What My Speed Quotes & Sayings

I had got this far, and was thinking of what to say next, and as my habit is, I was pricking the paper idly with my pen. And I thought how, between one dip of the pen and the next, time goes on, and I hurry, drive myself, and speed toward death. We are always dying. I while I write, you while you read, and others while they listen or stop their ears, they are all dying. — Francesco Petrarca

I was blessed with speed and a good punch. Everybody thinks I'm the hardest puncher ever. But I just think I was really fast, and my punches got to the target faster. That's what made my knockouts always seem spectacular. — Mike Tyson

What delight To back the flying steed, that challenges The wind for speed! - seems native more of air Than earth! - whose burden only lends him fire! - Whose soul, in his task, turns labour into sport; Who makes your pastime his! I sit him now! He takes away my breath! He makes me reel! I touch not earth - I see not - hear not. All Is ecstasy of motion! — James Sheridan Knowles

It shall be my pleasure to remedy it. First, it is not your strength or your speed that draws me. It's your ... everything. Your laugh, your wit, your emotions and the way they change. Your courage, your sweetness, your near obsessive delight in cookies. Second, you are indeed a prize. You've made me want what no one else ever had. A communion of bodies.
-Zacharel to Annabelle — Gena Showalter

What Sam said?" He nodded. "He said to keep my hands off someone else's wife. But you're not going to be someone else's wife." "Slow down, speed racer." "You know what I mean," he said, opening my door. — Jamie McGuire

The Feynman Dilemma
A diner says to a waiter, "What's this fly doing in my soup?" And the waiter says, "It looks like the backstroke." Yet if the same scene is viewed while plunging into a black hole at the speed of light, it will look like a Mickey Mouse lunch pail from the thirties, except that Mickey's head has been replaced by a Lincoln penny — Steve Martin

I wonder if any of them can tell from just looking at me that all I am is the sum total of my pain, a raw woundedness so extreme that it might be terminal. It might be terminal velocity, the speed of the sound of a girl falling down to a place from where she can't be retrieved. What if I am stuck down here for good? — Elizabeth Wurtzel

I've sequenced the questions for maximum speed of elimination,' I explained. 'I believe I can eliminate most women in less than forty seconds. Then you can choose the topic of discussion for the remaining time.'
'But then it won't matter,' said Frances. 'I'll have been eliminated.'
'Only as a potential partner. We may still be able to have an interesting discussion.'
'But I'll have been eliminated.'
I nodded. 'Do you smoke?'
'Occasionally,' she said.
I put the questionnaire away. 'Excellent.' I was pleased that my question sequencing was working so well. We could have wasted time talking about ice-cream flavours and make-up only to find that she smoked. Needless to say, smoking was not negotiable. 'No more questions. What would you like to discuss? — Graeme Simsion

My natural inclination is to think in scenes. So that's how I write, and the issue for me is usually: what to compress for speed. — Leigh Newman

Our strength consists in our speed and in our brutality. Genghis Khan led millions of women and children to slaughter - with premeditation and a happy heart. History sees in him solely the founder of a state. It's a matter of indifference to me what a weak western European civilization will say about me. I have issued the command - and I'll have anybody who utters but one word of criticism executed by a firing squad - that our war aim does not consist in reaching certain lines, but in the physical destruction of the enemy. Accordingly, I have placed my death-head formation in readiness - for the present only in the East - with orders to them to send to death mercilessly and without compassion, men, women, and children of Polish derivation and language. Only thus shall we gain the living space (Lebensraum) which we need. Who, after all, speaks to-day of the annihilation of the Armenians? — Adolf Hitler

I blinked. I had just had another thought, something very significant; I was quite sure of it. I didn't know what it was, but I knew it was there. I rewound my thoughts, marching them by again at a slower speed. I sat up even straighter in my chair as I scanned - and there it was. I don't know if I found it because I had such excellent posture, but just in case, I sent a little mental thank-you card back through time to Mrs. Parker. — Jeff Lindsay

There's nothing to give away. I get so exhausted being what people want me to be that when I'm on my own, I enjoy being nothing to no one. You have no idea how tiring it is always being someone else. — Andrea Speed

In the moments when I forgot to remind myself to remain calm, I rewarded myself with a multiversed chorus of self-denigration and blame. Weak. Inadequate. Damaged. A problem and a disappointment. The litany of criticism stuck in my brain, skipping through the same tired phrases, like an old, scratched, forty-five speed record, drumming my failure into the silence of the night, adding to my desperation and frustration. I had been singled out for the universe for a reason, and this illness was my fault. I knew that, even though saying as much out loud sounded like crazy talk. I couldn't explain why, but I felt like I deserved what I was getting. — Ginny Gilder

I reach now for a victim who is not easy for me to overcome: my own past. Perhaps this victim will flee from me with a speed that equals my own. Whatever, I seek now a victim that I have never faced. And there is the thrill of the hunt in it, what the modern world calls investigation. — Anne Rice

A good friend of mine took me out and had me hit off a tee. He made me understand what was my strike zone and - with my speed - the importance of making contact. So I give him a lot of credit for changing my game and making me the player I became. He showed me how to work on me and my game, and not worry about patterning myself after someone else and focusing on what they were capable of doing rather than what I was capable of doing. — Rickey Henderson

Excuse me.
Nine hours ago, I broke off the single most pointlessly agonizing one-way relationship of my young life.
It was a thin slice of hell, and now it is over.. He's not mine. He never will be mine, and I've thrown away three years of my life pining and hoping. Well, not anymore, and I need to get him out of my system. I've given the matter serious thought, and all I want right now is for some total stranger to nail me to a mattress for the next fourteen hours. I will almost certainly cry all over you and call you by his name, but I assure you that my sexual frustration has built to such a fever peak that I will fuck you dry. What do you say?"
"whine — Carla Speed McNeil

Cinematography was incredibly foreign to me, so I read as much as I could about it. Once I figured out that it was just photography with a set shutter speed, I got some slide film and I just went about storyboarding the script and taking snapshots. I took a ton of time doing it just to make sure I knew exactly what I was doing. By the end of it I knew what the film was going to look like - my exposure and the composition and everything. I wasn't scared of cinematography anymore. — Shane Carruth

YOU! You're boring! You're not even good enough for a good insult! You're in the one place Where magic is always real! Part the seas if you want! Rain down ink and blood! Transform! Fly! You're not allowed to spend the rest of your life panicking! You've got to give something back if you want to get out of here!"
What? What?? What do I give?"
You've got stories in there, I know, I can smell 'em
"
Stoppit, stoppit! I don't! I can't tell a story to save my life!"
Funny you should put it that way. — Carla Speed McNeil

Oh my God! I'm engaged! I'm marrying Cole!"
"What?!" Livia squeezed her sister hard. "Let me see. When did this happen? Did you tell Dad? When is it going to be? How did he propose?"
The men stopped their congratulatory handshake to stare at the speed-talking ladies.
"Last night, not yet, four weeks from today, naked!" Kyle blurted in response
The girls became a moving, jumping circle of hug.
"Cole, you popped the question in your birthday suit?" Blake teased.
Cole put his face in his hands. "Did not think she would share that bit of information. — Debra Anastasia

I try to catch my breath and calm myself down, but it isn't easy. I was dead. I was dead, and then i wasn't, and why? Because of Peter? Peter? I stare at him. He still looks so innocent, despite all that he has done to prove that he is not. His hair lies smooth against his head, shiny and dark, like we didn't just run for a mile at full speed. His round eyes scan the stairwell and then rest on my face. "What?" he says. "Why are you looking at me like that?" " How did you do it?" I say. — Veronica Roth

My friend Chip Ward speaks of "the tyranny of the quantifiable," of the way what can be measured almost always takes precedence over what cannot: private profit over public good; speed and efficiency over enjoyment and quality; the utilitarian over the mysteries and meanings that are of greater use to our survival and to more than our survival, to lives that have some purpose and value that survive beyond us to make a civilization worth having. — Rebecca Solnit

Rina!" I shouted, but the radio was up loud -something sad and gooey- and she didn't hear me. I hit the horn, twice, startling the minivan with a Pro-Choice sticker in front of me, which quickly changed lanes. We kept cruising neck and neck, with Rina full-out brawling now, singing along with the radio, tears running down her face, completely oblivious to both me and the speed limit. I reached under my seat and searched around until I came up with an empty plastic Coke bottle, which I then hurled at her windshield. she jerked back from the wheel as it bounced off, then whipped her around, eyes wide, and finally saw me.
"Shit!" she screamed, hitting the automatic window control to open the one nearest me. "What the hell are you doing? — Sarah Dessen

Why do you haunt me? You, like a tattoo on my tongue, like the bay leaf at the bottom of every pan. You who sprawled out beside me and sang my horoscope to a Schubert symphony, something about travel and money again, and we lay there, both of our breaths bad, both of our underwear dangling elastic, and then you turned toward me with a gaze like two matches, putting the horoscope aside, you traced my buried ribs with your index finger, lingered at my collarbone, admiring it as one might a flying buttress, murmuring: Nice clavicle. And me, too new at it and scared, not knowing what to say, whispering: You should see my ten-speed. — Lorrie Moore

Is something the matter?" Calcifer asked.
"Yes. My heart. There was a scarecrow at the door!" Sophie gasped.
"What has a scarecrow to do with your heart?" Calcifer asked.
"It was trying to get in here. It gave me a terrible fright. And my heart - but you wouldn't understand, you silly young demon!" Sophie panted. "You haven't got a heart."
"Yes I have," Calcifer said, as proudly as he had revealed his arm. "Down in the glowing part under the logs. And don't call me young. I'm a good million years older than you are! Can I reduce the speed of the castle now? — Diana Wynne Jones

Imagine that you're an extremely modern car, equipped with a greater number of options and functions than most cars. You're faster and higher performance. You're very lucky. But it's not easy. Because no one knows exactly the number of options you have or what they enable you to do. Only you can know. And speed can be dangerous. Like when you're eight, you don't know how to drive. There are many things you have to learn: how to drive when it's wet, when it's snowy, to look out for other cars and respect them, to rest when you've been driving for too long. That's what it means to be a grown up.' I'm thirteen and I can see that I'm not managing to grow up in the right way: I can't understand the road signs, I'm not in control of my vehicle, I keep taking the wrong turnings and most of the time I feel like I'm stuck on the dodgems rather than on a race track. — Delphine De Vigan

This way," he murmurs and abruptly is inside me once more, but he doesn't start his usual punishing rhythm straight away. He leans over, releases my hands, and pulls me upright so I am practically sitting on him. His hands move up to my breasts, and he palms them both, tugging gently on my nipples. I groan, tossing my head back against his shoulder. He nuzzles my neck, biting down, as he flexes his hips, deliciously slowly, filling me again and again.
"Do you know how much you mean to me?" he breathes against my ear.
"No," I gasp.
He smiles against my neck, and his fingers curl around my jaw and throat, holding me fast for a moment. "Yes, you do. I'm not going to let you go." I groan as he picks up speed. "You are mine, Anastasia." "Yes, yours," I pant. "I take care of what's mine," he hisses and bites my ear. — E.L. James

One of the things I'm likely to start building in my shop is a vehicle wherein each wheel has basically a flight-simulator base as its suspension. It's known as a hexapod; it's basically a tripod but each leg is two pistons. So you have six axes of freedom on it. This will be something that can not only do what lowriders do, but shorten or extend its wheelbase and jump forwards, backwards, or from one side to the other. In an off-road situation it could be rolling at speed toward a ravine and then leap across it. — Jamie Hyneman

All at once, with the speed of lightning, a sudden question, never thought of before, shot across my mind. I stood stockstill in the middle of the road confronted within to the depths of my being with the insistent inquiry, "What am I?', coupled with the pressing interrogation from every object without, 'What does all this mean?' My whole being as well as the world around appeared to have assumed the aspect of an everlasting inquiry, an insistent, unanswerable interrogation, which struct me dumb and helpless, groping for a reply with all my strength until my head swam and the surrounding objects began to whirl and dance around me. — Gopi Krishna

You said these guys are your cousins? Is that, like, for real? It's, like, not a turn of phrase?"
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Well, I refer to my bluds as cuz, sometimes. Is it like that, or is they real blood relatives?"
"Yes, four of them are cousins. One of them is my twin brother. I'm sure you can guess who."
"Who?"
"Yes."
"No, who?"
"Exactly." The Doctor's gaze was in some far-off place, his voice low and monotone. "He was always the troublesome one. He instigated the rift, cemented the separation. Blabbed to the Beeb. I can never forgive him for that. Never. — Mark Speed

Hey," his fingers went to my chin, lifting my eyes to his, "we can take this slowly." "What is this?" I asked. His eyes went warm, making my pulse speed up. "This ... is the beginning of us. — Aurora Rose Reynolds

I am now 33 years old, and it feels like much time has passed and is passing faster and faster every day. Day to day I have to make all sorts of choices about what is good and important and fun, and then I have to live with the forfeiture of all the other options those choices foreclose. And I'm starting to see how as time gains momentum my choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until I arrive at some point on some branch of all life's sumptuous branching complexity at which I am finally locked in and stuck on one path and time speeds me through stages of stasis and atrophy and decay until I go down for the third time, all struggle for naught, drowned by time. It is dreadful. But since it's my own choices that'll lock me in, it seems unavoidable
if I want to be any kind of grownup, I have to make choices and regret foreclosures and try to live with them. — David Foster Wallace

So I pointed at the sun ascending in the horizon. Just as the darkened sky began to lighten. "Keep your eyes there." Her green ones flickered to me before following my finger. Her pulse picked up speed. "And what happens when it disappears?" I would've loved to tell her that it never would. That no matter where we were the sun would always be present. But it wouldn't have been true. The only thing we could count on was that the sun would rise again. "Wait for it to return," I told her. — Krista Ritchie

Speed showering. Speed shaving. Speed dressing. Then it hit me. What a waste of energy. It was all for nothing. I was going to miss that meeting no matter what I did. I could be on the platform right now, waiting for the PATH train, and it would still be a no-go. I could be on the train, heading out of the station, and it still wouldn't work. So I took a minute for four or five gulps of too-hot coffee, which had already brewed on a timer. I wanted to call Sturgis and tell him I'd be late and I was sorry. But by then it was almost 8:35 a.m., and I thought it would be worse to interrupt his meeting. Crap. Crap. Crap. This was the worst. The absolute worst. The worst possible thing that could have happened to me. The job meant more to me than anything, than my own life, than the world. Why did I keep screwing up like this? — Catherine Ryan Hyde

In truth I suspect that merely slowing down is not a very satisfying answer. What I need has less to do with my pace of life than my peace of life. At any speed, I crave a deep and lasting inner peace. And if it's solace I'm after, I don't need to pace myself like a turtle, change jobs or set up house on a quiet island. It is usually frenetic living, not high energy, that robs my peace of mind. — Steve Goodier

My mother isn't mentioned, but what she taught me to say in place of ain't I? or aren't I? or ain't I? was am I not? Speed isn't everything. So I lose a micro-second here and there. The main thing is to be a graceful parvenu. — Kurt Vonnegut

I finally made friends with my father when I entered my twenties. We had so little in common when I was a boy, and I am certain I had been a disappointment to him. He did not ask for a child with a book, off in its own world. He wanted a son who did what he had done; swam and boxed and played rugby, and drove cars at speed with abandon and joy, but that was not what he wound up with. — Neil Gaiman

I've always had a vivid imagination in terms of storytelling, but thankfully I learned early on that imagination can be stifled or enhanced by one's writing ability - what I call word work. My goal from then on was to make sure my writing skills were up to speed with my imagination. — Marvin Brown

Let me do the talking, but follow my lead," said the Doctor. "You're my assistant. Your area of expertise is car mechanics."
"But I don't know the first thing about cars."
"Then you should be working at your local garage."
"What?"
"You'd fit in perfectly and earn a fortune on repeat business."
"I don't get you."
"That was humour, Kevin. I do it sometimes. — Mark Speed

Still, some nights I grieved. I grieved as much at what I knew must be the fleeting nature of my present happiness as any loss, any past. We lived on some edge, if we ever lived on a rolling plain. Who knew what attack, what illness. That doubleness again. Like flying: the stillness and speed, serenity and danger. — Peter Heller

For me, MMA is like speed chess. It's like I'm herding a person into a certain position. Say my endgame is an arm bar. I'm not gonna actually take you and put you there. What I'm going to do is convince you that it's a good idea to move in the direction I want you to go. — Ronda Rousey

I turn my gaped mouth away from Kate and look down the tree lined street, with parked cars on both sides and room for one line of traffic down the middle. That's not what's bothering me, though. It's the vicious, black, rubber speed humps dotted every twenty yards that have my attention. Oh God, I'm going to be tossed about like a penny in a tumble dryer. — Jodi Ellen Malpas

An ordinary mirror is silvered at the back but the window of the night train has darkness behind the glass. My face and the faces of other travellers were now mirrored on this darkness in a succession of stillnesses. Consider this, said the darkness: any motion at any speed is a succession of stillnesses; any section through an action will show just such a plane of stillness as this dark window in which your seeking face is mirrored. And in each plane of stillness is the moment of clarity that makes you responsible for what you do. — Russell Hoban

I think there is an enormous diference between speaking and writing. One rereads what one writes. But one might read it slowly or quickly. In other words, you do not know how long you will have to spend deliberating over a sentence ... But if I listen to a tape recorder, the listening time is determined by the speed at which the tape turns and not by my own needs. — Jean-Paul Sartre

What the hell?" I muttered. Then I realized it was Jack Quinn's car. Jack was a Hound and Bea's boyfriend. The left blinker flashed on for just a second, and then Jack drove at speed again.
"Zayvion, I'm sorry to tell you I think I have a crush on another man."
"Who is this unfortunate and soon-to-be-dead fool?" he asked.
"Jack. That's his car. He must have been waiting for us, or maybe he followed us."
"Jack Quinn has been following us?" Shame said.
"And now he's taking us to Collins, I think."
"Or a trap," Shame said.
"He's a Hound, Shame."
"My statement stands."
"You still don't get it, do you?" I turned left, following the car. "Hounds are loyal. Jack and Bea told me they'd help me if they could. They're not going to turn against me while I'm in trouble."
"What happens when you're not in trouble?" Shame asked.
"Don't know. It's never happened. — Devon Monk

The speed limited my vision to the tunnel of the Toyota's headlights. The body could drive, I told myself, while the mind maintained. Maintained and stayed away from the weird peripheral window dressing of amphetamine and exhaustion, the spectral, luminous vegetation that grows out of the corners of the mind's eye along late-night highways. But the mind had its own ideas, and Kihn's opinion of what I was already thinking of as my "sighting" rattled endlessly through my head in a tight, lopsided orbit. Semiotic ghosts. Fragments of the Mass Dream, whirling past in the wind of my passage. Somehow this feedback-loop aggravated the diet pill, and the speed-vegetation along the road began to assume the colors of infrared satellite images, glowing shreds blown apart in the Toyota's slipstream. — William Gibson

Hey, ass-hats!"

We bolt to our feet when Coach Jensen's commanding voice snaps toward the bleachers. Our fearless leader - the only Briar faculty member who can get away with calling students "ass-hats" - glares at us from the ice.

"Is there a reason your lazy asses are up in those seats when you should all be in the weight room?" he booms. "Quit stalking my practice!" Then he turns to scowl at the trio of freshmen who are snickering behind their gloves. "What're you ladies laughing at? Hustle!"

The players speed forward as if the ice behind them is cracking to pieces.

Up in the stands, the guys and I hustle just as fast. — Elle Kennedy

I'm not conscious of the speed ... it's not my motive ... my motive is displaying a voice through the fingerboard ... it can get to the point where I don't have control over what I am playing ... I never end the gig until I can't sing anymore — Alvin Lee

I once met an RAF pilot who told me of what he called a "bird strike". This, rather unfairly in my view, made it sound as if it was the bird's fault; as if the little feathered chap had deliberately tried to head-butt twenty tons of metal travelling in the opposite direction at just under the speed of sound, out of spite. — Hugh Laurie

An emotion that lives with me is a sense of 'what might have been' had injuries not robbed me of my most lethal weapon - speed. — Michael Owen

The essence of the evening was captured by a question from the audience. Someone asked: "What would it take to change your worldview?" My answer was simple: Any single piece of evidence. If we found a fossilized animal trying to swim between the layers of rock in the Grand Canyon, if we found a process by which a new huge fraction of a radioactive material's neutrons could become protons in some heretofore fantastically short period of time, if we found a way to create eleven species a day, if there were some way for starlight to get here without going the speed of light, that would force me and every other scientist to look at the world in a new way. However, no such contradictory evidence has ever been found - not any, not ever. — Bill Nye

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek (my weary travel's end)
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
"Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend."
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods [dully] on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side,
For that same groan doth put this in my mind:
My grief lies onward and my joy behind. — William Shakespeare

Really, my artiste, you amaze me. The lengths you will go to in order to accomplish your own destruction. The redundancy of it! In Night City, you had it, in the palm of your hand! The speed to eat your sense away, drink to keep it all so fluid, Linda for a sweeter sorrow, and the street to hold the axe. How far you've come, to do it now, and what grotesque props. . . . Playgrounds hung in space, castles hermetically sealed, the rarest rots of old Europa, dead men sealed in little boxes, magic out of China. . . . — William Gibson

You think we have a connection because of all the things you've sucked out of my mind by screening, but that isn't real. Trust comes when you've worked with someone for years; it doesn't speed up just because you can think fast, and it doesn't materialize when you stick a cable in someone's head. What you get from screening me isn't friendship, it's data. We're strangers. — Raphael Carter

It never occurred to me before, but I always thought of time like it was a road, or an empty plane. I could see it and mark it and claim it as mine, but the reason I couldn't travel my own speed was because I was waiting on the present to catch up, I had to wait to get to my destination.
But really, there is no road, or flat plane or anything ... there's just this very dangerous edge ... cliff that we're dangling off of, there isn't a future really, I mean sure we can plan and prepare, but tomorrow may not come.
I'm not saying base your life on that- if tomorrow does come, what you do today will influence it!
But anything can push you off that cliff.
So start living. — Melanie Kay Taylor

Now, what I am, and what I was, I know; I see the seasons in procession go With still increasing speed; while things to come, Unknown, unthought, amid the growing gloom Of long futurity, perplex my soul, While life is posting to its final goal. Mine is the crime, who ought with clearer light To watch the winged years' incessant flight; And not to slumber on in dull delay — Francesco Petrarca

O what a flowery track lies spread before me, henceforth! What dust clouds shall spring up behind me as I speed on my reckless way! What carts I shall fling carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my magnificent onset! — Kenneth Grahame

I think that in the past, in the '50s and '60s, after the existentialists and beatniks and hippie movements, the big deal was, Don't sell out. We live in a society that by virtue of the speed we communicate and sell, everything sells. The danger is buying in; that your concern becomes success, rather than fulfillment. They're two different beasts, and my feeling is that you should seek fulfillment. You should not measure your worth in how much you have or how popular you are, but how happy you are with what you do. — Guillermo Del Toro

More and more these days what I find myself doing in my stories is making a representation of goodness and a representation of evil and then having those two run at each other full-speed, like a couple of PeeWee football players, to see what happens. Who stays standing? Whose helmet goes flying off? — George Saunders

Without going to what I think is my limit. I always say that my ideal is to get pole with the minimum effort, and to win the race at the slowest speed possible. — Alain Prost

I do not dream anymore, nor do I sleep. My days are empty, my nights endless. My only thought is of her, this murderer. But despite what you say, she brings me life. — John Speed

So what I realized when I was a child was that if I were traveling as fast as light while holding a mirror before me, I would not see my image in the mirror, because as fast as the image of my face in light moved toward the mirror, why, just as fast would the mirror be moving away ... It is a rather frightening idea, in fact, that if I moved at the speed of light, I could get no confirmation of my existence from an objective source of reflected light such as a mirror. I would be like a ghost in the universe, materially unverifiable in the stream of time. — E.L. Doctorow

Did you kiss me?"
"What? Why would you think that?" His smirking face seemed to give nothing away.
"You bastard! Who cops a feel on an unconscious man?"
"Not me. I like my feelees conscious. — Andrea Speed

I think back to the day I drove Michelle and a newborn Malia home from the hospital nearly 13 years ago-crawling along, miles under the speed limit, feeling the weight of my daughter's future resting in my hands. I think about the pledge I made to her that day: that I would give her what I never had-that if I could be anything in life, I would be a good father. I knew that day that my own life wouldn't count for much unless she had every opportunity in hers. — Barack Obama

What else? I also believe that if someone comes up behind you on the freeway and flashes their lights to get you to move into the slow lane, they deserve whatever punishment you dole out to them. I promptly slow down and drive at the same speed as the car beside me so that I can punish Speed Racer for his impertinence.
Actually, it's not the impertinence I'm punishing him for, it's that he let other people know what he wanted.
Speed Racer, my friend, never ever let people know what you want. Because if you do, you might as well send them engraved invitations saying, Hi, this is what I want you to prevent me from ever having. — Douglas Coupland

A spa?"
"Yeah, Avalon Spa, you know the place near the mall?"
"Oh, right. What do you do there?"
Again, the nervous glance at the floor, and the small flush of color rising up his neck. "I'm a masseur. Which I know sounds phony as hell, but I'm licensed and everything. Also, my clients are women- the only men at Avalon are the ones on staff. And while I've got nothing against women at all- I'd have no friends in high school if it weren't for women- I find them as sexually attractive as roadkill possum."
Roan had to swallow back a laugh. "Don't tell them that."
"Oh, God no! I'd never get any tips then. — Andrea Speed

Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple!
My master sues to her, and she hath taught her suitor,
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device! was there ever heard a better,
That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter?
Valentine. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself?
Speed. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have the reason. — William Shakespeare

Shelley, you think she'll take me back?" Alex asks her, his hair dangerously close to her fingers. She doesn't pull his hair . . . just pats his head gently. I feel the tears running down my cheeks at full speed.
"Yeah!" Shelley yells with a goofy, gummy grin. She looks happier and more content than she's been in a long time. Both of my favorite people are with me right here; what more could I ask for? — Simone Elkeles

Roan rested his forehead against his and put a hand on his chest. Sweet man, one he didn't
deserve. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"The insanity that is my life. Me."
"Hey, I signed up for this ride. I knew from past experience that sexy men were always trouble,
and it wasn't like your reputation didn't precede you. I have no one to blame but myself."
"You think I'm sexy?"
"Don't fish for compliments. — Andrea Speed

Not so in haste, my heart! Have faith in God and wait; Although he linger long, He never comes too late. He never comes too late, He knoweth what is best: Vex not thyself in vain; Until he cometh, rest. Until he cometh, rest. Nor grudge the hours that roll: The feet that wait for God Are soonest at the goal. Are soonest at the goal. That is not gained by speed; Then hold thee still, my heart, For I shall wait his lead. — Bradford Torrey

Luc is busy protecting our vampires." "Luc is your bodyguard. He swore an oath to protect you." An irritated shake of his head. "You're in this already." "Luc was there when you explained the raves, helped you plan for my involvement, and I'm sure you've brought him up to speed about what we learned so far. He knows everything that I know." "Luc was busy." "I was busy." "Luc isn't you. — Chloe Neill

Magic. I want magic. I want magic that works.
THere is no doctor that can make the creature back into my daddy. No therapy that can make him into what he should have been.
No going back to the beginning and rewriting. He is what he is and if I have to write what I know, I'm doomed, because I can never write about this, never. — Carla Speed McNeil

My '60s plays were as good as most of the other plays I've written ... except I wasn't in a condition to refine them, to help in the rehearsal, or do anything. I was hardly conscious of what was going on except during the hours of the day when I was actually writing ... and that was with the aid of speed. — Tennessee Williams

Life kept going no matter what. And I tried to keep up. I really did. I ran and I ran and I ran. Hurdling every obstacle in my way. But I was tired. I was so damn tired of trying to keep up. Of hurdling one obstacle after another, only to find more in my path. And in the end, where did all of that running and jumping get me? Nowhere. My life was a freaking treadmill and it felt like someone kept upping the speed until I was running full sprint just trying not to fall on my face. — Jamie Canosa

Sentences spoken by writers, unless they have been written out first, rarely say what writers wish to say. Writers are unlucky speakers, by and large, which accounts for their being in a profession which encourages them to stay at their desk for years, if necessary, pondering what to say next and how best to say it. Interviewers propose to speed up this process
by trepanning writers, so to speak, and fishing around in their brains for unused ideas which otherwise might never get out of there. Not a single idea has ever been discovered by means of this brutal method
and still the trepanning of authors goes on every day.
I now refuse all those who wish to take the top off my skull yet again. The only way to get anything out of a writer's brains is to leave him or her alone until he or she is damn well ready to write it down. — Kurt Vonnegut