Recalibrating Blood Quotes & Sayings

Hey, Mom, I'm a married woman now. I want to have ten babies and live here forever and ever.
How weird is that? It's almost ROMANTIC.
And then I realized that my sister was trying to LIVE a romance novel.
Man, that takes courage and imagination. Well, it also took some degree of mental illness, too, but I was suddenly happy for her.
And a little scared. — Sherman Alexie

His looks are my weakness, his mind my undoing. — Alessandra Torre

I'm letting the devil prick me with his horns and I'm enjoying every minute of it. The secrets are out of the bag and Turner knows everything now. He's one of a few people on this planet I can be completely and fully honest with. From hated enemy to trusted friend. The fuck is wrong with me? — C.M. Stunich

But Moby-Dick is the explanation of America. It's not just a novel. It is a book of prophecy. It is the book. It is the book of America. — Robert Stone

The central ideas of Christianity, an angry God and vicarious atonement, are contrary to every fact in nature, as also to the better aspirations of the human heart; they are, in our present stage of enlightenment, absurd, preposterous, and blasphemous propositions. — Virchand Gandhi

His touch thrilled her, excited her and left her with a yearning to do anything, and everything, — Mina Carter

At the beginning of a novel, a writer needs confidence, but after that what's required is persistence. These traits sound similar. They aren't. Confidence is what politicians, seducers and currency speculators have, but persistence is a quality found in termites. It's the blind drive to keep on working that persists after confidence breaks down. — Walter Kirn

Patience is tied very closely to faith in our Heavenly Father. Actually, when we are unduly impatient, we are suggesting that we know what is best - better than does God. Or, at least, we are asserting that our timetable is better than His. We can grow in faith only if we are willing to wait patiently for God's purposes and patterns to unfold in our lives, on His timetable. — Neal A. Maxwell

Why can't you like me?" he said, his voice breaking. His scent steamed then, hot and heady with a welter of contradictions: apples and fire and electric roil of those cold, black shadows. "Why can't you like me just a little?"
She would never know how she might have answered, because he never gave her the chance.
Instead, he kissed her. — Ilsa J. Bick

Mental illness is not in the business of making sense of itself. — Roni Askey-Doran