Just Text Me Quotes & Sayings

Just after midnight, I text my parents who live in Florida: Please tell me you didn't help elect him.

No reply.

The next morning, New York City wakes up with a wet, gray yawn. The air is thick with mist. The city moves at a slower, muffled pace. New Yorkers rarely make eye contact; today isn't much different, except when eyes meet, they lock for a moment in shared grief. Everyone's shoulders bend forward, the world weighing heavier on them than it did yesterday.

The sidewalks and the coffee shops are quiet. Even the subway paces through its underground veins in somber silence. My husband tells me: "The city hasn't been this quiet since 9/11."

- Melissa Lirtsman — Erin Passons

Sartre is one example of someone who does just this. Every text is, after all, a human document and whatever Kierkegaard thought about God was clearly a matter of human thought that can, in principle, be retrieved and interpreted by other human beings. A phenomenological approach to religion must, it seems to me, adopt the old adage: nothing human is alien to me. — George Pattison

Imagine saying to someone, "I have a kidney problem, and I'm having a lot of bad days lately." Nothing but sympathy, right? "What's wrong?" "My mom had that!" "Text me a pic of the ultrasound!" Then pretend to say, "I have severe depression and anxiety, and I'm having a lot of bad days lately." They just look at you like you're broken, right? Unfixable. Inherently flawed. Maybe not someone they want to hang around as much? Yeah, society sucks. My mental problems made me feel ashamed. I felt like I had to hide them until I could "work through it" on my own. Which I never did, because I didn't know how. And I didn't feel brave enough to make fixing my mind a priority because I didn't think anyone would understand. — Felicia Day

Most men would never tell a girl her Pikachu smells like a crab cake. It's just not done. But they would have no qualms about telling their guy friends. Similarly, if you're a guy and you pull your pants down, and the girl you're with immediately stats text messaging her friends, you have a small penis.
Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea — Chelsea Handler

LA isn't a walking city, or a subway city, so if someone isn't in my house or my car we'll never be together, not even for a moment. And just to be absolutely sure of that, when I leave my car my iPhone escorts me, letting everyone else in the post office know that I'm not really with them, I'm with my own people, who are so hilarious that I can't help smiling to myself as I text them back. — Miranda July

I'm tired of wanting to respond but never knowing what face you'll be wearing, not knowing what mean or nice words you'll be saying, so I stay silent knowing I can't take another round of your uncontrolled verbs, your misinterpretations of my world. So many men? Yes, I have so many men, didn't know that this text-fighting, me on the other side crying was exclusive to just us two. — Coco J. Ginger

If I could/bind myself to this moment, to the slow//snare of its scent/what would it matter if I became//just the flutter of page/in a text someone turns//to examine me/in the wrong color? — Mary Szybist

GrayG: Just to clarify, putting the perfectly reasonable and technically correct name aside, shenanigans are a go?
Laughing now, I lean back more comfortably in the ugly plastic airport seat and answer.
IvyMac: All night, Cupcake. I can't wait to taste your frosting.
A couple seconds pass and then,
GrayG: Mac, you sent a dirty text. I just shed a tear of pride. I also have a hard-on. I think the little old lady sitting next to me is checking it out. — Kristen Callihan

Aw, my girl misses her family. "Now that we're dating, come with me to dinner at my folks' house on the weekend." She laughs. "Blake, seriously? You're heading out on a week-long road trip, where I'll bet you'd rather be single." "Nope. I'm going to text you every night. You'll see." "We're not dating," she says. Except she's cuddling me with her entire naked body and stroking my chest lovingly with one hand. "Want to eat ice cream in bed?" I ask. "Yeah," she sighs, the arch of her foot stroking mine. Silly Jessie. We are dating. She just doesn't know it yet. — Sarina Bowen

You know what makes me happy? Unexpected phone calls in the middle of the day. Remembering what I liked at that one restaurant we went to that one time. Half-dead grocery store flowers just because they were on sale. A good morning text that says, "have a good day and try not to burn anything to the ground in a furious rage. — Samantha Irby

During my most difficult days, I text message God. I know I can just say a prayer and He'll hear me, but just in case He's really busy ... He can read my message later! — Jose N. Harris

Lila backed away toward the curtain. "Do you just... stand here until I need you?"
The woman smiled and dug a volume from a pocket. "I have a book."
"Let me guess, a religious text?"
"Actually," said Ister, perching on the low couch, "it's about pirates."
Lila smiled. — V.E Schwab

Does he call? No. Does he email or even text me? No. He just ran off and left me here to rust and die." He turned back to Syn. "You really suck as a friend."
"I do suck as a friend. I'm sorry."
"Mmm-hmm. You think you can sweet-talk me? Who you been two-timing me with anyway? Some low-tech battery-operated device? I hope it shocked you every time you touched it."
Syn laughed. "There's no one else, Vik. You're the only mecha I could ever stand."

-Vik & Syn — Sherrilyn Kenyon

I'm drawn to very large texts that are mammothly popular in different parts of the world but are almost unknown here [the USA]. They're safe bets; if they've been around for 2,000 years, there's a reason. It's often a title or just a phrase within the text that will compel me to adapt it. — Mary Zimmerman

Wulfe leaned in. "Where did you send Ms. Benoit?"
"Disneyland."
"Who knows my connection to the Zetas?"
"The US Marshall Service, SWAT, my dentist, Oprah
"
"How did you know we were coming? Clearly, someone tipped you off."
"That guy." Zach points with a jerk of his head toward of of Wulfe's minions. The man looked uncertainly at Wulfe, taking a step backward. "He text me just before you stepped in the elevator. — Pamela Clare

says. 'Heaven was made for the likes of us,' he says; 'just for poor working folks like us, that have been sober and godly and kept our Communions regular.' That's the best way, ain't it, Miss Dorothy - poor in this life and rich in the next? Not like some of them rich folks as all their motor-cars and their beautiful houses won't save from the worm that dieth not and the fire that's not quenched. Such a beautiful text, that is. Do you think you could say a little prayer with me, Miss Dorothy? I been looking forward all the morning to a little prayer." Mrs. — George Orwell

When I got out of the movie, I had four text messages from Augustus.
Tell me my copy is missing the last twenty pages or something.
Hazel Grace, tell me I have not reached the end of this book.
OH MY GOD DO THEY GET MARRIED OR NOT OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS
I guess Anna died and so it just ends? CRUEL. Call me when you can. Hope all's okay. — John Green

When you have those moments just think of me, call or text me when you feel weak and I will always be there for you. Nothing about this will be easy, life is hard, we just feel it more than most because our souls have been broken and are raw. — Raven K. Asher

It was a small triumph, but it was just about the only one I got for the rest of the week. As I trudged through my daily routine, Robert trudged along with me. He did not really get directly in my way too often, but every time I turned around he was there, a frown of concentration on his face, and usually some kind of inane question: Why did I do that? Why was it important to do that? Did I do that often? How many killers had I caught by doing that? Were they serial killers? Were there a lot of serial killers in Miami? A lot of the time the questions were completely unrelated to whatever I was doing, which made the whole thing seem even more pointlessly annoying. I could understand that it was a little hard for someone like him to frame intelligent questions about gas chromatography, but then, why watch me do it in the first place? Why couldn't he just go sit in a sports bar and text me his questions while he sipped a beer and watched a ball game? — Jeff Lindsay

You're my mate. I'm naturally going to want to know everything about you." He shrugged; it was simple. "That includes your address, where you work, and your cell number - just thought you should know so you won't be surprised if a text message from me arrives."
She gaped, both offended and shocked. "You can't just pry into people's lives like that and find out all their personal details. And how did you find them out anyway?"
He shrugged again. "I have contacts in the right places."
"So, what, you're a stalker now?"
"I prefer the term 'intense investigator. — Suzanne Wright

You have to have an eye and a feeling for where things go. Writing visually, writing textually, writing sonically. Text is visual for me and images are textual. There is power in the way ideas are arranged, not just developed rhetorically. Form is everything. — Masha Tupitsyn

When my father died and was buried in a chapel overlooking Portsmouth - the same chapel in which General Eisenhower had prayed for success the night before D-Day in 1944 - I gave the address from the pulpit and selected as my text a verse from the epistle of Saul of Tarsus, later to be claimed as "Saint Paul," to the Philippians (chapter 4, verse 8): Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report: if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. I chose this because of its haunting and elusive character, which will be with me at the last hour, and for its essentially secular injunction, and because it shone out from the wasteland of rant and complaint and nonsense and bullying which surrounds it. — Christopher Hitchens

Daemon was suddenly in front of me. I took an involuntary step back. "Do you think I didn't enjoy kissing you? That I haven't thought about it every second since then? And I know you have. Just admit it."
In the pit of my stomach, tight coils thrummed. "What is the point of this?"
"Have you?"
"Oh, for crap's sake, yes, I have. I do! Do you want me to write it down for you? Send you an e-mail or a text? Will that make you feel better?"
Daemon arched a brow. "You don't need to be sarcastic. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

I want to do all kinds of things. I want to do some comedy. I'd love to do a romantic comedy, and I'd love to do some period pieces with classical text. I'd love somebody to cast me as Macbeth, but for a film. I just want to be all over the place. — Kevin Alejandro

I have to admit that most of the time I read in the same way that I smoke and chew gum and jiggle my leg a lot. I read a lot, but at the same time I'm not a particularly good or diligent or discriminating reader. I go through maybe close to a thousand or more books a year, but a lot of times I'll only read bits and pieces of any one individual text. There are even certain works that are very important to me (Like Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse, for example) that I probably haven't ever read all the way through from beginning to end, just certain passages over and over. I tend to read at stuff, rather that through it, if that makes any sense, and maybe there's something a little bit rodent-like about it, like a gerbil gnawing on woodchips in those, tiny, rapid obsessive bites. — Dan Chaon

After Tom leaves for work, I take Evie to the park, we play on the swings and the little wooden rocking horses, and when I put her back into her buggy she falls asleep almost immediately, which is my cue to go shopping. We cut through the back streets towards the big Sainsbury's. It's a bit of a roundabout way of getting there, but it's quiet, with very little traffic, and in any case we get to pass number thirty-four Cranham Road. It gives me a little frisson even now, walking past that house - butterflies suddenly swarm in my stomach, and a smile comes to my lips and colour to my cheeks. I remember hurrying up the front steps, hoping none of the neighbours would see me letting myself in, getting myself ready in the bathroom, putting on perfume, the kind of underwear you put on just to be taken off. Then I'd get a text message and he'd be at the door, and we'd have an hour or two in the bedroom upstairs. — Paula Hawkins

My friends knew that I was reading the Bible. First, the dean of the chapel took me out to lunch and shared his belief that the Old Testament was dispensable and, with it, any prohibition about sexuality and immorality. But I had been reading and studying the three different narratives of the Old Testament, and it seemed to me that you couldn't dispense with it in its entirety without violating a foundational rule about canonicity: no creating canons within canons. In fact, I had just gone over this in my graduate seminar in Queer Theory and it made me wonder if the chapel dean ought not sit in on my class. His position seemed like a hermeneutic of convenience, tailoring the text to fit my experience, and not a hermeneutic of integrity, where the text gets the chance to fulfill its internal mission. — Rosaria Champagne Butterfield

I overanalyze things way too much, to the point where it affects my life. Like, when I'm talking to a boy, I'll overanalyze a text message he sent. And I have to think to myself, 'Just chill out. Some guy sent me a text message. That's all. Don't read something into it that's not there. Just be glad he sent you a text message!' — Lucy Hale

Alaine frowned at him for a moment. "Are you asking me if I need feminine products?"
"I'm telling you to plan ahead," Nova said with a deliberate look at her. "Anything you think you're gonna need, I'll pick up."
"Wow"-Alaine pulled back in surprise- "I'm sort of impressed right now. You ARE a progressive gangster."
"Just text me," Nova said as he threw up his hand. "I'm leaving."
"She's not going to need feminine products," Tino said with a bark of laughter. "I guarantee you she's pregnant after last night. — Kele Moon

What is clear is that Scripture requires both head and heart, and you need to see it not just as a text but as the very words of God. This will encourage you to pay close attention to the very words he uses, but it will also compel you to feast on those words as light-shedding, wisdom-dispensing, and life-giving counsel from on high.

For all your longing for God to speak, to make his will plain and his plan clear, you should be daily immersed in God's Word. This is his voice, his will, and his plan made known to you. Consider these words, "Make your face shine upon your servant, and teach me your statutes." God's face shines on you when you are learning - experientially - his Word. — Joe Thorn

Ask me again, Tristan read on his cell phone.
Ask what? he sent back.
Why I call you Sparky. Michael fumbled with the keys, not looking up.
Well, sure, why? Tristan sent back.
You light me up, came the answer, and Tristan's nimble fingers stopped on the keys. He stared hard at the small screen on his phone, the text message right there, waiting to see if he would send a reply. He just sat and stared till his phone turned off, unable to look up into the oh-so-blue eyes of the man who had sent it. — Z.A. Maxfield

The Russo brothers are the best people ever, and they cast me in 'Happy Endings.' I did text Joe Russo to say, 'I don't think my character dies, so if you need a local news cameraman to show up in 'Captain America 2' ... I know it doesn't make sense, but just hear me out on this!' He was really cool about it and turned me down right away. — Adam Pally

I was dating this guy and we would spend all day text messaging each other. And he thought that he could tell that he liked me more because he actually spelt the word 'YOU' and I just put the letter 'U'. — Kelly Osbourne

Though she promised that she would take care of things, she was ghost, just like I thought. She wasn't answering my text messages, and she was straight sending me to voicemail when I called. I — Jessica N. Watkins

She and I had exchanged a few text messages, although they had been mostly to remind me just how pissed she'd be if I started anything with her asshole of a brother. The same asshole who had last night said, 'If you ever hurt her, psycho Sid, I'll kill you.' Naturally, I'd replied by dangling him over the balcony until he begged me to pull him back up.

It had been kind of fun." (Salem) — Suzanne Wright

"I could use the fresh air. I think that put my brain to sleep."
She pointed at the text as if it was a piece of rotten meat.
"Physics?" I said. "You must need a more advanced text."
"No, it's just boring."
I picked the book up and double checked the title, to make sure I hadn't misidentified the subject.
"Boring?" I said. "How can physics be ... ?"
I looked up to see she'd already left the room. Simon pointed at the text, grinned and faked a yawn.
"Hold on," I said, striding after her. "Physics is not boring. Maybe you just need me to explain it better. Chloe? Chloe!" — Kelley Armstrong

My shift isn't over until six," I say glumly.
"Hold on," he says. He pulls a Blackberry from his coat pocket and taps out a text. It buzzes, and he taps out another text before stashing it back in his pocket. "I think you can take the rest of the afternoon off."
"I only have a week left, but my boss would kill me," I say.
"I'm your boss, Anna."
"What do you mean?"
There's that smile again, the one with all those teeth. "I just bought Walmart," he says. — Andrew Shaffer

I work in my study, taking the collections of words that people send me and making small adjustments to them, changing something here and there, checking everything is in order and putting a part of myself into the text by introducing just a little bit of difference. ("Substitutions") — Michael Marshall Smith

I miss talking to him. Every time I come across something I think he'd like, I just wish I could call him up or send him a text. Like the other day, I saw this movie, Coherence. It was about parallel universes, and I just know he'd love it. That's the thing; he's the ongly person i know who would appreciete it the same way I do. And I wish I could watch it with him and talk to him about it. Why is that so important to me? I don't get it. I didn't even think about all this before I knew him. — Lang Leav

The way I perform or the setup is always same - just me and a microphone and the text - and they usually have some relation of how physical that stack becomes. When I'm editing it together, the density of the papers is an indicator to be like, "You need to stop." — Sue Tompkins

He fingered her nape, massaging his sensual intent. I'll give you whatever you want whenever you want it. Any time of day, you need relief, just crook your finger and I'll crook mine. Against you, inside you, deep as you need it. If I'm not around, text me and I'll come, ready to make you come. For one week, I'll fulfill every fantasy on demand and get you off so many times we'll break records. — Kate Meader

Here's what's going to happen. I'll go do my postdoc work somewhere else, at a university far away from California, far away from all of you. You and me and Paul, we'll still Skype and text, just a little less often than we used to. I'll spend some time feeling sorry for myself and listening to emo music, then I'll spend some time partying too hard and probably sleeping with a few of the wrong people, and finally someday I'm gonna meet a woman who actually makes me glad I didn't get you. Because she'll be to me what Paul is to you, right? She'll be the one. — Claudia Gray

I still can't believe he just left. I mean, if you sleep with a girl for the first time, you at least send her a text, right? If not an actual phone call to say, "Hey, thanks for letting me deflower you. It was rad. — Leisa Rayven

People seem to be getting dumber and dumber. You know, I mean we have all this amazing technology and yet computers have turned into basically four figure wank machines. The internet was supposed to set us free, democratize us, but all it's really given us is Howard Dean's aborted candidacy and 24 hour a day access to kiddie porn. People ... they don't write anymore, they blog. Instead of talking, they text, no punctuation, no grammar: LOL this and LMFAO that. You know, it just seems to me it's just a bunch of stupid people pseudo-communicating with a bunch of other stupid people at a proto-language that resembles more what cavemen used to speak than the King's English. — Hank Moody

For me, each book is kind of like a silent film. If you were to remove the words and just look at the pictures, you should be able to tell what the story is about without having to read a word of text. That's what I think I brought from doing artwork for film to doing artwork for books. — Kadir Nelson

What are you doing here, anyway? You don't strike me as the speed dating type.'
'I lost a bet with Alfie,' he says. 'You met him at The Cow that day . . .?' Waistcoat Guy, I think, nodding. 'I said to him that if you didn't text me back then I'd try speed dating, because I'm officially the worst single man in London.'
'You're not!' I say. 'I mean, it wasn't a bad date. I was just . . .'
'Don't say you were drunk! It's the biggest post-sex insult ever.'
'. . . drunk, I mean drinking, a bit more than I ought, and I was, uh, cringing at the thought that I'd been a nightmare date.'
'No. You were great,' says Mark/Skinny Jeans.
'Actually, the biggest post-sex insult is "we did?"' says Robert. 'But that's another story. — Gemma Burgess

Mum, Vitali just sent me a text, would you pass me a new pair of panties. — David Haye

I have always had a weakness for footnotes. For me a clever or a wicked footnote has redeemed many a text. And I see that I am now using a long footnote to open a serious subject - shifting in a quick move to Paris, to a penthouse in the Hotel Crillon. Early June. Breakfast time. The host is my good friend Professor Ravelstein, Abe Ravelstein. My wife and I, also staying at the Crillon, have a room below, on the sixth floor. She is still asleep. The entire floor below ours (this is not absolutely relevant but somehow I can't avoid mentioning it) is occupied just now by Michael Jackson and his entourage. He performs nightly in some vast Parisian auditorium. Very soon his French fans will arrive and a crowd of faces will be turned upward, shouting in unison, 'Miekell Jack-sown'. A police barrier holds the fans back. Inside, from the sixth floor, when you look down the marble stairwell you see Michael's bodyguards. One of them is doing the crossword puzzle in the 'Paris Herald'. — Saul Bellow

Three days later, just as I set off for work, the postman handed me a letter. I opened it on the bus, thinking it might be an early birthday card from some distant cousin. It read, in computer- ized text:
Dear Clark,
This is to show you that I am not an entirely selfish arse. And I do appreciate your efforts.
Thank you.
Will
I laughed so hard the bus driver asked me if my lottery numbers had come up. — Jojo Moyes

More than conventional picture books, the notebook format allows me to leap from words to images, and this free-flowing back-and-forth inspires my best work. It reflects the way I think - sometimes visually, sometimes verbally - with the pictures not there just to illustrate the text but to replace it, to tell their own story. — Marissa Moss

My mum will always come and see my shows if she can, and if she can't, she'll text or email just before wishing me a great show and telling me how much she loves me. She still gives tonnes of positive reinforcement and love. It's really remarkable what that does for a child, and it's really remarkable what that does for me as an adult. — Rain Phoenix