She Stands Out Quotes & Sayings

My mama steps out of her dress
and drops it, an inheritance falling to my feet.
She stands alone: bathed, blooming,
burdened with nothing of this world.
Her body is naked and beautiful,
her wings gray and scorched,
her brown eyes piercing the brown of mine.
I watch her departure, her flapping wings:
She doesn't look back, not even once,
not even to whisper my name — Brenda Sutton Rose

A breeding sow spends most of her life in a tiny cage. It's usually about seven feet long and two feet wide. She cannot turn around. She cannot scratch herself. She must urinate and defecate where she stands. Simply put, I believe she is tortured, day in and day out. — Jane Velez-Mitchell

The entire room turns and stares. There's no doubt what they see - ripped jeans, a black T-shirt, tattoos and earrings. I don't care what they see. All I care about is what she sees: a person unwelcomed or the guy she loves.
A tear flows down her face, and the hand wrapped at her waist tells me she's paralyzed. In a long gold ball gown that's more skirt than dress, Rachel is truly the angel I believe her to be. A man in a tuxedo stands. "Son, I think you have the wrong room."
"No. I don't." I stride between the tables, keeping my eyes locked with hers. The closer I get, the more she straightens. Her hand falls from her stomach, and the tear clears from her face. Rachel gazes at me as if I'm a dream. I extend my hand, palm out. "I need help."
Her blue eyes lose their glaze, and the hue of violet I love so much returns. "So do I." — Katie McGarry

Jones? Christian interrupts my train of thought. "I want you to kneel up on this," he says when we're at the table. Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can't wait to find out - she's already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration. He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands — E.L. James

Anna prods St. Clair's shoulder. "Come on. Weren't you gonna show me that thing?"
"What thing?"
She stares at him. He stares back. She cocks her head toward Cricket and me.
"Ah, yes." St. Clair stands. "That thing."
They rush out. The door shuts, and St. Clair shouts, "Lola, Cricket wants to show you his thing, too-oo! — Stephanie Perkins

Should i even bother scanning the crowd for my parents? I could turn around and go back to the dormitory. Then I see her. My mother stands alone near the railing with her hands clasped in front of her. she has never looked more out of place, with her gray slacks and gray jacket buttoned at the throat, her hair in its simple twist and her face placid. I start toward her, tears jumping into my eyes. She came. She came for me. I walk faster. She sees me, and for a second her expression is blank, like she doesn't know who I am. Then her eyes light up, and she opens her arms. She smells like soap and laundry detergent. — Veronica Roth

You're one to talk about talking crap, Forester." Dunstan's voice interrupts the memory, and I can't help but feel a little grateful. "Accusing my dad of poisoning the swamp? What a bunch of bull."
"It's not bull,"I snarl. "Your dad's dumping trash into the swamp and you know it!"
Dunstan finally loses it and stands up. The boat tilts dangerously. Melanie and the twins shriek, grasping the sides like they're glued to them.
"You two sit down this minute!" Babette bellows. She's holding onto the motor for dear life. Neither of us listens.
"You wanna run that by me again?" Dunstan growls. His fingers curl into fists.
"Your. Dad. Is. Poisoning. The. Swamp." I let each word out slowly like Dunstan's a dumb little kid who needs help understanding. — Colleen Boyd

But he was an only child and an only son, and for a mother in such a position it is not always easy to accept that another woman will eventually enter her son's life and, if all goes according to plan - the plan being that of the other woman - take him away. This common conflict, so understandable and so poignant, is played out time and time again, and almost always with the same painful result: Mother loses. It is so, of course, if Mother is overt in her attempt to put off the almost inevitable; if she is covert, then she stands a chance, admittedly a remote one, of introducing into her son's mind a germ of doubt that the woman he has chosen might not be the right one for him. That takes skill, and boundless patience, but it is a course fraught with dangers for the relationship between mother and future daughter-in-law, let alone for that between mother and son. — Alexander McCall Smith

What stands out to me most about Maya Angelou is not what she has done or written or spoken; it's how she lived her life. She moved through the world with unshakable calm, confidence and a fierce grace. — Oprah Winfrey

Another discovery which came out of my investigation was the fact that when one gives his or her order to produce a definite result and stands by that order, it seems to have the effect of giving one what might be termed a second sight which enables him or her to see right through ordinary problems. What this power is I cannot say; all I know is that it exists and it becomes available only when one is in that state of mind in which he or she knows exactly what one wants and is fully determined not to quit until he or she finds it. — Alexander Graham Bell

One girl who stands out was this Miami stripper. She still lives with her mother and father, and they know she strips. They call her by her stripper name, Freaky Red. — Method Man

I'll make sure he stands up and knows what he's worth," she'd interrupted. "There won't be a day he's not loved. I'll say it with my hands - making a home for him. I'll say it with my arms - hugging him so he knows his mother is present every day. His heart will never be alone. And I'll say it out loud every day. Because it matters. — Debra Anastasia

...someone who doesn't say please or thank you or smile when you'd expect him to and thinks 'How are you?' means 'How are you?' and stands too close to people when he talks and never tells them, 'I think maybe perhaps such-and-such,' but always, flat-out, 'You are wrong,' and 'This is bad,' and 'She is stupid'; no shades of gray, all black and white and 'What I say goes.' — Anne Tyler

And Yarvi realized that Death does not bow to each person who passes her, does not sweep out her arm respectfully to show the way, speaks no profound words, unlocks no bolts. The key upon her chest is never needed, for the Last Door stands always open. She herds the dead through impatiently, needles of rank or fame or quality. She has an ever-lengthening queue to get through. A blind procession, inexhaustible. — Joe Abercrombie

A woman is beautiful when she stands out as an individual - it's a woman who has her own style and the confidence to pull it off. Half the women on the streets in New York City achieve this. I get so inspired every time I'm there. — Christina Hendricks

She stands under the hand dryers in the rest room, because she likes the feeling of wind whooshing through her hair, as though she's leaning her head out a car window on the highway, or like she's Superman, circling the Earth. How does the hand dryer know to start as soon as you stick your hands out? It's amazing, this, but the women in the restroom don't notice, and just stare, panicked, into the mirror, trying to work out what's wrong with them before anyone else does. — Brooke Davis

Samuel glanced at him. "That's right," he said. "Set your teeth in it. How we do defend a wrongness! Shall I tell you what you do, so you will not think you invented it? When you go to bed and blow out the lamp - then she stands in the doorway with a little light behind her, and you can see her nightgown stir. And she comes sweetly to your bed, and you, hardly breathing, turn back the covers to receive her and move your head over on the pillow to make room for her head beside yours. You can smell the sweetness of her skin, and it smells like no other skin in the world - — John Steinbeck

I got a personal e-mail and went to their event because I couldn't believe that they were interested in me and I wanted to find out why," she said. But when she got there, she wasn't sure why she'd come in the first place. "I looked around and felt that I not only didn't belong with the group of people but that I didn't believe in what the organization stands for or does," she said. "There's definitely a compulsion element to it. You feel like so many people are doing it and talking about it all the time like it's interesting, so you start to wonder if maybe it really is. — Marina Keegan

Ruth is so loyal and gentle-hearted, we cannot help loving her, as she stands with the reapers amid the waving corn. Her beautiful, unselfish spirit shines out like a bright star in the night of a dark and cruel age. Love like Ruth's, love which can rise above conflicting creeds and deep-seated racial prejudices, is hard to find in all the world. — Helen Keller

It seems you didn't understand me," Rakel said, adjusting her grip on his hand. She had to spit the words out around the pain that tore through her. "When I say that love is pure, I mean it stands unrivaled in its power. — K.M. Shea

By the Hospital Lane goes the 'Faeries Path.' Every evening they travel from the hill to the sea, from the sea to the hill. At the sea end of their path stands a cottage. One night Mrs. Arbunathy, who lived there, left her door open, as she was expecting her son. Her husband was asleep by the fire; a tall man came in and sat beside him. After he had been sitting there for a while, the woman said, 'In the name of God, who are you?' He got up and went out, saying, 'Never leave the door open at this hour, or evil may come to you.' She woke her husband and told him. 'One of the good people has been with us,' said he. ("Village Ghosts") — W.B.Yeats

Lou took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of just-cut flowers, fresh tamales from the food stands, and sunshine. She preferred the West Allis farmers' market to all others in the area, with its open sides, wide walkways, and rows of stalls. More recently, small tents serving hot sandwiches and fresh Mexican food had popped up outside the brick walls. It all looked so good, she'd learned long ago to come with limited funds or she would buy more produce than she could possibly use. She relished talking to the farmers, learning about what they grew and where. She liked to search for farmers growing something new and interesting she could use at Luella's.
But today's visit was personal, not business. Sue had dragged her out to West Allis for a little lunch and some girl time with fall squash and Honeycrisp apples. — Amy E. Reichert

The camera follows a young woman as she makes her way through the stands to an area set aside for repentance and conversion. But Jesus' stories imply that far more may be going on out there: beyond that stadium scene, in a place concealed from all camera lenses, a great party has erupted, a gigantic celebration in the unseen world. — Philip Yancey

I think you should send Penny away." When Caine started to object, Albert, finally evincing his impatience, raised his hand. "First, because Penny is a sick, unstable person. She was bound to cause problems, and she'll cause more. Second, because what happened to Cigar turns everyone against you. It's not just Quinn: everyone thinks it's wrong. And third, if you don't and if Quinn stands firm, this town will empty out. — Michael Grant

The men go out to greet the arrivals. A hundred men come out of the cars, some with machine guns. Shots are fired in the air. They scream, they shout, they hail the hero. The groom will be getting some tonight. The men have come to collect their prize. More men shouting, some come into the house. She stands. The strange man, the groom she has met only twice, smiles at her. She walks out with him. — Rabih Alameddine

She stands on top of the hill again. A small round piece of gold in her hands: the compass. A disk of brighter gold on the horizon: the sun rising. She opens the compass and looks at the arrow. Tears on her face, wind in her hair. She wears a green dress. Her skirt brushes the grass when she bends down to put the compass on the ground. When she stands up again her hands are empty. Xander waits behind her. He holds out his hand. "He's gone," he tells her. "I'm here." His voice sounds sad. Hopeful. No, I start to say, but Xander tells the truth. I'm not there, not really. I'm only a shadow watching in the sky. They're real. I'm not anymore. — Ally Condie

There she stands before me, and old woman with an anxious, care-worn face. Her hands are clasped - weary, toil-worn hands with a soft, wrinkled skin, where the veins stand out bluish; hands become so for my sake. - I never thought of that before. There is a lot I did not think of before; I was too young. But now I understand how it is that to this withered, little woman I am something different from any other soldier in the world: I am her child. To her I have always remained so, even as a soldier. In the war she has seen only a pack of wild beasts threatening the life of her child. It has never occurred to her that this same threatened child has been just such another wild beast to the children of yet other mothers. My — Erich Maria Remarque

She knows her flesh parents are in the stands somewhere. Knows what they're saying, sees the gestures and expressions. Dad trying to use old college logic to make sense of it all. Mom wearing the haunted stare that means she was put on earth strictly to suffer. They're all around us, parents in the thousands, afraid of our intensity. This is what frightens them. We really believe. They bring us up to believe but when we show them true belief they call out psychiatrists and police. We know who God is. This makes us crazy in the world. — Don DeLillo

She stands like she's trouble, and though her jagged haircut is trying too hard to tell me that she doesn't care what I think, the pugnacious set of her mouth tells me everything I need to know about why she got dropped out of all those schools. The hair is what tells me she needs help, all right, but her mouth tells me she doesn't need that much and she probably just needs time to work it out for herself. And I want, want, want to tell her not to sign the paperwork and to instead go out with me and live happily ever after in a tiny apartment in Baltimore because I always liked Baltimore and we could have two poodles, both shaved strangely to attract attention because I can see that's a big part of her, and pretty much eat take out spring rolls every night, because that's a big part of me. — Maggie Stiefvater

My social status leaps after decades of disqualification on grounds of radiation. The doorbell rings and there stands Vanessa Redgrave. 'Marcie,' she begins, and then goes on about social injustice in Namibia, and how we must all build a raft by late afternoon - preferably out of coconut matting. — Morrissey

MAGGIE, in pain: That's what I mean; I'm a joke to most people.
QUENTIN: No, it's that you say what you mean, Maggie. You don't seem to be upholding anything, you're not - ashamed of what you are.
MAGGIE: W-what do you mean, of what I am?
... But you didn't, did you?
He turns to her in agony.
Laugh at me?
QUENTIN: No. He suddenly stands and cries out to Listener. Fraud! From the first five minutes! ... Because! I should have agreed she was a joke, a beautiful piece, trying to take herself seriously! Why did I lie to her, play this cheap benefactor, this - Listens, and now unwillingly he turns back to her.
MAGGIE: Like when you told me to fix where my dress was torn? You wanted me to be - proud of myself. Didn't you? — Arthur Miller

When the suggestion was made that I might consider doing music of Joni Mitchell, I thought it was a fantastic idea. Joni, I admire not only for her music but for her person, because she's a person that really stands out for what she believes in. — Herbie Hancock

Hwang Jung-eun is one of the brightest stars of the new South Korean generation - she's Han Kang's favourite, and the novel we're publishing scooped the prestigious Bookseller's Award, for critically-acclaimed fiction that also has a wide popular appeal. She stands out for her focus on social minorities - her protagonists are slum inhabitants, trans women, orphans - and for the way she melds this hard-edged social critique with obliquely fantastical elements and offbeat dialogue. — Deborah Smith

The undulating terrain was cloaked in lush abundance, the vineyards like garlands of deep green and yellow, orchards and farms sprouting here and there, hillocks of dry golden grass crowned by beautiful sun-gilt houses, barns and silos. And overhead was the bluest sky she'd ever seen, as bright and hard polished as marble.
There was something about the landscape that caught at her emotions. It was both lush and intimidating, its beauty so abundant. Far from the bustle of the city, she was a complete stranger here, like Dorothy stepping out of her whirling house into the land of Oz. Farm stands overflowing with local produce marked the long driveways into farms with whimsical names- Almost Paradise, One Bad Apple, Toad Hollow. Boxes and bushels were displayed on long, weathered tables. Between the farms, brushy tangles of berries and towering old oak trees lined the roadway. — Susan Wiggs

When they reached a maintenance closet, Iko ushered the escort-droid inside.
"I want you to know that I hold nothing against you," she said, by way of introduction. "I understand that it isn't your fault your programmer had so little imagination."
The escort-droid held her gaze with empty eyes.
"In another life, we could have been sisters, and I feel it's important to acknowledge that."
A blank stare. A blink, every six seconds.
"But as it stands, I'm a part of an important mission right now, and I cannot be swayed from my goal by my sympathy for androids who are less advanced than myself."
Nothing.
"All right then." Iko held out her hands. "I need your clothes. — Marissa Meyer

The things she sees are uninteresting to her. Irrelevant. Until there's a clatter of wings. We both look up. There's a pigeon, a woodpigeon, sailing down to roost in a lime tree above us. Time slows. The air thickens and the hawk is transformed. It's as if all her weapons systems were suddenly engaged. Red cross-hairs. She stands on her toes and cranes her neck. This. This flightpath. This thing, she thinks. This is fascinating. Some part of the hawk's young brain has just worked something out, and it has everything to do with death. — Helen Macdonald

She follows her nose and stands once more before the doors of a quintessential dilemma. Male or Female. Here is her paradox. A staccato voice seems to challenge her, berate her. Hombre or Mujer. Mann or Frau. Homme or Femme. Gentleman or Lady. Com on, decide. She knows them all. She is them all. Not fluid or all-encompassing, gathering the harvest of the reaping fields, but fractured and split and bleeding. Her inner core weeping out of itself. There is nothing for hermaphrodites. It's too confusing. The words rattle around in her earbones, androgynous and humming. How can she choose? She cannot choose. To choose is to sunder. — Mark O'Flynn

He is lying on dirty straw. He has been beaten so many times, his body is one bloodied bruise; he is filthy, he is hideous, he is a sinner and he is utterly unloved. At any moment, at any instant, he will be put on a train in his shackles and taken through Cerberus's mouth to Hades for the rest of his wretched life. And it is at that precise moment that the light shines from the door of his dark cell #7, and in front of him Tatiana stands, tiny, determined, disbelieving, having returned for him. Having abandoned the infant boy who needs her most to go find the broken beast who needs her most. She stands mutely in front of him and doesn't see the blood, doesn't see the filth, sees only the man, and then he knows; he is not cast out. He is loved. — Paullina Simons

How fair is it to judge a person based on his sexual preferences, or their 'otherness'? As long as a person is not 'harmful' for others or not violating the rights of others, I think we need not be bothered about their personal lives, whom they love or whom they marry. It is a personal choice. I think the most important thing about a person is his or her 'humanity', kindness, selflessness not their 'sex life' (only as long as he or she is not violating the rights of others or causing harm to others).
It is entirely a disgrace on humanity to 'discriminate' a person solely based on their 'otherness'.
I am surprised to see how the society stands against or make fun out of 'gay' people, who are totally harmless, ignoring the 'human' in them, but feel 'OK' with 'rapists', 'sex maniacs', 'prostitution' and 'sexual violence against women and children' occurring in Sri Lanka every day. — Ama H. Vanniarachchy

Sometimes she just stands and looks out the window where the people whose lives are intact enough not to have to take yoga live. — Jenny Offill

Dawn is breaking, sending pale fingers of cold light across the hills that surround the Harrisons' farmyard. Jess is being difficult, rearing and trying to bolt away from the truck, and we've been at it for some time when Liam comes out of the house and sees our predicament. He marches across the yard, picks up a piece of cut-off hosepipe and walks up behind the pony. I see the look on Alec's face as his dad approaches, and he's not happy. Liam tells his son to "walk her up" and then cracks the mare around the rump with the piece of pipe when she plants her feet. The sound of the pipe hitting the pony echoes across the hills and rings in my ears. Jess starts to rear but earns another whack around the backside, so scrambles up the ramp and stands trembling in the truck. Alec quickly ties her up, his expression unreadable. — Kate Lattey

I got that familiar mania - there is information somewhere here, and I can find it, I have to. A good librarian is not so different from a prospector, her whole brain a divining rod. She walks to books and stands and wonders: here? Is the answer here? The same blind faith in finding, even when hopeless. If someone caught me when I was in the throes of tracking something elusive, I would have told them: but it's out there. I can feel it. — Elizabeth McCracken

She slowly stands up, grabbing her bag on the way out the door. She turns back at the last minute, silhouetted in the fading light from outside the doorway.
"Kai?"
I drag myself off the floor. The way she said my name, waiting for me to follow. I know now I would do anything to stay with her. — Dannielle Wicks

In the Lakota/Sioux tradition, a person who is grieving is considered most wakan, most holy. There's a sense that when someone is struck by the sudden lightning of loss, he or she stands on the threshold of the spirit world. The prayers of those who grieve are considered especially strong, and it is proper to ask them for their help.
You might recall what it's like to be with someone who has grieved deeply. The person has no layer of protection, nothing left to defend. The mystery is looking out through that person's eyes. For the time being, he or she has accepted the reality of loss and has stopped clinging to the past or grasping at the future. In the groundless openness of sorrow, there is a wholeness of presence and a deep natural wisdom. — Tara Brach

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

With Mrs. Morel it was one of those still moments when the small frets vanish, and the beauty of things stands out, and she had the peace and the strength to see herself. — D.H. Lawrence

The people who lived in this building had figured out something important about life, and she'd stumbled upon their secret. There were places, she now saw, that contained more happiness than ordinary places did. Unless you knew that such places existed, you might be content to stay where you were. She imagined more places like this, hidden behind walls or stands of trees, places where people kept their secrets to themselves. — Matthew Thomas

The way I feel about you ... it's crazy."
"You got the crazy part right," she snapped, pulling away from me.
"I practiced this in my head the whole time we were on the bike, so just hear me out."
"Travis - "
"I know we're fucked-up, all right? I'm impulsive and hot tempered, and you get under my skin like no one else. You act like you hate me one minute, and then you need me the next. I never get anything right, and I don't deserve you ... but I fucking love you, Abby. I love you more than I've loved anyone or anything, ever. When you're around, I don't need booze or money or the fighting or the one-night stands ... all I need is you. You're all I think about. You're all I dream about. You're all I want. — Jamie McGuire

So let's go," I say, eyes on hers. She nods and stands; I want to hold out my hand to help her, walk her to the car with my hand on her back, but I'm conscious of where we are, surrounded by co-workers. So I turn and walk, leaving her to trail behind me until we reach the elevators. We pass Sawyer and Everly on the way out, Everly beaming smugly while Sawyer shakes his head and mouths, No. Dick. I'm tempted to flip him off but again, mindful of my surroundings, I ignore them both and keep walking — Jana Aston

Before I knew what was happening the game was starting. A guy from the other team looked me over. "But you're a girl," he yelled and looked over at his coach. "She's a girl!"
Bryce stood up in the stands. "No dip dumb shit! Of course she's a girl! She has boobies and a-" Caeden tackled Bryce before anything else could slip out of his mouth. — Micalea Smeltzer

Every act of motherhood contains a dual intent, as the mother holds the child close and prepares it to move way from her, as she supports the child and stands it firmly on its own feet, and as she guards it against danger and sends it out across the yard, down by the stream, and across the traffic-crowded highway. Unless a mother can do both - gather her child close and turn her child out toward the world - she will fail in her purpose. — Margaret Mead

In the square below,' said the Happy Prince, 'there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her.'

'I will stay with you one night longer,' said the Swallow, 'but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.'

'Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'do as I command you.'

So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. 'What a lovely bit of glass,' cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. 'You are blind now,' he said, 'so I will stay with you always. — Oscar Wilde

Mia wants no trouble, so she stands up from off the stool. One of the guys hit her on her booty. The beer bottle still in hand, she drags it across the bar top towards her; when it reaches the edge it drops, sliding down. Mia grips a hold of the neck of the bottle and her arm swings backwards, busting it over the freckled face boy head. Taking the bar stool and smashing it over the other guy's head. She leaves out leaving those guys passed out on the floor. — Kerra Pridgen

I search the chaos - through a knot of Resistance fighters descending on a pair of legionnaires, past a Mask fighting off ten rebels at once, to the rubble of the tunnel, where my mother stands. An old Scholar slave trying to escape the havoc makes the mistake of crossing her path. She plunges her scim into his heart with a casual brutality. When she yanks the blade out, she doesn't look at the slave. Instead, she stares at me. As if we are connected, as if she knows my every thought, her gaze slices across the square. She smiles. — Sabaa Tahir

What is madness?" she asked, sitting with one leg up against her chest, vaporous skirt flickering around her calves and vanishing into mist. "It's when men don't think right," Kaladin said, glad for the conversation to distract him. "Men never seem to think right." "Madness is worse than normal," Kaladin said with a smile. "It really just depends on the people around you. How different are you from them? The person that stands out is mad, I guess. — Brandon Sanderson

I'm up for a Shadow hunt." She tries to let us out, but the lock's stuck. "That's weird."
"Is this like an omen?" Daisy asks.
Jazz unzips her boot and takes it off so she can slam it at the lock. "It's not an omen." Slam. "Tonight." Slam. "Is going to be great." Slam. "I've got a feeling." Slam. She puts her book back on and looks at us. "Okay, we'll have to climb out of here."
She stands on the toilet seat and from there to the toilet-roll holder and then heaves herself over the wall.
"Impresive," I say, and then we hear her slam to the ground.
"Less impressive," Daisy says.
"It doesn't mean anything," Jazz calls. "Trust me. I'm a psychic. — Cath Crowley

So, sweeting, why were you threatening to throw Tate out of the house? What did he say?"
Leather brushed her chin as he tipped it up. Serious dark eyes met hers. "What did he say?"
She glanced around; surely the footmen were too far away to hear. "He wanted to join us in our bed."
"I'll run him through."
"No! Perhaps he only said it to goad you into a duel. Perhaps it was intended as a way to kill you."
"It was an insult to you, love. That can't be ignored."
"And so you rush inexorably toward death. I don't care if he stands on a Drury Lane stage and calls me a courtesan, I won't have you risking your life. — Sharon Page