," Saint Viv said kindly. "Too late to go back and fix them all. Too late." Joe didn't even see the gun in his hand until Vivian fired the bullet into his heart. Didn't make much noise, just a soft pop. The impact swept Joe's legs out from under him, and he fell in the street. He put one hand to the cobblestone and tried to stand, but his heels wouldn't grip the stone. Blood left the hole in the center of his chest and spilled onto his lap. His lungs whistled through the hole. The getaway car pulled up behind Vivian and a woman screamed hopelessly from somewhere close by. Tomas, if you're seeing this, for Christ's — Dennis Lehane

This one, I guess," he says. I look over at the counter, he is looking back at me. He is holding a riding crop: "I'd like to try it out." There is a peculiar shift: from one second to the next I have become disoriented, I am on alien territory, in a foreign century. He walks a few steps to where I am half sitting on the desk, one foot on the floor, the other dangling. He pulls my skirt up my left leg, which is resting on the desk, steps back and strikes me across the inner thigh.
The searing pain is an inextricable part of a wave of excitement; every cell in my body is awash with lust.
It is silent in the small, dusty room. The clerks behind the counter have frozen.
He slowly smooths down my skirt and turns to the older man, who is wearing a suit and still looks like an accountant, though a deep flush is spreading upward from his shirt collar.
"This one will do. — Elizabeth McNeill

Celeste walked up, as strong as I'd ever seen her, and whispered something into Maxon's ear.
When she was done, he smiled. "I don't think that will be necessary."
"Good." She left, closing the door behind her, and I stood to take whatever was coming.
"What was that about?" I asked, nodding toward the door.
"Oh, Celeste was making it clear that if I hurt you, she'd make me cry," he said with a smile.
I laughed. "I've been on the receiving end of those nails, so be careful there."
"Yes, ma'am. — Kiera Cass

His expression is inscrutable. His eyes look strange with their pulsing pupils. "You're not like other girls. You're special."
Intoxicating warmth crawls over my cheeks. I'm glad at this confession. Glad that I'm as unique to him as he is to me. Back home, I only ever felt safe, protected, and revered. Even with Cassian, I never felt like he liked me for me, but rather for what I brought the pride.
Every moment with Will, I feel at risk, exposed. Danger hands close, as tangible as the heavy mists I've left behind. And I can't get enough of it. Of him. I crave his nearness still. Like a drug needed to survive, to get by each day. An addiction. A powerful, consuming thing.
"I've tried to deny it," he continues, "but it's there, staring me in the face every time I see you. If you were like other girls . . ." He laughs hoarsely. "If you were like other girls I wouldn't even be here. — Sophie Jordan

He asked me not to kill myself - asked, not told. His wife had done that, he told me, and it was in a sense the ultimate act of selfishness since it left behind untold and endless suffering for those who had witnessed it and been unable to do anything to prevent it. And so I remained alive. — Mary Balogh

If you don't take me with you," she said, "I will follow you to New Orleans, and if you don't believe me, just wait and see. I won't be left behind, Steven." A muscle in his jaw bunched in suppressed anger; Steven knew Emma meant what she said. "All right, then, we'll compromise. We'll be married when we get to Spokane. That'll give you some protection against Macon, but remember this, Emma - if they hang me, don't wait around for the funeral. Macon wasn't bluffing - the minute the life goes out of me, he'll take you to bed, whether you want to go or not." Emma — Linda Lael Miller

Kit opened his eyes.
"Where is she?"
The voice was high and thin and directly by his left ear-also the location of the blade pressed up hard against his jawline.
"Where is she?" the voice demanded again, whispery words nearly spilling over one another in fury. "Tell me, you bastard! I'll kill you!"
Options flitted through his mind: this person was small, this person was young, it smelled like an urchin, the blade felt like a dagger or dirk. He could break its arm or its neck, he could Turn and crush it from behind or more simply rip off its head-and the only thing that kept his body motionless in the bed was the realization that the creature was obviously speaking of Rue.
"Zane," she said then, a single word that broke like a calm dream through the chamber. "Please do not kill the Marquess of Langford."
-Zane, Kit, & Rue — Shana Abe

Fear
My dictionary informs me that the word "fear" comes from the Old English word faer, which is related to the word faerie and means to cast enchantments. Faerie, or fairy, has roots in the word fae or fay, meaning of the Fates, or fate, which in turn is linked to faith, derived from the Latin word meaning to trust ...
He appeared, when I fist sumoned him, tall and stooped, big, hooded, and draped in mists and swathes of gray, from pale to almost black. There was a line between him and me. He walked over the line and stood just behind my left shoulder. He's there now. He stoops and whispers in my ear, "Watch out!" "Don't trust what you're hearing," "Slow down the car down," "Trust the omens!" He is Fear. He warns me of probable danger, and I listen to him because he is always correct.
Fear is your ally! It is your instinct to survive. Worry is a useless thing, it achieves nothing. Resolution is the key to success. — Ly De Angeles

It's only now that he's been corrupted that I can fully appreciate the real Peeta. Even more than I would've if he'd died. The kindness, the steadiness, the warmth that had an unexpected heat behind it. Outside of Prim, my mother and Gale, how many people in the world love me unconditionally? I think in my case, the answer may be none.
Sometimes, when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena. To make myself put a name to the thing I've lost. But what's the use? It's gone. He's gone. Whatever existed between us is gone. All that's left is my promise to kill Snow. I tell myself this ten times a day. — Suzanne Collins

It didn't help that Oscar showed up in my dreams constantly ... I kept telling him to get actual, that he'd died, and he'd say, No no, honey, you got it all wrong. Oh, man, look at my hand. And I'd look at his hand that he held out, and I'd grab it, reaching out in dreamtime, doubting him, and it was there all right, but the touch of it, the tight tough skin exactly like Oscar's, would startle me with terror and love, and I'd wake up by myself in my apartment in the dark like a flashlight you've just switched on, with the traffic moving on the street outside the window and the headlights lighting the ceiling, and this big broken hole in me that Oscar had left behind, by dying. — Charles Baxter

Thoughts of You
There were times when I was with him and it was too much. Does that make sense? When someone stirs a world of emotion in you and it's so intense you can barely stand to be with him.
During those moments, I wanted so desperately to leave - to go home, walk into my bedroom, and shut the door behind me. Crawl into bed and lay there in the dark, tracing the outline of my lips with my fingers - replaying everything he said, everything we did. I wanted to be left alone - with nothing other than my thought of him. — Lang Leav

Coco?" I whispered, standing still, hardly able to believe it. "Oh - Coco?" "It is impossible to imagine," a voice behind seemed to be saying from a great distance away, "how the dog could have reached this spot. For three days he has been immovable in his kennel." I dropped on my knees, and took his paw in my hand. He gave the faintest wag of his tail, and tried to raise his head; but it fell back again, and he could only look at me. For an instant, for the briefest instant, we looked at each other, and while we looked his eyes glazed. "Coco - I've come back. Darling - I'll never leave you any more - - " I don't know why I said these things. I knew he was dead, and that no calls, no lamentations, no love could ever reach him again. Sliding down on to the stone flags beside him, I laid my head on his and wept in an agony of bitter grief. Now indeed I was left alone in the world. Even my dog was gone. — Elizabeth Von Arnim

This is what nibbling your ear sounds like." Blake created a soundtrack for his teeth.
"This is what looking into your eyes sounds like." The notes were deep and beckoning.
"This is what my mind hears when my tongue is in your mouth." The kiss sounded steamy and delicate. The rhythm was her heartbeat as he sampled her mouth.
"But when you smile. When you smile it's ... "
Blake scooted the keyboard around behind her. He needed both hands.
She put her hands on his face and smiled in amazement as the music exploded. She couldn't imagine how her simple facial gesture could inspire such a majestic sound.
He smiled back. "One thousand nine hundred and ten."
"So many? Really?"
"Yes, really. And it's not nearly enough. I want to lose count, Livia. Make me lose count." His hands left the beautiful music and grabbed handfuls of her hair. — Debra Anastasia

Our first kiss, the first touch of our heating lips, the yearning reciprocating from both sides, I was lost in everything. But I had a sudden feeling of eyes staring at our acts and unnecessary muttering. I could feel it even with my closed eyes. So far the sober girl in me resisted and my palms struggled to escape. David realized my condition and he left me be. I could see anger in his eyes for the crowd around but he stayed calm for my sake. My heart purred. 'I am lost now!'
He sat next to me and didn't bother to look at anyone around. Though, we knew many looked upon us and then they turned their faces away. He was horny. I could see his bulge behind his winter suit. I avoided looking and forced myself to gaze into his eyes instead. His pair was fixed on mine, reading mine. I gave a wide smile in an attempt to hide my lust although it was clearly written over my face. — Delicious David

I'm not ashamed of wanting you. And yes, I've missed touching you, and holding you, and I want that again. But that isn't all I've missed about you since you left town." He placed his palms on the sides of her face, bringing her gaze back to his. "I've missed the way you glance around when you think your karma is going to zap you. I miss watching you walk and the way you push your hair behind your ears. I miss the sound of your voice, and that you try to be a vegetarian and can't. I miss that you believe you're a pacifist even as you shock me on the arm. I've missed everything about you, Gabrielle. — Rachel Gibson

She says, "I'll swear by the rose tattooed on my ass, that old man raped me."
Here, the funeral parade stops. At this point, Comrade Snarky is a victim among victims. The rest of us - just her supporting cast.
Mrs. Clark, leading us, she looks back and says, "He what?"
And from behind his camera, Agent Tattletale says, "Me, too. He raped me first."
Saint Gut-Free says, "Well what the hell ... He poked me, too."
As if poor skinny Saint Gut-Free had enough ass left to poke.
And Mrs. Clark says, "This is not funny. Not in the least."
"Tough," the Matchmaker tells her. "It's wasn't funny, either, when you raped me."
Shaking his ponytail, the Duke of Vandals tells the Matchmaker, "You couldn't pay to get raped. — Chuck Palahniuk