Knowledge is dangerous and men lie and the world changes, whether I want it to or not.
My days had a pleasant identicalness about them. I had always liked that: I liked routine. I liked being bored. I didn’t want to but I did.
You say my name like a lover, so soft, so sweet. I want to lick the word from your lips, sip the exhaled breath from your mouth. I want to possess you utterly. Right now. Right here.
Anytime you want to lay off the paybacks God, that'd be great.
Do you go see her?" "No," I said, refusing to acknowledge that I'd just seen Lissa last night. "That's not my life anymore." "Right. Your life is all about dangerous vigilante missions." "You wouldn't understand anything that isn't drinking, smoking, or womanizing." He shook his head. "You're the only one I want, Rose." "Well, you can keep feeling that way, but you're going to have to keep waiting." "Much longer?" He asked me. "I don't know." Hope blossomed on Adrian's face. "That's the most optimistic thing you've told me so far.
Magnus wants to shout at me, don’t you, Magnus?” (Jace) “Yes,” Magnus said, tearing his eyes away from Alec long enough to scowl. -pg.275-
He's one of those smart, drifty young people who, after certain deliberations, decides he wants to do Something in the Arts but won't, possibly can't, think in terms of an actual job; who seems to imagine that youth and brains and willingness will simply summon an occupation, the precise and perfect nature of which will reveal itself in its own time.
Accept that, like many men, you have a streak of the homoerotic in you. Why would you, why would anyone, want to be that straight?
Little kids shoot marbles where the branches break the sun into graceful shafts of light… I just want to be pure.
Stop being so...optimistic, its getting on my nerves." "No problem. Do you want me to be all gloom and doom or just shut up?" "Just shut up." "Can do." "Really? Doesn't seem like it." -Jacob and seth
I don't really want to be the costar of anyone's life.
What people want, mainly, is to be told by some plausible authority that what they are already doing is right. I don't know know of a quicker way to become unpopular than to disagree.
You can want and want and want, but if he doesn't want you back ... you might as well wish the sky were red.
I want my own books to have their own shelves," you said, and that's how I knew it would be okay to live together.
I can't always be Lois Lane," I insisted. "I want to be Superman, too.
An injured lion wants to know if he can still roar.
How could you love someone and not want them to be happy?
If you want your life to be a small part of eternity, to be lucid even in the heart of madness, love... Love with all your strength, love as though it is all you know how to do, love enough to make the gods themselves jealous... for it is in love that all ugliness reveals its beauty.
Let me tell you about gays in the military. I don't want any gay people hanging around me while I'm killing kids. I just don't want to see it.
Anybody out there who is a parent, if your kids want to paint their bedrooms,as a favor to me, let them do it. It'll be OK.
She’s not for you, nor you for her; at least, not in the way you both want.
Even before the withdrawal sets in, you'll do anything to get that feeling back, because as long as it lasts, nothing's wrong. It doesn't matter if you forget something, or lose something. Or if you fail someone. Nothing's wrong and everything feels good, and you never want it to end.
Yeah. She wants him back and has decided I'm in her way. But I have news for that little sleep-terrorist--it's going to take more than a couple of bad dreams to scare me off, so I hope she has something bigger up her sleeve.
Nice is good, but it's not enough. I want you back for real. I want to talk to you at lunch, instead of staring at you while you eat. I want to see the smile on your face and know I put it there. I want to hear your dad's voice get all low and pissed off, like it only does when I've stayed over too late.
If Melissa Miller were an artist, she would have painted the world in vicious streaks of red. Nothing like Picasso's rose period, all soft and cheerful and so optimistic that it made you want to puke. Missy's red phase would have been brutal and bright enough to cut your eyes. Missy's art would have been honest.
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