Quotes & Sayings About Not Talking To Her

Cecile made it sound like it was no big deal. "I've been fighting for freedom all my life." But she wasn't talking about protest signs, standing up to the Man, and knowing your rights. She was talking about her life. Just her. Not the people. — Rita Williams-Garcia

I'm not talking about the blood ecstasy. I'm talking about my being able to fill that emotion void she has. You know her as well as I do, maybe better. She aches with it. She needs to be accepted for who she is so badly. And I was able to do that. Do you know good that felt? To be able to show someone that, yes, you are someone worth sacrificing for? That you like them for their faults and that you respect them for their ability to rise above them? — Kim Harrison

Butch : Two words for you. CYNDI.LAUPER
Vishous : Clearly, the paste you ate has gone to your head. Did Marissa like all that lace you glued on ? Oh ... and I'm talking to your body, not that ridiculous card you made her.
Butch : How does that song go ?
*sings song about true colors*
Vishous : I have no idea what you are talking about.
Butch : Oh.Really. So you deny that shit was playing in the weight room yesterday ?
Vishous : Please. Like I listen to crap like that ?
Butch : So you deny that song was also playing in the Escalade last night ?
Vishous : Don't act the fool.
Butch : So you deny that song was ALSO coming out of your shower early this morning. — J.R. Ward

When they say the heart wants what it wants, they're talking about the poetic heart - the heart of love songs and soliloquies, the one that can break as if it were just-formed glass. They're not talking about the real heart, the one that only needs healthy foods and aerobic exercise. But the poetic heart is not to be trusted. It is fickle and will lead you astray. It will tell you that all you need is love and dreams. It will say nothing about food and water and shelter and money. It will tell you that this person, the one in front of you, the one who caught your eye for whatever reason, is the One. And he is. And she is. The One - for right now, until his heart or her heart decides on someone else or something else. The poetic heart is not to be trusted with long-term decision-making. — Nicola Yoon

Jay sat down across from Chelsea and took both of her hands in his. The oversized lunchroom was buzzing with activity, and he practically had to yell to be heard.
"Chelsea, for the love of everything good and holy, please ... please stop ruining my friend."
Violet bit her lip to stop from laughing at the two of them. She knew what he was talking about before he even explained. It was the new facial hair.
Chelsea jerked her hands out of his. "Oh, relax, drama queen. He's not broken. Besides, I'm gonna fix him this weekend."
Jay seemed relieved. — Kimberly Derting

Tempting. But you see, I can simply insist on a lifetime contract with none of your silly restrictions, or kill you right now."
"You won't," Shane said. That made Morley's eyes open wide.
"Why not? Jacob and Patience were quite specific - they're concerned for Claire. Not for you, boy."
"Because if you kill me and Eve, you'll make her your enemy. This girl won't stop until she sees you all pay."
Claire had no idea whom he was talking about - she didn't feel like that Claire at all, until she imagined Shane and Eve lying dead on the ground.
Then she understood. "I'd hunt you down," she said quietly. "I'd use every resource I have to do it.
And you know I'd win."
Morley seemed impressed. "She is small, but I see your point, boy. Besides, she has the ear of Amelie, Oliver, and Myrnin; not a combination I would care to test. — Rachel Caine

Please tell me you did something good."

"No," Romeo said bleakly. "I did something terrible."

Wait, Paris said silently. You can't tell him about that.

Don't we have to? said Romeo.

We don't know anything about him! How do we know he won't sell us out to the City Guard?

He leads a gang, said Romeo. He's probably not on speaking terms with the Guard. And do we have a choice?

"Does it have anything to do with the marks you have on your hands, which look strangely similar to the marks worn by the Juliet and her Guardian, and the way you stare at each other silently like you're talking mind to mind?" Vai asked innocently. — Rosamund Hodge

What's he doing?" Raine asked. "He's not talking to me." "Grab him by the nuts and twist." I glared at her over my laptop. To us, our characters were real, living, breathing people that sometimes didn't cooperate. There was a famous quote that being a write was an acceptable form of schizophrenia. It was absolutely true. The voices never stopped, except when they were being jerks. — Chelsea M. Cameron

Whoa," Becky said, because the baby kicked her hard in the bladder.

Felix startled, backing up and nearly falling over a chair.

"Sorry, I was whoa-ing because right when you came in, the baby kicked, not because you're Felix Callahan. Oh, you know what it reminded me of ? When Elisabeth's baby kicks just as Mary greets her? Isn't that funny? As if I had some spiritual sign when I saw you."

Annette smiled, her eyebrows raised. Felix glared handsomely. Becky stamped down a desire to squirm.

"No, it's not terribly funny," Felix said, "particularly as I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Elisabeth, wife of Zacharias, cousin to Mary, mother of Jesus? No? Nothing?"

Felix looked at her with a careful lack of amusement.

"Oh, maybe you don't have the Bible in England. See, there's this guy named Jesus and his mother is named Mary, and well, it's a really interesting read if you don't mind parables. — Shannon Hale

In another corner Nathaniel murmured to Maura, "You must know, Miss O'Connell, I ... I loved you even before I saw you. It was your father's way of talking."
Maura shook her head. "You mustn't say that. It's not my dear da's words that should do the wooing," she said gently. "I'd rather be cared for ... for what I am myself."
Nathaniel nodded. "I'll not say more. But I will tell you what I think I'm going to do."
And what is that
I'm going to California to search for gold."
And do you think, Nathaniel Brewster, you'll find it?"
I do. But it won't be as fine as what's here," Nathaniel said with a shy smile. "Maura O'Connell ... will ... will you ... wait for me to come back?"
Maura was silent.
Will you?"
You're a fine young man, Mr. Brewster. I can only say I'll not forget you. — Avi

Warily, she dares to allow me a smile. "It's okay. It's just ... I'm not too good at talking to people." She looks away again as her shyness smothers her. "So, do you think it'd be all right if we don't talk? — Markus Zusak

You don't understand," Mairelon said dully. "Kim doesn't want to marry a toff."
Was that what was bothering him? "Well, of all the bacon-brained, sapskulled, squirish, buffle-headed nod cocks!" Kim said with as much indignation as she could muster. "I was talking about the marquis, not about you!"
Mairelon's eyes kindled. "Then you would?"
"You've whiddled it," Kim informed him.
As he kissed her again, she heard Mrs. Lowe murmur, "Mind your language, Kim," and Shoreham say in an amused tone, "Yes, Your Grace, I believe that
was an affirmative answer. — Patricia C. Wrede

It's been the toughest week of my life, not touching you. Not talking to you. Waiting to see what you were going to do." He kissed her again, a warm, damp touch of lips, exquisitely controlled. "But it doesn't matter whether you stay or go. I'll still need you. So if you want to go off to Boston, Ill wait. Right here, whenever you need me. — Rachel Caine

Women are often meticulous and safe drivers, but they are very seldom first-class. In general, Bond regarded them as a mild hazard and he always gave them plenty of road and was ready for the unpredictable. Four women in a car he regarded as the highest potential danger, and two women nearly as lethal. Women together cannot keep silent in a car, and when women talk they have to look into each other's faces. An exchange of words is not enough. They have to see the other person's expression, perhaps to read behind the others' words or analyze the reaction to their own. So two women in the front seat of a car constantly distract each other's attention from the road ahead and four women are more than doubly dangerous for the driver not only has to hear and see, what her companion is saying but also, for women are like that, what the two behind are talking about. — Ian Fleming

All my friends are always telling me how hard it is to have kids. 'Oh, David, it's so hard.' That's not hard. I'll tell you what hard is. Try talking your girlfriend into her third consecutive abortion. Yeah, that's hard, that takes finesse. You're just inconvenienced. — David Cross

Am I not allowed to speak in hyperbole?"
"Only," he said, a bit too smoothly, "if you are talking about me."
Ellie's face slid into a smirk. "Oh, Charles," she exclaimed, "I feel as if we have known each other for a million years." Her tone grew more ironic. "I am that weary of your company. — Julia Quinn

I hope that's a good thing,' I said, thinking he might say I reminded him of a film star- then we'd actually have something in common. I was hoping for Anne Hathaway or Julia Roberts, and not the obvious Vivien Leigh. Even Angelina Jolie would have done, though I'd never quite forgiven her for stealing Brad's heart. Talking of Brad, was Sean starting to resemble him too? No, he could never be a Brad, a Matthew McConaughey maybe at a push, but never a Brad Pitt. — Ali McNamara

We women, me and you. Tell me something real. Don't just say I'm grown and ought to know. I don't. I'm fifty and I don't know nothing. What about it? Do I stay with him? I want to, I think. I want ... well, I didn't always ... now I want. I want some fat in this life."
"Wake up. Fat or lean, you got just one. This is it."
"You don't know either, do you?"
"I know enough to know how to behave."
"Is that it? Is that all it is?"
"Is that all what is?"
"Oh shoot! Where the grown people? Is it us?"
"Oh, Mama." Alice Manfred blurted it out and then covered her mouth.
Violet had the same thought: Mama. Mama? Is this where you got to and couldn't do it no more? The place of shade without trees where you know you are not and never again will be loved by anybody who can choose to do it? Where everything is over but the talking?
- Violet Trace and Alice Manfred — Toni Morrison

So what? You act all mysterious to seem more interesting?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're always wandering off or running away," he said. "But you're a lot more
interesting when you're just being yourself you know. When you're actually here."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Emma said coldly. "Where else would I be?"

"You know what I mean," he said, a rough edge to his voice. "It's like you're so busy trying not to act like your family that you've never even stopped to consider that it might not be such a bad thing."

"Well what about you?" she shot back, aware of the bitterness in her words.
"You complain about your dad not wanting you around, and then you complain when he wants you to stay home for school. You can't have it both wars."

"Well neither can you," he said. " You can't keep everyone at arms length and then expect them to be there for you when you need them. — Jennifer E. Smith

I am not going to apologize for the idyllic childhood and the wonderful siblings and the Christian home I grew up in. I know how blessed I am and I am thankful, but I also know it's not that way for everyone. I was talking to a young woman recently who was going through her something and she said, "I don't have sisters to watch my back like you do. I didn't have the kind of mother you did." And I said to her what I've begun saying to people across the country, "Then why not let the legacy of love and support start with you? — Robin Roberts

Misty dreamers had not a chance with her; since, though she did not talk - talking would have been altogether repugnant to her silent nature. — E.T.A. Hoffmann

Today is one of the days when Ma is Gone.
She won't wake up properly. She's here but not really. She stays in Bed with the pillows on her head.
Silly Penis is standing up, I squish him down.
I eat my hundred cereal and I stand on my chair to wash the bowl and Meltedy Spoon. It's very quiet when I switch off the water. I wonder did Old Nick come in the night. I don't think he did because the trash bag is still by Door, but maybe he did only he didn't take the trash? Maybe Ma's not just Gone. Maybe he squished her neck even harder and now she's -
I go up really close and listen till I hear breath. I'm just one inch away, my hair touches Ma's nose and she puts her hand up over her face so I step back.
I don't have a bath on my own, I just get dressed.
There's hours and hours, hundreds of them.
Ma gets up to pee but not talking, with her face all blank. I already put a glass of water beside Bed but she just gets back under Duvet. — Emma Donoghue

If she could have anything in the world, he'd asked her, what would it be?
She'd answered that one without hesitation: a best friend. She hastily added, a truly, seriously best friend; one that I couldn't wait to talk to first thing in the morning as soon as I woke up, and one that I still wanted to be talking to, right up to the last minute before I went to sleep.
He'd smiled faintly. You mean a soul mate, he'd thought but not said. — Karen Marie Moning

Ouch. Do you mind? This is a silk-wool blend. You'll wrinkle it." "It's about to be shredded." She seethes up at me, eyes shooting sparks. "You just totally threw our business out there." "I told them not to talk about it." Her nose wrinkles. "Which means they'll be talking about it even more." "No, they won't." "Yes, we will," Rye calls. I point at him. "Start practicing your Running Man. — Kristen Callihan

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

She smoothes the front of the dress, looking down at her hands, at her bitten fingernails, at her big feet in the pointy-toes shoes. This is a woman's dress, she thinks, a young woman's dress. It is not a girl's dress. It is solidly on the other side of the line outside of girlhood. It is a dress that says something big in a very quiet way; it is a dress that is talking to Alice right now, a dress that is making her feel possibilities never before considered, the possibility of perfume and pretty and dancing and boys. This dress is who she might be, only more so. — Laura Harrington

I don't want to go through it all again. All that time without you, always waiting, my foolish optimism that someday it would be different-"
"Your optimism was justified! Look at me. Look at us! This is different. I know it is, Daniel. I saw us in Helston and Tibet and Tahiti. We were in love, sure, but it was nothing like what we have now."
They'd dropped back farther, out of earshot of the others. They were just Luce and Daniel, two lovers talking in the sky. "I'm still here," she said. "I'm here because you believed in us. You believed in me."
"I did-I do believe in you."
"I believe in you, too." She heard a smile enter her voice. "I always have."
They were not going to fail. — Lauren Kate

Steady, Legs, I'm not going to bite," he teased. "Well, not unless you ask me to."

Despite herself, she snorted. "Stop calling me Legs." It was insulting...and made her want to dissolve into a puddle at his feet. Damn the man.

"I like the look of your legs, so I;m going to keep doing it. Now, how big are we thinking?"

Big. Thick and long.

Wait, that wasn't what he was asking.

Austin have a deep chuckle. "I can see from your face where your mind went, and yes, big is a good word for it. However, I was talking about your tattoo. — Carrie Ann Ryan

It's just a coincidence, I guess, but just the day before at the dry cleaner's, one of our customers, Mrs. Chudy, said to me- I forget what we were even talking about, but she said, "My dear, there are no coincidences. That's just God's way of remaining anonymous." And I was like, to myself not to her, yeah? How do you know? But hey, maybe she's right. — Wally Lamb

DEAR MISS MANNERS:
Should you tell your mother something if it is important when she is talking to company? I am six.
GENTLE READER:
Yes, you should (after saying "Excuse me"). Here are some of the things that are important to tell your mother, even though she is talking to company:
"Mommy, the kitchen is full of smoke."
"Daddy's calling from Tokyo."
"Kristen fell out of her crib and I can't put her back."
"There's a policeman at the door and he says he wants to talk to you."
"I was just reaching for my ball, and the goldfish bowl fell over."
Now, here are some things that are not important, so they can wait until your mother's company has gone home:
"Mommy, I'm tired of playing blocks. What do I do now?"
"The ice-cream truck is coming down the street."
"Can I give Kristen the rest of my applesauce?"
"I can't find my crayons."
"When are we going to have lunch? I'm hungry. — Judith Martin

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

Still smiling, he leaned toward me. "You're jealous, aren't you?"
"Why would I be jealous of her?"
"Because she has what you don't."
"Which would be what? A bad hairdresser, poor rhythm, or a striking lack of financial sense when it comes to buying clothes?"
His smile grew. "Admit it, you're jealous."
"I'm not jealous." I straightened the napkins into a tall stack. "Rich people are so arrogant. You all think everyone just sits around coveting your wealth. Well, my happiness isn't dependent on my account numbers."
He gave a mock grunt. "I wasn't talking about Olivia's money. I was talking about me."
"Oh." It was suddenly hard to breathe. — Janette Rallison

S_ likes being around other people; she just isn't particularly comfortable talking to them. She supposes that she is some variety of voyeur, enjoying the spectacle, breathing in the atmosphere, while experiencing uneasiness when asked to become part of it. None of this makes her unhappy. The life of a wallflower, she often thinks, is not such a terrible life. — Whitney Otto

I remember the woman who marched up to the front of a church where I was doing a meeting, put her hands on her hips, and she said, "I want my money back." I said, "What are you talking about?" She said, "I've been doing this two weeks, and it doesn't work. I want my money back!" It was actually all that I could keep from doing to keep from laughing in her face, but she was serious. She actually was, like, giving almost to buy some kind of a new lifestyle that she wanted. Didn't understand a thing about commitment and dedication and discipline. Two weeks! How many of you know you're not going to throw a little money in the bucket and get your life that's been a mess for 50 years turned around in two weeks!?!? — Joyce Meyer

She's not talking to me. She's talking to the Imaginary Daily Mail Judge, who constantly watches her life and gives it marks out of ten. — Sophie Kinsella

Each person in the group said something except for me. My silence became noticed. About halfway through the meeting I started to think, I've got to talk. Today, I've got to talk. Fear racked me so bad that sweat ran down my sides. I thought, After the curly-haired woman stops talking I'll raise my hand. A man with a cocky smile told the curly woman that her story was nothing compared to his, he'd been passed out cold from heroin and God knows what, and I wanted to tell him to quit glorifying hinself. I was just about to say the words, a few faces turned toward me as if they could sense my imminent speech, when a man across the circle interrupted.
The opportunity passed; what I wanted to say wouldn't fit now. I tilted on the back two legs of the chair and waited for my desire to speak and be noticed and be part of the group to travel back through my nervous system. Up the synapses condemnation rushed: Why couldn't I spit something out like a normal person? — Daphne Scholinski

The funny thing about mundies," Jace said, to nobody in particular, "is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means."
I know what it means," Clary snapped.
No, you don't, you just think you do. Magic is a dark elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls and talking goldfish."
I never said it was a lot of talking goldfish, you-"
Jace waved a hand, cutting her off. "Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie. — Cassandra Clare

She hardly ever began conversations with strangers just to talk. It was not a matter of shyness. For her, a conversation had a straightforward function. How do I get to the pharmacy? or How much does the hotel room cost? Conversation also had a professional function. [ ... ] When she worked as a researcher [ ... ], she had never minded having a long conversation if it was to ferret out facts. On the other hand, she disliked personal discussions, which always led to snooping around in areas she considered private. — Stieg Larsson

Come on, sweetheart. I'm letting you do this. Do it." When she didn't respond, he added, "Listen, I know it's easier when they're not fucking looking at you."
Beckett turned and faced the wall.
"I don't know who hired you, but can I ask you for something?" He talked at the wall.
Here comes the fast-talking, the mojo, the shout to his employees.
"Could you make sure Cole doesn't take credit for his handiwork last night? And can you follow up on that Chris guy?" Beckett turned his head a bit, listening for her answer.
He still trusts me. He still trusts me with his brothers. I can't do it. — Debra Anastasia

Come to rob my sister then,have you?"
"Certainly not," Mother replied, her smile brittle.
"This fashion for talking to the dead is pure poppycock,if you ask me.Dead is dead."
"Agatha,that's rude even for you," Mrs. Gordon said.
"Shall we begin,Mrs. Willoughby, before my sister's abominable manners drive you clear away? — Alyxandra Harvey

Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for her not to be happy. — Jane Austen

For the Warrior Princess Submissive, her feminism is less about "talking the talk," and more about "walking the walk." She doesn't have to wear her feminism on her sleeve; she exudes it from every pore and typically demonstrates it in practically everything she does. No, the issue - when it comes to the Warrior Princess' feminism - isn't whether or not she is a feminist; it's about how she reconciles her feminism with her submission and how she is perceived by those around her. — Michael Makai

I hear her pacing the house, mumbling, words I can barely make out and am frightened to hear. The words 'Carpe Diem' come from her lips like she's a broken, skipping record, and I clutch the pendant of my necklace tightly, fighting back tears. Because I know she's talking to him, appealing to an invisible man named John, the one who walked out on her when I was born. I know it's not my fault. Not my fault she's this way. Not my fault he left her. But fuck if I don't feel guilty anyway. — J.M. Darhower

The fallacy is one of the fifty fallacies that come from the modern madness for biological or bodily metaphors. It is convenient to speak of the Social Organism, just as it is convenient to speak of the British Lion. But Britain is no more an organism than Britain is a lion. The moment we begin to give a nation the unity and simplicity of an animal, we begin to think wildly. Because every man is a biped, fifty men are not a centipede. This has produced, for instance, the gaping absurdity of perpetually talking about "young nations" and "dying nations," as if a nation had a fixed and physical span of life. Thus people will say that Spain has entered a final senility; they might as well say that Spain is losing all her teeth. Or people will say that Canada should soon produce a literature; which is like saying that Canada must soon grow a new moustache. — G.K. Chesterton

All I had to do was die a little, and you get a new planet!"
I expected her to laugh, or at least smile. I did not expect her to slap my arm. "You stupid idiot!" she says, smacking me again. "I don't want the new planet without you!"
Her eyes round as she realizes what she just said. Anytime we'd gotten this close to talking about us before, Amy has shied away from the topic. But now, instead of drawing away from me, she leans closer. Her hair spills over her shoulders, brushing my chest as she leans down. Her fiery joy at learning about the planet is replaced with something else, something warmer like a slow-burning but steady flame.
"It wouldn't be worth it without you," she says, her voice low. — Beth Revis

The boldest of the three moved suddenly, grabbed Angua and pulled her upright. "We walk out of here unharmed or the girl gets it, all right?" he snarled.
Someone sniggered.
"I hope you're not going to kill anyone," said Carrot.
"That's up to us!"
"Sorry, was I talking to you?" said Carrot. — Terry Pratchett

When you look at her what do you feel?" "Are you fucking serious? Forget it." He can kiss my ass if he wants to start talking feelings with me. "You obviously want it for a reason." "I want a picture to jack off to. What do you care?" I keep drawing so I don't have to look at him, but I'm mutilating the sketch I'm working on. I'll have to start over, but I don't care. "Joy, fear, frustration, longing, friendship, anger, need, despair, love, lust?" "Yes." "Yes, what?" "All of it," I reply, because I'm all in now whether I like it or not. — Katja Millay

By the time I was eighteen, she had sat me down and detailed her alcoholism, its onset and aftermath. She believed that by sharing such things I might be able to avoid them or, if need be, recognize them when they occurred. By talking about them to her children, she was also acknowledging that they were real and that they had an effect on us too, that things like this shaped a family, not just the person they happened to. — Alice Sebold

She even told me how to treat a girl on a date, which was very interesting. She said that with a girl like Mary Elizabeth, you shouldn't tell her she looks pretty. You should tell her how nice her outfit is because her outfit is her choice whereas her face isn't. She also said that with some girls, you should do things like open car doors and buy flowers, but with Mary Elizabeth (especially since it's the Sadie Hawkins' dance), I shouldn't do that. So, I asked her what I should do, and she said that I should ask a lot of questions and not mind when Mary Elizabeth doesn't stop talking. I said that it didn't sound very democratic, but Sam said she does it all the time with boys. — Stephen Chbosky

Norman picked up a sketch, glanced at it, then put it back down on the table. "I saw Bea Williamson this morning," he said in a low voice. "Lurking about looking for cut glass."
"Oh, of course," Mira said with a sigh. "Did she have it with her?"
Norman nodded solemnly. "Yep. I swear, I think it's almost gotten ... bigger."
Mira shook her head. "Not possible."
"I'm serious," Norman said. "It's way big."
I kept waiting for someone to expand on this, but since neither of them seemed about to, I asked, "What are you talking about?"
They looked at each other.
Then, Mira took a breath. "Bea Williamson's baby," she said quietly, as if someone could hear us, "has the biggest head you have ever seen."
Norman nodded, seconding this.
"A baby?" I said.
"A big-headed baby," Mira corrected me. "You should see the cranium on this kid. It's mind-boggling. — Sarah Dessen

How old are you?'
The question startled him. 'Earth and Air. There are times you are no more comfortable a companion than I am. The answer to that serves no conceivable purpose, and I refuse to give it to you.'
When I was a kid I read Black Beauty. There were horse-drawn cabs in that. Are you that old?'
Older, older, older. I shall not tell you, so you may as well leave off, my primrose.'
She snorted. 'I think that means I should give up. You've started sweet-talking.'
I am torn,' the phouka said, grinning, 'between responding, 'Oh, absolutely!' and 'What do you mean, started?' He grabbed her hand, dropped a kiss on the knuckles, and loped across the street. Eddi felt the touch of his mouth on her hand for an inexplicably long time. — Emma Bull

The Seanchan in the room seemed stunned that Mat had suddenly stripped to the waist. He did not see why, They had servants that wore much less. Light, but they did.
"I'm tempted to do the same as you," Min muttered, grabbing the front of her dress.
Mat Froze, then sputtered. He must have swallowed a fly or something. "Burn me," he said, throwing on the shirt he dug out of the bundle. "I'll give you a hundred Tar Valon marks if you do it, just so I can tell the story."
That earned him a glare, through he did not know why. She was the one talking about striding about like a bloody Aiel Maiden on her way to the sweat tent.
Min did not do it, and he was almost sad. Almost. He had to be careful around Min. He was certain that a smile in the wrong place would earn him a knifing not only from her, but from Tuon, and Mat was much happier with only one knife stuck on him at a time. — Robert Jordan

What do you mean, ruined?"
From the way Emily swallows slowly, you'd think we were talking about smoking crack. "Compromised. By ... by another man."
"Oh!" I say, too loudly. "You mean, if the girl's not a virgin, the guy won't marry her?"
She nods, her eyes wide, as if being a non-virgin is akin to being an ax-murder. — Mandy Hubbard

Cam starts laughing, "Oh, I love it when she reads." He turns to Lucy who's face is starting to contort and turn to a bright shade of red, "She reads these smutty books, like full on dirty shit, full of sex and like ... bdsm shit."
"I'm not joking boys, they're like full on pornographic. Talking about silky shafts and veiny dicks and shit," Logan is now on the ground holding his side from the pain of laughing too hard.
"Sometimes she'll be reading, then all of sudden she'll put her book down and look at me like she wants to eat me, literally eat me!" he yells, laughing harder, still swatting away her hands that are trying to shut him up, "I mean I don't mind it, not at all. It's hot as fuck. And she wants to try everything she reads in these books. Like ... everything. She learns everything from these books ... so I don't give a shit when, of how much she reads, I get rewards. — Jay McLean

I think you're very brave," he whispered. "You're a fire that should burn itself out in five seconds of brilliant combustion. I know what it's like to put forth that much energy, and yet you do it night after night. And nobody - not marquesses nor guardians nor physicians, not the whole weight of society's expectations - can make you stop." She let out a sigh, a trembling sigh that had her lips brushing against his thumb. So much like a kiss. "If people want you to stop talking, or to stop dressing the way you do, or to change who you are, it's because you hurt their eyes. We've all been trained not to stare into the sun. — Courtney Milan

When Vince was through talking that day, one of the grand jurors said, "Explain to me, to all of us, why in the world didn't you at some time go to Mrs. Reinert and warn her?" And by now Vince knew he'd spend the rest of his life being asked that question. And by now he knew that even when the words were not being uttered, the eyes were asking it. — Joseph Wambaugh

Rhiss looked narrowly at her, suspicion becoming certainty in his mind as he spoke. "Did you put them to sleep?"
She looked coy. "Now, I ask you, would I do that?"
"In a moment, if it suited your purposes," Rhiss retorted. "I thought as much. What was it? Did you doctor their drinks?"
She looked scandalized. "Rhissan! I'd not do a thing like that, not to friends, at any rate. They were fair worn out, poor lambs, from all that talking and thinking. I... merely encouraged their inclination to sleep. It's a useful ability with hurt animals, you know, and it works just as well on stubborn people. They can have their afternoon nap in peace, we can have our walk, and everyone will be the happier for it."
Rhiss looked at her a moment, her lovely eyes opened wide in innocence, then burst out laughing. "Very well, Mistress Lowri. Lead on. But don't you be trying any of your trickery on me. — D.R. Ranshaw

You never answered," he said. "You got the hots for me, or not?" His dark eyes lit up with a smile.
Squaring her shoulders, Holiday started talking. "Della assumed I might have the hots for you. And you know what they say about assuming, right?"
"It makes an ass out of you and me," Della answered, and gave Kylie the elbow. "Get it. A.S.S.U.M.E."
Holiday cut her eyes to Della in visual reprimand, then started walking away. She got three steps and swung back around. "Are you coming?" she snapped at Burnett.
"You didn't ask me to," He answered.
"Well, I assumed you would know I needed to discuss what happened."
He arched one dark brow upward. "And what did you just about assuming? — C.C. Hunter

I just don't understand how you can get so much comfort from a religion whose language does so much harm." ... I realized that what troubled me most was her use of the word "comfort," so in my reply I addressed that first. I said that I didn't think it was comfort I was seeking, or comfort that I'd found. Look, I said to her, as a rush of words came to me. As far as I'm concerned, this religion has saved my life, my husband's life, and our marriage. So it's not comfort that I'm talking about but salvation. — Kathleen Norris

He pulled her close and kissed her. Happiness and joy settled around them like a warm cloak. And gentleness spurred passion. His kiss deepened and a soft, low moan eased out of his throat.
He wiggled on the bed beneath her, letting her feel the resurgence of his passion inside her.
"I'm ready to do it again," he said plainly.
"You can't do it twice," she answered, giggling.
"Why not?"
"You just can't," Althea told him. "Men do it one time and then they rest up for a day or two."
"I think I'm rested up enough," he told her.
"Jesse, I know what I'm talking about," she said with confidence. "I was married for over two years. And I know all about it. You can't be ready to do it again."
He proved her wrong. — Pamela Morsi

She sat silently in her rocking chair. Some people are good at talking, but Granny Weatherwax was good at silence. She could sit so quiet and still that
she faded. You forgot she was there. The room became empty.
Tiffany thought of it as the I'm-not-here spell, if it was a spell. She reasoned that everyone had something inside them that told the world they
were there. That was why you could often sense when someone was behind you, even if they were making no sound at all. You were receiving their
I-am-here signal.
Some people had a very strong one. They were the people who got served first in shops. Granny Weatherwax had an I-am-here signal that bounced off the mountains when she wanted it to; when she walked into a forest, all the wolves and bears ran out the other side. She could turn it off, too. She was doing that now. Tiffany was having to concentrate to see her. Most of her mind was telling her that there was no one there at all. — Terry Pratchett

So," the woman asks, digging through her purse and emerging with a pair of foam earplugs, "how did you two meet?"
They exchange a quick glance.
"Believe it or not," Oliver says, "it was in an airport."
"Oh how wonderful!" she exclaims, looking positively delighted. "And how did it happen?"
"Well" he begins, sitting up a bit taller, "I was being quite gallant, actually, and offered to help her with her suitcase. And then we started talking and one thing lead to another ... "
Hadley grins "And he's been carrying my suitcase ever since."
"It's what an true gentlemen would do," Oliver says with an exaggerated modesty.
"Especially the really gallant ones. — Jennifer E. Smith

She was in big trouble now.
"You stupid man," she said to the body on the floor. "Why did you have to lunge at me like that? Why couldn't you have left well enough alone? I told your father I wasn't going to marry you. I told him I wouldn't marry you if you were the last idiot in Britain."
She nearly stamped her foot in frustration. Why was it her words never came out quite the way she
intended them to?
"What I meant to say was that you are an idiot," she said to Percy, who, not
surprisingly, didn't respond, "and that I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man in Britain, and- Oh, blast. What am I doing talking to you, anyway? You're quite dead. — Julia Quinn

He thought, in your most secret dreams you cut a niche for yourself, and it is finished early, and then you wait for someone to come along to fill it - but to fill it exactly, every cut, curve, hollow and plane of it. And people do come along, and one covers up the niche, and another rattles around inside it, and another is so surrounded by fog that for the longest time you don't know if she fits or not; but each of them hits you with a tremendous impact. And then one comes along and slips in so quietly that you don't know when it happened, and fits so well you almost can't feel anything at all. And that is it.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked him.
He told her, immediately and fully. She nodded as if he had been talking about cats or cathedrals or cam-shafts, or anything else beautiful and complex. She said, "That's right. It isn't all there, of course. It isn't even enough. But everything else isn't enough without it."
"What is 'everything else'? — Theodore Sturgeon

Issie?"
After a second her voice comes out small and tired. "I'm not here."
"Oh." I back up so I can stare at the bathroom door. No feet. "Then I should probably freak out because the toilet is talking back to me, huh? A little too many pain meds for Zara today. — Carrie Jones

Every town has a psychopath or two. Not just the everyday crazy person, either. Not like Crazy Larry, the paint huffing weirdo peddling around town on a child-sized Huffy ranting about the end of the world, or the old lady dressed in rags who hands out filthy doll clothes to the kiddies. I'm talking about the cold, never remorseful lunatic, who may never have seemed insane up until the day he hacked apart his mother and shoved her stinking corpse into the attic. This town is overflowing with them; bloodcurdling murderers like Kenny Wayne Hilbert, Charlie Fender ... Orland Winthro. And Al, the crazy had to come from somewhere. — Nikki Ferguson

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

"Joss"
"What?"
"What?" Dylan asked back.
"You just said my name."
"No I didn't"
"Sorry that was me."
I sat up, banging my head on the roof. "Who is that?"
"Hey, stay down here where the air is good, okay?" Dylan pulled me gently back down. "Hows your head?"
"Not good, I think."
"Um, okay, so you here me. Heather's right, you do think loud. I mean, I've never heard you before, but my Talent seems to be a lot more selective than her's. But now that she's got me turned in to you-"
"Who are you?"
"It's still me, Marshall. It's Dylan. I'm right here."
"My name's Joel."
"Joel?"
"Joss, what are you talking about?" He took my face in his hands. "Who's Joel?"
"The voice in my head, I guess."
"Jesus. — Susan Bischoff

Of course the reason that all the children in our town like Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle is because Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle likes children, she enjoys talking to them and best of all they do not irritate her. — Betty MacDonald

I just ... ," Cath started again: "I realized that I'm not cut out for fiction-writing."
Professor Piper blinked and pulled her head back. "What are you talking about? You're exactly cut out for it. You're a Butterick pattern, Cath
this is what you were meant to do. — Rainbow Rowell

There hasn't been any other woman," Heath said against her mouth, making her tremble. "There couldn't be. I'm too obsessed with my own wife. There's only one thing you can give me that no one else can ... and heaven and hell be damned, I'll get it from you no matter how long I have to wait, no matter how hard I have to ride you. No, I'm not talking solely about my husbandly rights, although that would be a good place to start. — Lisa Kleypas

Women must find their own answer. That's the important thing. I'm no longer interested in books about women written by men. Even if I could believe in their objectivity, I just can't find their opinions relevant. Now I will only believe what a woman has to say about women, because even if it's not entirely true, it's her struggle and she's on the way to the answer.
Many of you seek masculine approval. Even though you have inside you your way of talking and writing, you have mountains of it inside you, and even though it is enough to begin expressing yourselves so long as it is with your vocabulary, your abstractions, and your own conceptualization, I think you are still afraid of the master: men. Of their judgment. As long as you have this fear, you will not progress. I think the future belongs to women. Men have been completely dethroned. Their rhetoric is stale, used up. We must move on the rhetoric of women, one that is anchored in the organism, in the body. — Marguerite Duras

Any time I let it, the weight of living creeps in and starts to drag her down. It would be too easy to say that I feel invisible. Instead, I feel painfully visible, and entirely ignored. People talk to her, but it feels like they are outside a house, talking through the walls. There are friends, but they are people to spend time with, not people to share time with. There's a false beast that takes the form of instinct and harps on the pointlessness of everything that happens. — David Levithan

If it makes you feel any better, he's been all sad doll lately too."
"What are you talking about, Chels?"
Chelsea stopped walking and stared at Violet.
"Jay. I'm talking about Jay, Vi. I thought you might want to know that you're not the only one who's hurting. He's been moping around school, making it hard to even look at him. He's messed up ... bad." Just like the other night in Violet's bedroom, something close to ... sympathy crossed Chelsea's face.
Violet wasn't sure how to respond.
Fortunately sympathetic Chelsea didn't stick around for long. She seemed to get a grip on herself, and like a switch had been flipped, the awkward moment was over and her friend was back, Chelsea-style: "I swear, every time I see him, I'm halfway afraid he's gonna start crying like a girl or ask to borrow a tampon or something. Seriously, Violet, it's disgusting. Really. Only you can make it stop. Please make it stop. — Kimberly Derting

This is not exactly what I had in mind when I agreed to miss lunch," Alex said grumpily forty minutes later. He shifted uncomfortably and tried to see what I was doing.
I stared him back into submission. "Wait."
The art room is usually empty Thursday afternoons except for me. Ms. Evers leaves early to teach her UArts class and looks up.Of course, I am one of the few entrusted with the Secret Location of the Key.
A few feet away from where I sat perched on a stool,Alex was posed on the anchient chaise we use for figure drawing. It's a relic, probably from the Palladinetti years: chipped mahogany and dusty velvet, what little remaining stuffing pokes out from a century of holes. I was probably luxurious once. Now it's like sitting on a slightly smelly board. But I'd wanted to sketch Alex as I so often saw him, reclining with his head propped on one hand,listening or talking or coaxing me to put down the glass, already,Ella,and come here. — Melissa Jensen

Well, she thought. Well, well. Here we are, probably for the first time, just talking to each other. Not arguing, not being sarcastic, just talking. It's nice.
It was surprisingly nice. And the strange thing was, she knew Ash thought so, too. They understood each other. Over the table, Ash gave her a barely perceptible nod. — L.J.Smith

She gulped her whiskey sour. The bar was hot tonight.
CJ circled back to check on them. "You ladies doing okay?"
"Define okay." Natalie's whiskey seemed to be talking. Because the whiskey was the only thing that could've put that husky, suggestive tone in her voice. Yep, that was all the whiskey.
He propped his elbows on the bar, which put his face level with hers, and fixed his undivided attention on her. There went her lady bits fanning themselves. With a few added whimpers. They remembered what his hands and body and lips felt like too.
"Content." His voice was low and raw, his gaze penetrating and unwavering. "Happy. Completely, one hundred percent satisfied."
Her mouth went dry while the rest of her went up in needy flames that made her want to scratch the all-but-gone rash he'd tended so well on Monday.
"Nope," Natalie squeaked. "Not okay then. — Jamie Farrell

Helen spent three days in Rhys Winterbournes's room babbling incessantly while he lay there feverish and mostly silent. She became heartily tired of the sound of her own voice, and said something to that effect near the end of the second day.
"I'm not," he said shortly. "Keep talking. — Lisa Kleypas

I think we should probably get Vanessa out of the Quiet Box to help us. What do you guys say?'
'Absolutely,' Newel affirmed. 'Best idea I've heard all day.'
'I'll second that,' Doren said gladly.
Seth gave the satyrs a doubtful scowl. 'Wait a minute. You guys just think she's pretty.'
'I've been around a long time,' Newel said. 'Vanessa Santoro is not jut pretty.'
'He's right,' Doren agreed. 'She's walking dynamite. My pulse is rising just talking about her.'
'She also might be a traitor,' Seth stressed.
'The lethal temptress,' Newel said with relish. 'Even better.'
'It will definitely spice up the adventure,' Doren encouraged.
'I'm obviously talking to wrong guys,' Seth sighed.
'Believe me,' Newel said cockily. 'you're talking to the right guys. We've been chasing babes since the world was flat.'
Seth rolled his eyes. — Brandon Mull

Trying to attract another underserved audience group - females - brought Super Princess Peach, a game where Peach finally avoids being princess-napped. Bowser kidnaps Mario and Luigi instead, and it's up to her for once to save them. The second-wave feminism lasts as long as it takes Peach to acquire a magical talking parasol. Peach's powers manifest through her emotional states. When she is calm she can heal herself, when she is happy she can fly, when glum she can water plants with her tears, and when angry she literally catches on fire. Using emotions as part of basic game play is a daring concept, and feel free to sub in "insulting" or "outrageous" or "awesome" for "daring." The concept might have been taken more seriously if not for touches like the pink umbrella, and Peach having unlimited lives - core gamers hate being unable to die. — Jeff Ryan

The reason why Jane's spirit was not broken was that she had a secret. It was her own special secret and she had told no one else except Peggy. She locked it in her heart and hugged it to herself. It was this glorious secret that filled her with such irrepressible joy and exhilaration. But it was also to be the cause of her greatest disaster, and her life-long grief.
The rumour that her father was a high-born gentleman in Parliament must have reached Jane's ears when she was a little girl. Perhaps she had heard the officers talking about it, or perhaps another child had heard the adults talking and told her. Perhaps Jane's mother had told another workhouse inmate, who had passed it on. One can never tell how rumours start.
To Jane, it was not a rumour. It was an absolute fact. Her daddy was a high-born gentleman, who one day would come and take her away. She fantasised endlessly about her daddy. She talked to him, and he talked to her. — Jennifer Worth

They spent a summer talking beneath the redwoods. There was a curiosity to the way they knew. She would take his hips in her hands and turn him to the left, so the sun would not be in his eyes. He would take her hips in his hands and turn her to the right, so the sun would not be in her eyes.. It is a dance. A very careful way they care. — Mikl Paul

My...principles in talking to a woman: do not ask permission; do not say hello; ...do not let her speak first...give a woman the chance to reject something else besides me...statements, not questions, were less likely to lead to no. — Viet Thanh Nguyen

The things you were talking about. The lights and the flowers. Do they expect those things to make them romantic, not the other way around?"
"Darling, what do you mean?"
"There wasn't a person there who enjoyed it," she said, her voice lifeless, "or who thought or felt anything at all. They moved about, and they said the same dull things they say anywhere. I suppose they thought the lights would make it brilliant."
"Darling, you take everything too seriously. One is not supposed to be intellectual at a ball. One is simply supposed to be gay."
"How? By being stupid? — Ayn Rand

In perfect understanding, it seemed, they looked at each other. Questions of failure, of haste, all the what if's of life, did not matter. The quiet in her was talking to the quiet in him. — Anne Rice

She'd seen them on the news, compassionate Americans talking about how the United States should be more welcoming to people who came in peace. She believed these kindhearted people, like Natasha, would never betray them, and she wanted to tell Jende this, that the people of Judson Memorial Church loved immigrants, that their secret was safe with Natasha. But she also knew it would be futile reasoning with a raging man, so she decided to sit quietly with her head bowed as he unleashed a verbal lashing, as he called her a stupid idiot and a bloody fool. The man who had promised to always take care of her was standing above her vomiting a parade of insults, spewing out venom she never thought he had inside him. For the first time in a long love affair, she was afraid he would beat her. She was almost certain he would beat her. And if he had, she would have known that it was not her Jende who was beating her but a grotesque being created by the sufferings of an American immigrant life. — Imbolo Mbue

Their words faded into the darkness as if they were spoken and unspoken at the same time; as if they were important and yet not at all, as if they were two people talking or maybe just one.
Darkness, she understood later, easily confused the meaning of words, of skin touching skin. In their remaining summers together she tried to find that oneness again. When it was all over,
when youth ended and he chose Maisy, she understood the lesson from the dock that night: she could never again call her feelings of intimacy and oneness love. Nor would she be fooled again into believing that her love was returned, that a boy felt more for her than friendship. — Patti Callahan Henry

Her feelings as dark as the night sky, the moon was the only thing making her come alive
So she got some paper and pen to let the ink spill it all out because talking never seemed to work.
Blood drops fell on her little piece of paper, drowning it along with her. By the time the blood dried up it left her with nothing but red dust. Red. The same color her eyes were captivated by.
They never told her that there is no way to get over crazy, messy things in life. There's only crossing that red sea as if you're walking through the wilderniss. The sun will rise when you've gone through the depts of it all. Writing wont matter anymore. Don't you understand? You're life is not messy little girl, you're just crazy sometimes. — N

I just want to tell her that I'm sorry, Wallow says softly. He doesn't know that I'm awake. He's talking to himself, or maybe to the ocean. There's not a trace of fear in his voice. And it's clear then that Wallow is a better brother than I could ever hope to be. — Karen Russell

Termite, you're young, and I'm not sure if you're going to understand what I'm about to say, but here's the nugget: Without the heart, nothing else matters. She could be the Goddess of Love, you could have all the mind-blowing sex you could physically handle, but when the shooting is over, and you're starting to think about getting a bite to eat, smoking a cigarette, or what you do with her now, you're just lying in bed with a woman who means little more to you than the remote control for your TV. Love is not tool; neither is a woman's heart. What I'm talking about, you won't find in that magazine."
"How would you know? You just said you've only loved one woman. I think you need to test-drive a few cars before you buy one."
"You can buy that lie if you want, but if you're working for a bank, you don't study the counterfeit to know the real thing. You study the real thing to know the counterfeit."
Reese talking to Termite, pg. 109-110 — Charles Martin

She put her hands over her face. Ah crap. What do I do now? Do I say something, do I not say something? I kept talking, keeping my voice as light as I could manage. Her shoulders shook slightly. She was crying. Fuck me. I sat there, not sure what to do with myself. — Ilona Andrews

It isn't easy being on the outside," I admitted. "Judd and I were tight. We spent a shitload of time together. Not talking or having feelings, but I had someone to sit next to me and drink beer with. We played pool every night and had sex with different chicks every night and woke up alone every morning. We were the same. Now, he's whipped and Tawny walks around with his balls in her purse. I asked once if we could take his balls out occasionally and let them breathe, but she just laughed. Tawny's sneaky that way. — Bijou Hunter

But now came another old theme: self-blame. She was selfish, crabbed, drily ambitious. Pursuing her own ends, pretending to herself that her career was not in essence self-gratification, denying an existence to two or three warm and talented individuals. Had her children lived, it would have been shocking to think they might not have. And so here was her punishment, to face this disaster alone, without sensible grown-up children, concerned and phoning, downing tools and rallying round for urgent kitchen-table conferences, talking sense to their stupid father, bringing him back. But would she take him in? — Ian McEwan

And yet, quite often, she comes to me. Seldom to have anything explained, but often to tell me something.
When she comes over to me, I sit down on the floor. It does not seem right to tower over her when she is talking to me. Instead I sit down, then our heads are on a level. — Peter Hoeg

Now that you've gone looking for him, he won't be breaking his word. Not technically. You're fair game."
I lace my fingers through hers, trying to ground her. "You're freaking me out. Who are you talking about?"
"He'll come for you. He'll step through your dreams. Or the looking glass ... stay away from the glass, Allie! Do you understand?"
"Mirrors?" I ask, incredulous. "You want me to stay away from mirrors?"
She scrambles to her feet, and I struggle to balance on my crutch. "Broken glass severs more than skin. It will sever your identity. — A.G. Howard

A Lithuanian friend asked me what am I doing in Lithuania. If I knew the answer I would probably not be in Lithuania talking to her. — Robin Sacredfire

Tree At My Window
Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.
That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather. — Robert Frost

Minutes after Eve stepped into her office to coordinate her next move, Peabody rushed in.
"I've got the initial sweeper's report on the room the Lombards vacated - nothing," Peabody said hurriedly. "Canvassing cops found the bar - one block east, two south of the hotel. Door was unlocked. Zana's purse was inside on the floor. I have a team heading there now."
"You've been busy," Eve said. "How did you manage to fit in sex?"
"Sex? I don't know what you're talking about. I bet you want coffee." She darted to the AutoChef, then whirled back. "How do you know I had sex? Do you have sex radar?"
"Your shirt's not buttoned right, and you've got a fresh hickey on your neck."
"Damn it." Peabody slapped a hand to the side of her neck. "How bad is it? Why don't you have a mirror in here?"
"Because, let's see, could it be because it's an office? — J.D. Robb

Her eyes were misting over, her heart was talking on her lips. To need everything when everything is finished. She no longer knew whether she was sad or whether it was hunger. To live like that, head bent forward, chin resting down near her breasts, without muscles, without sinews, without vertebrae.
She smiled a martyr's smile for her own benefit: for her wretchedness was also a tenderness, and resignation is not the same as oblivion. — Violette Leduc

He pressed another kiss to her lips as he took her hand into his. "I'm sorry for being a jerk last night and almost making the biggest mistake of my life. I was afraid of hurting you. I know what I am and I also know you deserve a guy that can spoil you rotten and take you to all the nice places that you deserve. I-"
"Jason, I don't care about those things," she said softly.
He shook his head stubbornly. "It doesn't mean that you don't deserve them, but if you give me a chance to make up for my past stupidity, and I'm not just talking about with you, I promise that I will do my best to make you happy."
"Jason-"
"I want to try this. You and me, I mean. I know I'll most likely fuck up along the way and you'll want to ring my neck, but I want to try. I'll do my best not to hurt you. — R.L. Mathewson