Proof By Seduction Quotes & Sayings

Everything gets horrible. Everything you see gets ugly. Lurid is the word. Doctor Garton said lurid, one time. That's the right word for it. And everything sounds harsh, spiny and harsh sounding, like every sound you hear all of a sudden has teeth. And smelling like I smell bad even after I just got out of the shower. It's like what's the point of washing if everything smells like I need another shower — David Foster Wallace

When I see people talking about TV, they're way more animated, way more passionate than when they talk about films. — Jamie Bell

Now come," he said. "Does your Alex love you back, or is he a hopeless idiot?"
"He loves me," she said quietly. "But I'm afraid he'll stop after we marry. He'll change his mind. He'll - "
"He'll love you more. Trust me."
"Really?" She was far too somber.
"Really." He had no words to make her smile, and so Gareth tweaked her nose.
And she giggled.
It had been a long time since he'd laughed. But despite all those years, he still remembered how. What he'd
forgotten was the lightness of his soul when he did so. The moment was perfect. — Courtney Milan

Through the Adult the little person can begin to tell the difference between life as it was taught and demonstrated to him (Parent), life as he felt it or wished it or fantasied it (Child), and life as he figures it out by himself (Adult). — Thomas A. Harris

What do you see?" asked Ned, his voice hushed.
"I see ... I see ... an elephant."
"Elephant," Lord Blakely repeated, as he transcribed her
words. "I hope that isn't the extent of your prediction.
Unless, Ned, you plan to marry into the genus Loxodonta."
Ned blinked. "Loxo-wha?"
"Comprised, among others, of pachyderms. — Courtney Milan

Jenny's admonition had the desired effect. Ned drew a deep breath and thrust his arm gingerly into the bag, his mouth puckered in distaste. The expression on his face flickered from queasy horror to confusion. From there, it
flew headlong into outright bafflement. Shaking his head, he pulled his fist from the bag and turned his hand palm up.
For a long moment, the two men stared at the offending lump. It was brightly colored. It was round. It was
"An orange?" Lord Blakely rubbed his forehead. "Not quite what I expected." He scribbled another notation.
"We live in enlightened times," Jenny murmured. — Courtney Milan

God may forgive your sins, but your nervous system won't. — Alfred Korzybski

Yet you still value the things you've lost the most. Because the things you've lost are still perfect in your head. They never rusted. They never broke. They are made of the memories you once had, which only grow rosier and brighter, day by day. They are made of the dreams of how wonderful things could have been and must never suffer the indignity of actually still existing. Of being real. Of having flaws. Of breaking and deteriorating. Only the things you no longer have will always be perfect. — Iain Thomas

I am not anxious to be the loudest voice or the most popular. But I would like to think that at a crucial moment, I was an effective voice of the voiceless, an effective hope of the hopeless. — Whitney Young

Some writers research in order to write. I write in order to research topics that interest me. Especially if I can meet with other people, in forums from illness support groups to phone-sex hotlines, and learn what other people know best. — Chuck Palahniuk

It comes down to this: If not you, then who? — T. Harv Eker

It's too easy to say that orange is happy and black is sad. To me, black is perfect. You can fill it with the emotion you want to express. — Ann Demeulemeester

See?" Jenny said. "That was good. A comforting gesture, and completely unprompted on my part. You're a
quick study. Even you will have to admit that, despite your appeal to logic, touch works. All the cold in me flows to you."
"Cold can't flow," he said, pulling her closer. "Only heat.
Thermodynamically speaking - "
"Gareth?"
He looked down.
"Don't ruin this."
He didn't. — Courtney Milan

We have to be able to grow up. Our wrinkles are our medals of the passage of life. They are what we have been through and who we want to be. — Lauren Hutton

General Biassou is a simple, vulnerable man without much knowledge, and he is easily led astray by the scoundrels surrounding him. He has sworn eternal hatred for me, and for some time now, he has been trying to destroy me using whatever means he can. — Toussaint Louverture

And that was how Jenny discovered the answer to her question. How could she remain Gareth's lover without becoming his mistress?
She couldn't.
The only question was whether this affair would end in three months or three days. — Courtney Milan

Her fingers clenched against his shoulder blades. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Do I not?" He threaded his hands gently around her neck. "I'm asking you to make love with me."
That word again. She opened her eyes. "Gareth," she whispered. "Please. Don't. This is hard enough - "
She stopped speaking as his gaze pierced her.
Incredible. Last night had seemed so intimate. And yet it
had been so dark that she had not been able to see anything other than flashes of light, reflecting off the surface
of his skin. Now she could look into his eyes. They were golden-brown. They were not cutting or dismissive. And
even though she could see the desire smolder inside them, there was something else in them that turned her belly to liquid. — Courtney Milan

Meet me at the pitcher pouring a thousand streams." Alice's phone was probably tapped. The strange, short phrase should confuse anyone who snooped on it. Anyone other than Alice. — Deva Long

The marquess held the weapon out, as formally as if he were passing a sword.
Soberly, Ned accepted it. He placed the sacrificial citrus on the table in front of him, and then with one careful
incision, eviscerated it. He speared deep into its heart, his
hands steady, and then cut it to pieces. Jenny allotted herself one short moment of wistful sorrow for her afterdinner treat gone awry as the juice ran everywhere.
"Enough." She reached out and covered his hand midstab.
"It's dead now," she explained gravely.
He pulled his hand away and nodded. Lord Blakely took back his knife and cleaned it with a handkerchief.
Jenny studied the corpse. It was orange. It was pulpy. It
was going to be a mess to clean up. Most importantly, it gave her an excuse to sit and think of something mystical to say - the only reason for this exercise, really. Lord Blakely
demanded particulars. But in Jenny's profession, specifics were the enemy. — Courtney Milan