Quotes & Sayings About Her On My Mind

That's when Sam grabbed my hand. "I love this song!" She led me to the dance floor. And she started dancing. And I started dancing. It was a fast song, so I wasn't very good, but she didn't seem to mind. We were just dancing, and that was enough. The song ended, and then a slow one came on. She looked at me. I looked at her. Then, she took my hands and pulled me in to dance slow. I don't know how to dance slow very well either, but I do know how to sway. Her whisper smelled like cranberry juice and vodka. "I looked for you in the parking lot today." I hoped mine still smelled like toothpaste. "I was looking for you, too." Then, we were quiet for the rest of the song. She held me a little closer. I held her a little closer. And we kept dancing. It was the one time all day that I really wanted the clock to stop. And just be there for a long time. — Stephen Chbosky

You see ... there's this girl who's on my mind every second of every day, and she drives me kind of crazy because I don't really understand the hold she has on me. But she has me in a way no one else ever has and more than anyone else ever will. And this girl ... she needed me, and I didn't think twice about that jump, because getting in deep with her is the only place I ever want to be. — A.L. Jackson

Yesterday I went to the doctor, to see about these dizzy spells. He told me that I have developed what used to be called a heart, as if healthy people didn't have one. It seems I will not after all keep on living forever, merely getting smaller and greyer and dustier, like Sibyl in her bottle. Having long ago whispered I want to die, I now realise that this wish will indeed be fulfilled, and sooner rather than later. No matter that I've changed my mind. — Margaret Atwood

she says, her words tinged with sorrow. I stop, go and sit on the edge of her bed. We sit, silent. "I promise, I'm right here and I won't leave you." I let her feel my presence. No one could describe Alzheimer's better than this. She's lost inside her own mind. How cruel. How fucking cruel. — Carol O'Dell

She leaned forward, her gaze so intense that Helen wanted to look away. "And I love him more for it. Do you hear me? He was a good man when he went away to the Colonies. He came back an extraordinary man. So many think that bravery is a single act of valor in a field of battle - no forethought, no contemplation of the consequences. An act over in a second or a minute or two at most. What my brother has done, is doing now, is to live with his burden for years. He knows that he will spend the rest of his life with it. And he soldiers on." She sat back in her chair, her gaze still locked with Helen's. "That to my mind is what real bravery is."
-Sophia to Helen about Alistair. — Elizabeth Hoyt

Elizabeth's fingers slipped around my arm. She stepped forward, her fangs flashing. My breath caught, but not in fear.
Damn Tiffany and her vampire-bite addiction. I shoved the reaction away just in time for Elizabeth's fangs to break skin.
Warmth rushed up my arm, the blaze filling my body, my mind. On my other side, Tatius's hand on my arm was like a cool oasis. I groped for his fingers, locking mine around his, pressing the long side of my body along his, and the fire in my body calmed enough I could still see, still think.
Cool. — Kalayna Price

I don't want any money."
I put the wallet away.
She said: "What are you going to do about last night?"
"What should I do?"
"Kill that son of a bitch."
"And fry?"
"You're too smart to fry."
"Maybe," I said. "But, lady, I've been drawing the line at murder lately."
She lay against the pillow, watching me. Her skin was dead white and it made the black eyes look big. She wasn't young, but she was still good-looking. Her shoulders were round and firm. As far as I could tell she was naked under the sheet. I sat down on a rocking-chair. It creaked under my weight.
"But you want to get him, don't you?" she asked.
"I wouldn't mind."
"Neither would I," she said.
"He's pretty tough for a gal to tackle."
"He knocked out my teeth."
The way she said it, it sounded like a good reason for bumping off a man. Maybe it was, at that. A girl likes to hold on to her teeth. — Jonathan Latimer

Are we running away from home?" I asked, giving voice to the question that had been on my mind for two days, ever since the lady at the Wok On restaurant asked where we were from and my mother lied.
My mother had laughed. I couldn't see her face, but her laugh I could always conjure - rich, ringing, like bells calling you to a wedding. "No, silly goose. You can't run away from home. It's not home if you want to run away from it." She paused to brush a strand of hair from my face. "You can only run away from a house. Home is something you run toward. — Michele Jaffe

I can't get her out of my mind. She's all I keep thinking about both day and night. I haven't been

able to concentrate on anything else. I've cancelled all my dates because I only want to see Ellery."

Connor Black's thought on Ellery Lane. — Sandi Lynn

We have no idea who the fuck we are dealing with, but based on what they've done to us so far, I'm betting there is very little this person wouldn't do to get whatever the hell it is they are after. If you think for a second that I am going to sit back and watch as you step into potential danger, you are out of your fucking mind."

Her anger rose to match his. "And if you think that I'm going to take a step back just because you and I are sleeping together and your inner caveman is coming to the fore, you are out of your fucking mind."

His voice turned icy. "If I were being a caveman, I would have already knocked you over the head with my club and put you over my shoulder. Not that the idea doesn't have some merit. — L.A. Fiore

Skybridge parking?" Hardy asked as we drove through the huge sprawl of buildings in the medical center. We were passing the thirty-story Memorial Hermann tower sheathed with spandrel glass, one of a multitude of offices and hospitals in the complex.
"No, there's a valet at the main entrance," Haven said, unbuckling her seat belt.
"Hold on, honey, I haven't stopped yet." He glanced over his shoulder at me and saw that I was out of my seat belt, too. "Y'all mind waiting 'til I put the brakes on before you jump out?" he asked ruefully.
-Hardy, Haven, Ella — Lisa Kleypas

I be yellin out money over everything, money on my mind then she wanna ask when it got so empty. Tell her I apologize, happened over time. They say they miss the old Drake, girl don't tempt me — Drake

Yes, I was a twenty-nine year old woman who lived with her mother. One who didn't do drugs, party, or have sex. I read books, drank the occasional beer on a hot afternoon, and did the Times crossword puzzle on Sunday afternoons. I hadn't attended college, I wasn't particularly gorgeous, and I often forgot to shave my legs. On the upside, I could cook some mean dumplings and bring myself to orgasm within five minutes. Not at the same time, mind you. I wasn't that talented. — Alessandra Torre

I lifted my wand, hoping she would see this as a dramatic move, not a threat. "Why once, in my bunker at Charing Cross Station, I stalked the
deadly prey known as Jelly Babies."
Neith's eyes widened. "They are dangerous?"
"Horrible," I agreed. "Oh, they seem small alone, but they always appear in great numbers. Sticky, fattening - quite deadly. There I was, alone
with only two quid and a Tube pass, beset by Jelly Babies, when ... Ah, but never mind. When the Jelly Babies come for you ... you will find out on
your own."
She lowered her bow. "Tell me. I must know how to hunt Jelly Babies."
I looked at Walt gravely. "How many months have I trained you, Walt?"
"Seven," he said. "Almost eight."
"And have I ever deemed you worthy of hunting Jelly Babies with me?"
"Uh ... no. — Rick Riordan

All that ran through my mind at her suggesstion was running through the park with a ton of turned Disney Princesses and the three little pigs hot on our trail. — Patricia Hamill

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility, or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can't remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, the law, or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.
You see? If all you remember in years to come is the 'gay wizard' joke, I've come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step to self-improvement. — J.K. Rowling

Kai turned to her, still in the doorway. "I know this sounds like very poor timing, but trust me when I say my motives are based on self-preservation." He inhaled a sharp breath. "Would you consider being my personal guest at the ball?"

The floor dissolved beneath Cinder. Her mind blanked. Surely, she hadn't heard correctly. — Marissa Meyer

Ren crossed his arms over his chest. "is it LoJacked?"
"Of course," Andy said indignantly. "That's my baby. I even have a kill switch on her."
"Then stop the engine."
Andy appeared downright horrified by Ren's suggestion. "Are you out of your mind? What if someone hits it for stalling? I had that thing on order for over a year. Custom hand built. The epitome of German engineering. I even paid extra for the paint on her. Ain't no way I'm going to chance someone denting my baby. Or, God forbid, totaling it."
Jess rolled his eyes at the boy's hissy fit. If he kept that up, he'd be putting Andy back in diapers.
He turned to Ren. "You take the air. I'll get a bike." Then he focused his attention on Andy again. "And you-"
Andy held his cell phone out to him. "Have an app. Track her down, get my car back, and beat the hell out of her ... in that precise order. — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Her eyes rounded. "They don't open until eleven."
"Unless you're me, and you strike up a conversation with the prep cook who starts work at seven."
"Ah."
"Get your mind out of the gutter," he said, uncurling his forefinger from around his own cup to point it at her. "His name is George and he has a wife and three kids."
"My mind's not in the gutter!" Well, not since she woke from a twenty-minute midnight doze during which she'd imagined herself stretched out on her bed, Gage standing at its foot, slowing stripping off his clothes.
He grinned at her, then reached into his front pocket to pull free a slim camera. Still juggling his coffee, he managed to bring the viewfinder to his eye and snap a shot. "I'll call it 'Guilty as Charged.'"
"That's an invasion of privacy," she said, frowning at him.
"I think that blush indicates that you've been mentally invading mine."
"Gage! — Christie Ridgway

This is what I decided:
Chloe is gone. She is never coming back. And the way I've been acting would hurt her. For at least an hour, I switch places with her in my mind-I am dead and Chloe is alive. How would she handle it? She would cry. She would be sad. She would miss me. But she wouldn't stop living. She would let people comfort her. She would sleep in her own room and smile at the memories as she drifted to sleep. And she would probably punch Galen Forza. Which brings me to what else I decided:
Galen Forza is a jerk. The details are hazy, but I'm pretty sure he had something to do with my accident on Monday. Also, he's a bit weird. Staring habit aside, he keeps popping up everywhere. Every time he does, I handle it with the grace of a rhino on stilts. So I'm switching my schedule as soon as I get to school. There is no good reason I should humiliate myself for seven periods a day. — Anna Banks

Aware of her uneasy gaze straying to his rampant arousal, Sebastian shot her a scornful glance.
"Pay it no mind," he said, climbing into bed with her. "From now on, I have every expectation that proximity to you will affect my private parts like a prolonged swim in a Siberian lake. — Lisa Kleypas

Even as he said my most private thoughts, even as I burned with outrage and shame, I trembled at the grip still on my mind. Rhysand turned to the High Lord. "I'm curious: Why did she wonder if it would feel good to have you bite her breast the way you bit her neck?"
"Let. Her. Go." Tamlin's face was twisted with such feral rage that it struck a different, deeper chord of terror in me. — Sarah J. Maas

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

A slow sly smirk formed on Lucas' lips and Fallon took in a sharp breath. "I'm not playing daddy. I am daddy and you are mommy. Shouldn't we be making out instead of fighting?" Fallon rolled her eyes, poking him harder in the chest. "get your mind out of the gutter Lucas!" She poked him again, and he took her finger in his hand as he grinned down at her. "Poke me one more time Fallon Parker, and I'll poke you back, and not with my finger. — Toni Aleo

Tell me what to wish for," I say. "Tell me what to ask the sea for."
"To be happy. Happiness."
I close my eyes. My mind is full of Corr, of the ocean, of Puck Connelly's lips on mine. "I don't think such a thing is had on Thisby. And if it is, I don't know how you would keep it."
... Puck's voice is in my ear; her breath warms my neck inside my jacket collar. "You whisper to it. What it needs to hear. Isn't that what you said? — Maggie Stiefvater

The thirst we shared for one another made it clear that the distraction would only come from deprivation. Charlotte was always on my mind. In my dreams, her name balancing fatally on my lips at all times, the scent of her drove me on through my everyday tasks. It was in denying myself of her soft skin and intoxicating presence that I truly began to lose touch. — Shawn Kirsten Maravel

It's your turn," she says.
Oh. I go still, wondering exactly what she has in mind. Inside, my body claps like a damn seal, but outside I'm suddenly too nervous to move. She leans forward and kisses under my ear. Ah, yes. That's nice. She kisses my neck and I reach for her hip, pulling her closer.
"My sweet little vixen."
She licks my earlobe, and a bolt of arousal forces me on top of her.
Anna is naked underneath me. All mine.
But she tsks and makes a little uh-uh-uuh sound, as if I've got it all wrong. — Wendy Higgins

I had almost slid back into a more alert version of the contented state I'd been in when I woke up, when Rita jolted me out of my reverie. "Finish up, everybody," she said happily. "We have an awful lot to do today." It seemed like an ominous pronouncement. A lot to do? Like what? I tried to recall whether I had seen a lengthy list of tasks to perform - tasks so urgent that they could invade and conquer a Saturday I had hoped to dedicate to loafing. Nothing came to mind, and no list appeared. Rita was clearly so focused on whatever the jobs might be that she assumed we could all get our instructions from her telepathically. Perhaps my psychic antenna had blown down, but I had no idea at all what I was supposed to prepare for, and it seemed a little bit churlish to ask. — Jeff Lindsay

Every time I see you, the only thing that is on my mind is
"Grab her. Kiss her. — Subhasis Das

I was traumatizing her. I could only hope that at three she was too young to retain any of this in memory, that in the years to follow I could make up for any future need for therapy I was creating now. Could I? Or would she always have a deep insecurity, the kind that send people careening from one disastrous romance to the next? And why did I have to live my life obsessed with these kinds of concerns, this constant attempt to control the most uncertain of outcomes, my own effect on someone else's mind? — Leah Stewart

Well that woman has crept into my mind. Somehow, she has stolen my very sanity because now I want her hands on me. I begged for her to touch me until I, too, lost myself in the beauty of a fantasy- a fantasy I still don't fully understand. — Ella Frank

She was as lovely as ever, my Jessie Anne. I paused for a moment, taking her beauty in, laying up this vision of her in the deepest and most secret place of my mind, allowing the sight of her to renew my spirit. I stepped slowly down to the platform, never allowing my gaze to drift from her. Jessie Anne was looking toward the front of the car, and it was a moment or two before she turned and spotted me.
The bright and hopeful smile I had so expected and longed for darkened, just for a moment to be sure, but long enough for me to recognize a fleeting glimpse of shock and anguish, possibly of horror. No longer did she see the man she had known, the man she had given her life to. No, she saw me for the man I truly was, the man with blood on his hands. — Karl A. Bacon

Being emotional is normal, all part of the job." Her words twirled around my mind. "These are precious new lives at their most fragile. You wouldn't be human if you didn't feel the weight on your heart."
Oh I felt the brick crushing my chest, the question was whether I was strong enough to lift it off and breathe myself.
"It's a balancing act between empathy, confidence, and trusting your skills. — Riley Mackenzie

Eventually my mother suffered a complete breakdown, and the court orders were finally signed. They took her to the State Mental Hospital at Kalamazoo. My mother remained in the same hospital at Kalamazoo for about 26 years.
My last visit, when I knew I would never come to see her again-there-was in 1952. I was twenty-seven. My brother Philbert had told me that on his last visit, she had recognized him somewhat. "In spots" he said.
But she didn't recognize me at all.
She stared at me. She didn't know who I was.
Her mind, when I tried to talk, to reach her, was somewhere else. I asked, "Mama, do you know what day it is?"
She said, staring, "All the people have gone."
I can't describe how I felt. The woman who had brought me into the world, and nursed me, and advised me, and chastised me, and loved me, didn't know me.
It was as if I was trying to walk up the side of a hill of feathers."
-Malcolm X, The Autobiography of Malcolm X — Malcolm X

I considered quitting graduate school. I paid my ticket, I rode the ride. Right? Half the people I started with quit. I did not have to continue toward scholar. But something wouldn't let me. Some deep wrestling match going on inside my rib house and gray matter. Some woman in me I'd never met. You know who she was? My intellect. When I opened the door and there she stood, with her sassy red reading glasses and fitted skirt and leather bookbag, I thought, who the hell are you? Crouching into a defensive posture and looking at her warily out of the corner of my eye. Watch out, woman. To which she replied, I'm Lidia. I have a desire toward language and knowledge that will blow your mind. — Lidia Yuknavitch

You're a worse punishment than even he deserves, lady," she bit off as she turned away from the phone. "I wouldn't wish you on my worst enemy!"
The phone rang again and she picked it up, ready to give Audrey a fierce piece of her mind. But it was a journalist wanting to know if the story in the tabloids was true, about Tate and Cecily being lovers when she was still in school.
"It most certainly is not," she said curtly. "But I'll tell you what is. Tate Winthrop is marrying Washington socialite Miss Audrey Gannon at Christmas. You can print that, with my blessing!" And she hung up again. — Diana Palmer

Another voice rages.
I hate that boy! I hate me! I am so incredibly stupid!
A sunflower leans over the fence, smiling
How dare you!
I rip off its head and throw it in the gutter.
The smart thing to do is to keep going on. Walk away quickly and no one will know what I've done. But I can't move because my eyes are locked on the slowly opening front door - locked on Mrs Muir.
'I'm sorry.' My tiny voice sounds so pathetically lame, but I've still got more lameness for her. 'I never do this sort of thing. I like sunflowers. I was just angry about something - nothing to do with you or the flower. I'm really, really sorry.'
'Oh, you are upset! Well, never mind'. Mrs Muir comes closer to me. 'Goodness, we all get cross. The main thing is: did it make you feel any better?'
'No. Yes. Maybe. A little bit.'
'Would you like to do another one? There's more out the back, too. You go for your life dear. I don't mind at all - they need a good pruning. — Bill Condon

She had no idea how much I wanted to make her my wife, no clue as to how many nights I fell asleep with that image on my mind. — Ashlan Thomas

And the second [thing about the CBS EVENING NEWS that stands out in the mind of Michael J. Fox] was something Katie did later in the interview, as the drugs kicked in and the tremors segued into the jerkiness of dyskinesias. Somewhere in the contortions of making a point, my left arm detached the microphone clip from my jacket lapel. With no fuss and hardly a break in conversation or eye contact, she calmly leaned over and refastened it. Neither of us commented on it, but it was such an empathetic gesture, so far from anything patronizing or pitying, a simple kindness that allowed me the dignity to carry on making a point more important than the superficiality of my physical circumstance ...
... One thing was abundantly clear though, whether or not she was able to forget how much she liked me: with that single act of consideration, she made it abundantly clear how much she loved her father. — Michael J. Fox

Honestly, Lila, it's fine. I promise I'm not concerned about it in the slightest. It's just odd, that's all, that I saw you, then when I woke up the posy was on the doorstep and I just immediately assumed you had left it for me.' I brush her concern away as best that I can, although inside my mind is racing, fearful that the one person I don't want to find me has found me. — Lisa Hall

THERE ARE FEW THINGS as beautiful as a glass bottle filled with deep amber whiskey. Liquor shines when the light hits it, reminiscent of precious things like jewels and gold. But whiskey is better than some lifeless bracelet or coronet. Whiskey is a living thing capable of any emotion that you are. It's love and deep laughter and brotherhood of the type that bonds nations together. Whiskey is your friend when nobody else comes around. And whiskey is solace that holds you tighter than most lovers can. I thought all that while looking at my sealed bottle. And I knew for a fact that it was all true. True the way a lover's pillow talk is true. True the way a mother's dreams for her napping infant are true. But the whiskey mind couldn't think its way out of the problems I had. So I took Mr. Seagram's, put him in his box, and placed him up on the shelf where he belonged. — Walter Mosley

Dixon Steele: You know, when you first walked into the police station, I said to myself, "There she is - the one that's different. She's not coy or cute or corny. She's a good guy - I'm glad she's on my side. She speaks her mind and she knows what she wants."
Laurel Gray: Thank you, sir. But let me add: I also know what I don't want - and I don't want to be rushed. — Dorothy B. Hughes

Do you mind not intoning the responses, Jeeves?" I said. "This is a most complicated story for a man with a headache to have to tell, and if you interrupt you'll make me lose the thread. As a favour to me, therefore, don't do it. Just nod every now and then to show that you're following me."
I closed my eyes and marshalled the facts.
"To start with then, Jeeves, you may or may not know that Mr Sipperley is practically dependent on his Aunt Vera."
"Would that be Miss Sipperley of the Paddock, Beckley-on-the-Moor, in Yorkshire, sir?"
"Yes. Don't tell me you know her!"
"Not personally, sir. But I have a cousin residing in the village who has some slight acquaintance with Miss Sipperley. He has described her to me as an imperious and quick-tempered old lady ... But I beg your pardon, sir, I should have nodded."
"Quite right, you should have nodded. Yes, Jeeves, you should have nodded. But it's too late now. — P.G. Wodehouse

Jeeves," I said, "listen attentively. I don't want to give the impression that I consider myself one of those deadly coves who exercise an irresistible fascination over one and all and can't meet a girl without wrecking her peace of mind in the first half-minute. As a matter of fact, it's rather the other way with me, for girls on entering my presence are mostly inclined to give me the raised eyebrow and the twitching upper lip. — P.G. Wodehouse

The truth is, Sidonie, I don't fare well with women." He spoke coolly, and without looking at her. "It is my own fault, of course. I ... I neglect them. I forget where I'm supposed to be, and when I'm supposed to be there. I'm irresponsible. I drink to excess, gamble to excess, and sometimes I brawl. I never remember special occasions. And I very often go to sleep before they've ... well, never mind that." Devellyn fell silent for a moment. "And I cheat on them," he quietly added. "Dreadfully. Did I mention that?"
"You did not," she answered. "But a full disclosure of one's fidelity, or even one's skill in the bedroom, is not, strictly speaking, necessary before having dinner with someone."
Devellyn smiled down at her a little wearily. "Ah, Sid, I have no charm at all, have I?" he said almost regretfully. — Liz Carlyle

As darkness descended, fear continued hammering on the cracks of her rational mind. Even the critters had decided to ratchet up the volume. Great. A creepy nature soundtrack for my own personal nightmare. How about some Tomb Raider music, people! — Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

So, who is it?" Stella is persisting, somewhat suspiciously. "What's his name?"
But if I don't tell her the truth, what do I say? My mind draws a blank. I don't want to lie to her- "um ... " walking back to the bedroom, I notice the postcard Spike chose for me resting on my top of my dresser. I haven't written that one yet. Absently I pick it up and turn it over. On the back is written "Matthew Macfadyen as Fitzwilliam Darcy." "Fitzwilliam," I blurt. "No, what's his first name?" she asks. "That is his first name. — Alexandra Potter

I'd hate to see the look on my face when that mask came down and I saw the face behind it. Thinner than I remember. Paler. The eyes sunk deep into their sockets, kind of glazed over, like he's sick or hurt, but I recognize it, I know whose face was hidden behind that mask. I just can't process it.
Here, in this place. A thousand years later and a million miles from the halls of George Barnard High School. Here, in the belly of the beast at the bottom of the world, standing right in front of me.
Benjamin Thomas Parish.
And Cassiopeia Marie Sullivan, having a full-bore out-of-body experience, seeing herself seeing him. The last time she saw him was in their high school gymnasium after the lights went out, and then only the back of his head, and the only times that she's seen him since happened in her mind, the rational part of which always knew Ben Parish was dead like everyone else. — Rick Yancey

My final note is on obligation. Once you have set pen to paper or fingertips to keys you have entered into an obligation. I believe if you are going to write then you need to be strong enough to fulfill that obligation. You have an obligation to the imagination, mind, and very soul of the person whom will read the words you write down. That person is entrusting you and your word to carry him or her on a journey, an adventure, a quest. You literally have that person in the palm of your hand. Your obligation is to carry them without faltering and return them safely home again, hopefully a better person, for having embarked on your journey. — Jess Fulton

You see, I am a very prosaic, unromantic, sensible sort of fellow myself; and I have always had my heart set on finding the most sensible, prudent, level-headed wife in the world. But, on the other hand, it is very important to me that she possess one very particular flaw: she must have no sense whatsoever where I myself am concerned. She would only have to take one look at me and - no matter what her steadiness of mind - she would lose it in the space of seconds ... Just lately, I have sometimes thought I may have found what I have always wanted. But just lately I have also noticed she has developed a most irritating habit of looking at the ground whenever we are together. Do you think she could try to overcome it? Well, Charlotte, are you going to look at me now? — Jane Austen

I saw the texts on Bethany's phone. I know you kidnapped her and I know she's in danger and I have no idea what you're planning on doing to her, but I swear to God, I will bring you down and destroy everything you love and I heard you talking in that locker and I don't care how you got in there but I am so sick of these freaking secrets so bring me to her right now or...or...I'll" I wracked my brain in the second it took to catch my breath and said the first thing that came to my mind, raging lunatic or not: "Or I'll puke on you. I swear to God, I'll throw up right on you." I paused for dramatic effect. "And I had tacos for lunch. — Lisa Roecker

I had recognized her. They had tried to tear her out, but she had lived in me--deep in my heart and secret, nameless and indescribable, yet never entirely gone. She had been a face in the window of every departing train, a form seen from the back on every crowded street, always just out of my sight, always turning away. And I had known her when she came to me, though I could not say it, and though the very thought had sent my mind skidding across the ice into unconsciousness. — Raphael Carter

Her words at the party replayed in my mind.
If we were in another life, I could love you.
Abby was lying weak and sick in my arms, depending on me to take care of her. In
that moment I recognized that my feelings for her were a lot stronger than I thought. Sometime between
the moment we met, and holding her on that bathroom floor, I had fallen in love with her. — Jamie McGuire

She casts her eyes to the floor and nods slowly. I reach forward, instinctively and tip her chin up to face me. "I'm sure she's very pretty." I tell her.

Inside, I'm not sure of any such thing. In my mind, the woman flies around on a broom, has pet monkeys and is deathly afraid of water. — Lori L. Clark

Now bound by the sudden rush of emotion that reverberates through me as I remain intent on awakening Nadia, I push my fingertips upward over her neck as if pushing a coin from the edge of heaven, waiting to catch where it falls as if I were in all places at once. I then gently attack her pressure points from every side, leaving Nadia completely vulnerable to my wanting her. Nadia now hastens my love as I reveal to her my gentle ways that excite and nourish her every capacity in all mind, body, and soul. I take to her exaggerated lines that press firmly against me with a wet friction that builds between the cold and the heat, tasting and smelling her sweet body that warms my heart to its core. I allow my mind to speak through my gaze as I look into Nadia's rich brunneous eyes where hints of sable shimmer across the reflection that mirrors her heart. — Luccini Shurod

The museums in children's minds, I think, automatically empty themselves in times of utmost horror - to protect the children from eternal grief.
For my own part, though: It would have been catastrophe if I had forgotten my sister at once. I had never told her so, but she was the person I had always written for. She was the secret of whatever artistic unity I had ever achieved. She was the secret of my technique. Any creation which has any wholeness and harmoniousness, I suspect, was made by an artist or inventor with an audience of one in mind.
Yes, and she was nice enough, or Nature was nice enough, to allow me to feel her presence for a number of years after she died - to let me go on writing for her. But then she began to fade away, perhaps because she had more important business elsewhere. — Kurt Vonnegut

The gut wrenching howling as they informed me, "dead on arrival. Baby could not survive outside her mother's womb." Every finite detail of the worst night of my life played through my mind in HD Technicolor. Somewhere in the haze between past and reality, I heard a soft voice. "Nik? Can you hear me? Come back, you're scaring me, — Lora Ann

I lay on her bed with my arms wrapped around her, wondering how on earth we'd managed to end up like this. I'm not sure what'd been on my mind when I came to see her, but this wasn't it! Strange the way things turn out. When I'd come into her room I'd been burning up with desire to smash her and everything around her. And yet here she was, asleep and still holding on to my arms like I was a life-raft or something. There's not a single millimetre between her body and mine. I could move my hands and, and, anything I liked. Caress or strangle. Kill or cure. Her or me. Me or her. — Malorie Blackman

O.K., then, all right, they would adopt a white-trash dog. Ha ha. They could name it Zeke, buy it a little corncob pipe and a straw hat. She imagined the puppy, having crapped on the rug, looking up at her, going, Cain't hep it. But no. Had she come from a perfect place? Everything was transmutable. She imagined the puppy grown up, entertaining some friends, speaking to them in a British accent: My family of origin was, um, rather not, shall we say, of the most respectable ...
Ha ha, wow, the mind was amazing, always cranking out these - — George Saunders

The problem with me is that I cannot focus when she is on my mind. I can't. I probably will make a mistake when writing that paper and will start writing everything I feel about her - the professor will be very happy with that, I am sure. Oh well, such is my life. I guess I've been attempting my best to forget her for several weeks now. But even in that act of forgetting her, I am remembering her. I am recollecting her and recreating her in my mind. And that's where everything falls apart. In remembering her, I remember her goodness. In remembering her, I remember her weaknesses and my own. In remembering her, I am remembering myself. Out of that dark cave of mine, I call myself out. And then all of the remembering starts again. I doodle, I twitch, I aim restlessly for some unseen goal. And then my thoughts drift to you.
I'll let them stay there for now. Just for a minute.
Or two. — Moses Y. Mikheyev

His hand slid from under his desk and slowly moved up my leg until his fingers grazed my inner thigh. He couldn't just pull something sexy and think that I'd forgive him that easily.I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, turning my head ever so slightly toward his. "Stop it.We're not doing this here."
He pulled his hand out of my grip. "Geez, Red. No need to be so touchy.""You were the one being touchy," I whispered. "And now I
need to pay attention to our lecture.""Come on, Red. I thought we were good."One of the girls in front of us turned her head sharply. "Will you two either quit talking or take it
outside? Some of us are trying to listen," she hissed.
"Mind your own damn business," I pushed back.
She huffed and then turned around to face the front again.
"Ouch! Feisty and I like it," John said through a laugh. — Magan Vernon

One new indulgence was to go out evenings alone. This I worked out carefully in my mind, as not only a right but a duty. Why should a woman be deprived of her only free time, the time allotted to recreation? Why must she be dependent on some man, and thus forced to please him if she wished to go anywhere at night?
A stalwart man once sharply contested my claim to this freedom to go alone. "Any true man," he said with fervor, "is always ready to go with a woman at night. He is her natural protector." "Against what?" I inquired. As a matter of fact, the thing a woman is most afraid to meet on a dark street is her natural protector. Singular — Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Penny rolled over, got to her feet, trying to get control of her scattered mind, but Quinn was behind her now and had his powerful arm around her neck.
"I will snap your neck, Penny. I swear to God, I will snap your neck. Nothing you can do will stop me."
Penny went limp. "You think the king will let you get away with this, Quinn?" she hissed.
"Anyone messes with me, Penny, you or anyone else, and I go on strike. See how well you enjoy life without me and my crews. Without food. — Michael Grant

It was over Ed's shoulder that I really saw Milli for the first time. She was standing there just looking at me. Ed glanced at Milli and then, like a good friend, Ed walked away.
I have a few mental photographs I can see in my mind's eye. One of them is Milli, hands on her hips, looking me up and down as if the bike and I were one lean machine. Her body language, the gleam in her eyes, the tease in her smile, all combined into an erotic femme challenge. Milli set the action into irresistible motion by lifting on eyebrow. — Leslie Feinberg

Hold on a minute." She leaned out the window, shouted at the messenger who'd nearly sideswiped her vehicle with his jet-board. "Police property, asshole. If I had time I'd hunt you down and use that board to beat your balls black."
"Darling Eve, you know how that kind of talk thrills and excites me. How can I keep my mind off sex now? — J.D. Robb

Shelley," I say. "You should've let him win. You know, to be polite." Shelley's response is a shake of her head. Applesauce drips on her chin. "That's the way it's going to be, huh?" I say, hoping the scene doesn't gross Alex out. Maybe I'm testing him, to see if he can handle a glimpse of my home life. If so, he's passing. "Wait until Alex leaves. I'll show you who the checkers champion is."
My sister smiles that sweet, crooked smile of hers. It's like a thousand words put into one expression. For a moment I forget Alex is still watching me. It's so weird having him inside my life and my house. He doesn't belong, yet he doesn't seem to mind being here. — Simone Elkeles

There's a reason I've always relied on you for the necessary political miracles, Emily," Hamish told her with a smile. "Give me a fleet problem, or a naval battle to fight, and I "know exactly what to do. But dealing with scum like High Ridge and Descroix - ?" He shook his head. "I just can't wrap my mind around how to handle them."
"Be honest, dear," Emily corrected him gently. "It's not that you really can't do it, and you know it. It's that you get so furious with them that you wind up climbing onto your high moral horse so you can ride them under the hooves of your righteous fury. But when you close your knight errant's helmet, the visibility through that visor is just a little limited, isn't it? — David Weber

You have games on there?" he asks.
"Yeah," I answer for her. "She's become a checkers fanatic. Shelley, show him how it works."
While Shelley slowly taps the screen with her knuckles, Alex watches, seemingly fascinated.
When the checkers screen comes up, Shelley nudges Alex's hand.
"You go first," he says.
She shakes her head.
"She wants you to go first," I tell him.
"Cool." He taps the screen.
I watch, getting all mushy inside, as this tough guy plays quietly with my big sister.
"Do you mind if I make a snack for her?" I say, desperate to leave the room.
"Nah, go ahead," he says, his concentration on the game.
"You don't have to let her win," I say before leaving. "She can hold her own in checkers."
"Uh, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I am tryin' to win," Alex says. He has a genuine grin on his face, without trying to act cocky or cool. — Simone Elkeles

Hey,' Wildgirl says, 'let me into your backpack. I've got a light on my keys that I totally forgot about.'
I turn my back to her and feel her fumbling with the zip of my pack. It's a lot lighter now.
'I'm glad you hung on to your bag. I would have had to kick your ass if you lost all my stuff.'
I probably wouldn't mind that, although if I were given a choice, I'd opt for another kiss. It's the first time I've been so close to someone since I've changed. Kissing felt better than I remembered, but it also felt like it was something I had to be careful about. It never felt that way before. — Leanne Hall

seconds that these people could have been enemy agents trying to gain my confidence and find out what I knew about the Allied forces, but that only went to demonstrate my state of mind at the time. And this woman had obviously been working on the land. The sweat-packed hair on her temples and the dirt on her hands and grey flannel work suit spoke — Ray Kingfisher

Be sure to keep my ruby choker and the pearl and emerald set for the person you will marry," she said during one of these walks. "I'm not planning on getting married any time soon," I told her, and she said that she wished she could say the same for dying. Ultimately, I disobeyed her. After she was gone I was unable to open up and examine the contents of all those flat red boxes she'd kept hidden in a suitcase on her closet shelf, never mind set something aside for the sake of my future happiness. — Jhumpa Lahiri

Pardon me, but I wonder if you wouldn't mind switching seats. You see, that's my girlfriend there, and she's pregnant. And since she gets a bit ill on airplanes, I thought she might need someone to hold her hair when ... well ...
St. Clair holds up the courtesy barf bag and shakes it around. The paper crinkles dramatically. The man sprints off the seat as my face flames. His pregnant girlfriend? — Stephanie Perkins

that dressing room for an hour as my mother pretended to be making up her mind about buying that dress she could never afford. And from that day on we never saw her adorn her glorious hair with a single blossom, nor was she ever in our long childhood — Pat Conroy

I would prefer," Pat said, his voice a little stiff, as if he expected resistance, "that I be the cosigner on the loan, if you go through with this. I know I'm not a famous billionaire, but I think my credit's just as good."
No, you're wrong about that," Tess said, shaking her head.
What?"
As far as I'm concerned, it's better. I'd much rather do business with you."
They shook on it. It was a deal, after all, not a time for hugging.
Favors, Arnie Vasso had once said. Your father knows all about favors. He had meant it as an insult, a sly reference to the corners the Monaghans and Weinsteins cut here and there. Now Tess saw it for the simple truth it was: Her father understood favors. How to do them, how to accept them, how to walk away when the price was too steep. It was a lesson she wouldn't mind learning someday.
Maybe this was the place to start. — Laura Lippman

Susan Griffin describes it as a time when "there is no intrinsic authority to my words." "I ... clean off my desk. I make telephone calls. I know I am avoiding the typewriter. I know that in my mind, where there might be words, there is simply a blankness. I may try to write and then my words bore me." But when the time is right, the waiting will have been worth it. "Because each time I write, each time the authentic words break through, I am changed. The older order that I was collapses and dies. I lose control. I do not know exactly what words will appear on the page. I follow language. I follow the sound of the words, and I am surprised and transformed by what I record." Excerpt from "Thoughts on Writing: A Diary," in The Writer on her Work. — Judith Barrington

You're nothing like your sister," he tells me. "She meant a lot to me, okay? It's true. But the things I like about you have nothing to do with her. You - you are so strong and stubborn it drives me crazy. You're the one going through all this and you still put Laney first every time, instead of throwing yourself the pity party we both know you deserve. You call me out on my shit, and I like that, because sometimes I need someone to call me out on my shit. And you get Johnny Cash, and you take these incredible photos, and everything about you makes me hurt, in a good way, and it blows my mind that someone can be so amazing and not even see it. — Hannah Harrington

mong the hundred thousand mysterious influences which a man exercises over a woman who loves him, I doubt if there is any more irresistible to her than the influence of his voice. I am not one of those women who shed tears on the smallest provocation: it is not in my temperament, I suppose. But when I heard that little natural change in his tone my mind went back (I can't say why) to the happy day when I first owned that I loved him. I burst out crying. — Wilkie Collins

That was when I left her and went outside to talk to Charles. I knew I would dislike talking to Charles, but it was almost too late to ask him politely and I thought I should ask him once. Even the garden had become a strange landscape with Charles' figure in it; I could see him standing under the apple trees and the trees were crooked and shortened beside him. I came out the kitchen door and walked slowly toward him. I was trying to think charitably of him, since I would never be able to speak kindly until I did, but whenever I thought of his big white face grinning at me across the table or watching me whenever I moved I wanted to beat at him until he went away, I wanted to stamp on him after he was dead, and see him lying dead on the grass. So I made my mind charitable toward Charles and came up to him slowly. — Shirley Jackson

Miss Brobity's Being, young man, was deeply imbued with homage to Mind. She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an extensive knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did me the honour to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be able to articulate only the two words, "O Thou!" meaning myself. Her limpid blue eyes were fixed upon me, her semi-transparent hands were clasped together, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though encouraged to proceed, she never did proceed a word further. I disposed of the parallel establishment by private contract, and we became as nearly one as could be expected under the circumstances. But she never could, and she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too-favourable estimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of liver), she addressed me in the same unfinished terms. — Charles Dickens

She knew what he had in mind.
He'll propose in Scotland on my birthday.
There was no doubt as to what her answer would be. — Jana Oliver

Ami leaned into his side and inhaled the fresh scent of man. "Uh, no. Sometimes my biological clock threatens to explode like a ticking bomb, that's all. Rachel is so lucky. Nat is a doll. Doug adores them. Don't mind me, I'm just wishing my laundry pile was filled with boxer shorts and Cinderella T-shirts. I'll get over it."
"Why do you have to get over it," Marcus asked gently. "Sounds like a nice dream to me."
... a few pages later
Things were looking up. If he could just convince her his boxer shorts belonged in her laundry basket, he'd be right on board with her six-month plan — Penny Watson

You know what we pride ourselves on that - although I wouldn't mind if my backside was a little smaller. But look at the original divas ... take Aretha Franklin for example - I've seen her live in the States and she was mammoth, but she had that crowd under control and they doted on every movement she made! We're not little midgets but the music industry is not about that, it's about loving the music and respecting what you do. — Kate DeAraugo

What shall I do?" she asked in a small voice.
"Forget your own self," he said.
"But all these years," she urged, "I have so carefully fulfilled my duty."
"Always with the thought of your own freedom in your mind," he said.
She could not deny it. She sat motionless, her hands folded on the pearl-gray satin of her robe. "Direct me," she said at last.
"Instead of your own freedom, think how you can free others," he said gently.
She lifted her head.
"From yourself," he said still gently. — Pearl S. Buck

The way Smith sees it, this kind of approach denotes a certain category of writer: the Micro Manager. Authors fall into one of two primary camps, she explained in her 2009 book of essays, Changing My Mind.691 Macro Planners work out the structure of their novels and then write within that structure. Micro Managers, on the other hand, don't rely on an overarching configuration (don't even conceive of one), but rather home in on each sentence, one by one, and each sentence, as they come to it, becomes the only thing that exists. If there is a spectrum starting with Macro Planners on one end and Micro Managers on the other, Smith would be somewhere to the right of the page. Smith's writing is entirely incremental and cumulative. The grand plan is that there is no grand plan; working things out ahead of time ruins everything, "feels disastrous."She prefers the writing of a novel as a process of discovery. "The thinking goes on on the page," not beforehand. — Sarah Stodola

It wasn't till they were on the bridge that Delly asked RB, "So, Ferris Boyd's your favorite?" She didn't mind, mostly.
RB answered so fast, though, she knew he wasn't fibbing. "She's my favorite friend," he told her. "You're my favorite everything. — Katherine Hannigan

I'm a good girl. I'm a nice girl. I'm a straight-A, strait-laced, good daughter, good career girl, and I never stole anybody's boyfriend and I never ran out on a girlfriend, and I put up with my parents' shit and brother's shit and I'm not a girl anyhow, I'm over forty fucking years old, and I'm good at my job and I'm great with kids and I held my mother's hand when she died,after four years of holding her hand while she was dying, and I speak to my father ever day on the telephone
every day, mind you, and what kind of weather do you have on your side of the river, because here it's pretty gray and a big muggy too? It was supposed to say "Great Artist" on my tombstone, but if I died right now it would say "Such a good teacher/daughter/friend" instead; and what I really want to shout, and want in big letters on that grave, too, is FUCK YOU ALL. — Claire Messud

My fingers draw up her back and tangle into her hair. "They'll never separate us."
"Never," she repeats.
Our lips crush together, our bodies pressed tight. An inferno of lips and hands and movements that continues to grow in heat. The blanket falls away as Rachel slides her legs so that she straddles me. On the verge of burning up completely, I groan and cling to her small frame. Her hands drift under my shirt, leaving a singeing trail.
We've become a wildfire. Almost unstoppable. I kiss her neck and the beautiful sounds escaping her mouth encourage me further. My hands skim under her shirt, up her back, linger for seconds near her bra, and I gently nip her ear when I feel lace.
Images pour into my mind of what she'd look like with her shirt off, then her jeans. My fist traps strands of her hair. "I want you, Rachel."
And because I do, I kiss her fully on the mouth - nothing left to the imagination. Every fantasy becomes a reality with that one embrace. — Katie McGarry

It had been impossible to decide how they were going to do it, because the goblin rarely left Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone together for more than five minutes at a time: "He could give my mother lessons," growled Ron, as the goblin's long fingers kept appearing around the edges of doors. With Bill's warning in mind, Harry could not help suspecting that Griphook was on the watch for possible skullduggery. Hermione disapproved so heartily of the planned double-cross that Harry had given up attempting to pick her brains on how best to do it; Ron, on the rare occasion that they had been able to snatch a few Griphook-free moments, had come up with nothing better than "We'll just have to wing it, mate. — J.K. Rowling

Each person is made of five different elements, she told me.
Too much fire and you had a bad temper. That was like my father, whom my mother always critized for his cigarette habit and who always shouted back that she should feel guilty that he didn't let my mother speak her mind.
Too little wood and you bent too quickly to listen to other people's ideas, unable to stand on your own. This was like my Auntie An-mei.
Too much water and you flowed in too many different directions. like myself. — Amy Tan

Her magic sent him sprawling, and it then hurled into Rhysand again - so hard that his head cracked against the stones and the knife dropped from his splayed fingers. No one made a move to help him, and she struck him once more with her power. The red marble splintered where he hit it, spiderwebbing toward me. With wave after wave she hit him. Rhys groaned.
"Stop," I breathed, blood filling my mouth as I strained a hand to reach her feet. "Please."
Rhys's arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine.
The bond between us went taut. I flashed between my body and his, seeing myself through his eyes, bleeding and broken and sobbing.
I snapped back into my own mind as Amarantha turned to me again. "Stop? Stop? Don't pretend you care, human," she crooned, and curled her finger. I arched my back, my spine straining to the point of cracking, and Rhysand bellowed my name as I lost my grip on the room. — Sarah J. Maas

Power dynamic operates in emotional contagion, determining which person's brain will more forcefully draw the other into its emotional orbit. Mirror neurons are leadership tools: Emotions flow with special strength from the more socially dominant person to the less. One reason is that people in any group naturally pay more attention to and place more significance on what the most powerful person in that group says and does. That amplifies the force of whatever emotional message the leader may be sending, making her emotions particularly contagious. As I heard the head of a small organization say rather ruefully, When my mind is full of anger, other people catch it like the flu. — Daniel Goleman

Here came the waitress. She had on a mini-skirt, high heels, see-through blouse with padded brassiere. Everything was too small for her: her outfit, the world, her mind. Her face was hard as steel. When she smiled it hurt. It hurt her and it hurt me. She kept smiling. That smile was so false the hairs on my arms rose. I looked away. — Charles Bukowski

Her fingers crawled upwards and touched the outer curve of her breast, and the fingers paused, quaking in fear; but after the moment, despite the panic trying to break out of its shadows and seize her mind, she told her fingers, go on. This is my body. I reclaim my body for myself: for my use, for my understanding, for my kindness and care. Go on. And the fingers walked cautiously on, over the curiously muscleless, faintly ridged flesh, cooler than the rest of the body, across the tender nipple, into the deep cleft between, and out onto the breast that lay limp and helpless and hardly recognizable as round, lying like a hunting trophy over her other arm. Mine, she thought. My body. It lives on the breaths I breathe and the food I eat; the blood my heart pumps reaches all of me, into all my hidden crevices, from my scalp to my heels. — Robin McKinley

Kicking the door shut with the heel of my boot, I wedge her against it, raining kisses on her skin, wishing I could climb inside her and kiss away the welts left on her heart and mind. — Poppet

If I found out some gal was trying to steal my guy, I'd want to give her a black eye! Instead, I wrote this song. At the time I was writing each song [on this album], you could figure out the frame of mind I was in by listening closely. With every song I've ever recorded, I'm in it. I wouldn't write about it if I wasn't in it. — Loretta Lynn

The obvious liberal rejoinders come to mind: What about the child whose home is hit by a bomb? Did she have some bomb-shaped thoughtform that brought ruin down on her head? And did my [fired white-collar workers] boot-camp mates cause the layoffs that drove them out of their jobs by "vibrating" at a layoff-related frequency? It seems inexcusably cruel to tell people who have reach some kind of personal nadir that their probem is entirely of their own making ... — Barbara Ehrenreich

I slowly lean in toward her when her lips part into a smile.
"Are you planning on using tongue this time?" she whispers.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a step back, completely thrown off by her comment. I rub my palms down my face and groan.
"Dammit, Six. I was already feeling inadequate. Now you've just put expectations on it."
She's smiling when I look at her again. "Oh, there are definitely expectations," she says teasingly. "I expect this to be the most mind-blowing thing I've ever experienced, so you better deliver. — Colleen Hoover

When I was in New York, I got to see Joan Rivers do an hour of material, and it blew my mind. I don't remember how old she was at the time, but she just had this edgy hour that had so much funny stuff in it, and she was so fearless. If you only watch her on the red carpet, you don't get a sense of what a legendary standup comedian she is. — Chelsea Peretti

Quiet pragmatism, of course, lacks the romance of vocal militancy. But I felt myself more a mediator than a crusader. My strengths were reasoning, crafting compromises, finding the good and the good faith on both sides of an argument, and using that to build a bridge. Always, my first question was, what's the goal? And then, who must be persuaded if it is to be accomplished? A respectful dialogue with one's opponent almost invariably goes further than a harangue outside his or her window. If you want to change someone's mind, you must understand what need shapes his or her opinion. To prevail, you must first listen. — Sonia Sotomayor

My mind still buzzed with the cares of a busy day; I sat on without noting how twilight
was deepening into dark.
Suddenly light stirred across the gloom and touched me as with a finger.
I lifted my head and met the gaze of the full moon widened in wonder like a child's. It held my eyes for long, and I felt as though a love-letter had been secretly dropped in at my window.
And ever since my heart is breaking to write for answer something fragrant as Night's unseen flowers - great as her declaration spelt out in nameless stars. — Rabindranath Tagore