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Hope Evermore: Quotes, Verse, & Spiritual Inspiration for Every Day of the Year

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Richelle E. Goodrich

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“She doesn't want to go either," Ashanti said. "Well, you make them," Anita said. "No. They're sixteen, not ten. The girls can decide how they want to spend their weekend, and no one will force them do anything they don't want to do." "You're behind this, aren't you?" Anita hissed. "You're turning my brother's children against me." Ashanti had heard this song too many times. She was not up for a repeat. "Look, I have to go. You have both Kara's and Kendra's phone numbers. Call and ask if they want to go shopping for plants with you. Like I said, they're old enough to make their own decisions. There's no need for me to play the middleman.”

Verbal SaltCustody Battle
Book:Pardon My Frenchie
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“Someone needs to be concerned about those girls." "Kara and Kendra know that I am only a phone call away." "Would you even answer the phone if you're laid up under some man?" Line. Crossed. Ashanti closed the distance between them, until she was barely a foot away. "Apparently, you didn't hear me the first time," she said. "Who I fuck is none of your business." Anita gasped, her head snapping back. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out. "I should petition the courts!" she finally screeched. "Get those girls away from you!" "Try it," Ashanti said. "You shouldn't be raising my brother's children!" "I am tired of your bullshit, Anita. You hadn't talked to your 'beloved' brother for over three years before he died. I know my dad tried to contact you, and you ignored him." "He was not your father!" "Fuck you! He is my father. He loved me and treated me like his own flesh and blood. You, on the other hand, who actually was his flesh and blood, didn't want anything to do with him until he was buried in the ground. And all because he took your mother's dishes." "It was her wedding china and it was mine!" Anita said. "And it has nothing to do with you." "No, it doesn't. I don't care why you cut your own brother out of your life. What I do care about are my sisters. You talk about wanting to raise Kara and Kendra? You live an hour away and saw them five times in the first ten years of their lives. "I know what this is, it's guilt," Ashanti continued. "But you don't get to alleviate the shame and regret you feel at the way you treated your own brother by making my sisters' lives hell.”

IronyHypocrisyVerbal SaltStanding Up For Yourself
Book:Pardon My Frenchie
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“I grabbed one of the plants he had given me and shoved it into his hands. "Take it. I killed it. Just like you killed our relationship by never being there when I needed you. Just like you killed it again by asking me to meet you so you could get your revenge. Good-bye." "It's not dead," he pointed out. "It just needs a little love." "Then give it to Clare." "She's not a loving type. She's an evil, using, betraying, double-crossing type. Not like you, sweetheart." "Don't sweetheart me," I snapped. "Your fake seduction won't work here. Clearly, the only thing that is a danger to me is you.”

SymbolicPlantsVerbal SaltRelationship Drama
Book:'Til Heist Do Us Part
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“You're calling me shallow? So you know so much about this, huh? Which restaurants have you worked in?" He held his hands out. "Where are your scars?" I stiffened. I shouldn't have to pour out any of my pain for him to take me seriously. "I don't have to have worked in a restaurant to know what makes cooking really good," I snapped. He folded his arms like a sulky fourteen-year-old. "Then educate me." That clearly wasn't an invitation, but screw it. I stood up and planted my hands on the table. "Caring. I don't mean for the details. I mean caring for the person who's going to eat it. Giving them a little piece of what you love the most." I jabbed my finger at my plate. "All of these dishes, they're just about showing off." He rubbed his forearm hard, his face stony. "But I won Fire on High. I'm kind of a big deal, in case you didn't know. I think it's OK for me to show off." I held up a finger. "You won one competition," I said slowly, contempt sneaking into my voice. "This year. Can you name the person who won two years ago? Three? Unless you take this seriously, your book will gather dust in a remainder pile somewhere, a historical record of a leprechaun in a stupid bandanna who was famous for a hot second." The stone in his expression crumbled away. Bright green eyes flashed, hands clenched. His mouth opened and closed, and finally he hissed, "Who the fuck are you to tell me that? You're nobody. You can't even get your own name on a book. Who gives a shit what you think?" My voice shot high with anger. "I'm the woman who has to clean up your mess, you entitled, arrogant brat." It was quiet. Not the silence of people eating delicious food. It was post-atomic-bomb explosion quiet.”

CriticalHypocrisyCondescendingBickeringVerbal SaltIn Public
Book:The Slowest Burn
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“I baked all those cakes, and I didn't want them to just sit." "You could have told me," I said through gritted teeth. "I'm sure I wasn't missed," Sabrina replied. I looked back at Dante, who was ignoring the conversation in favor of chatting through his Bluetooth earpiece neck thingy. "What do you sell?" I asked Tameka. "I make jams and jellies. Chowchow." "It's so delicious," Sabrina added. I cocked an eyebrow at my sister. "Sabrina had a great sales day. Most of her cakes sold out." Tameka turned to Sabrina. "How many jars did you sell?" "Thirty-four," Sabrina said, cutting her eyes away from me. Thirty-four. In one morning? At a farmers market? I couldn't believe it. A sting of resentment settled around my heart. I didn't know why that bothered me so much. Tameka looked at my cake tray and said to Sabrina, "The little jars would fit nicely at events like this." Once again, my uninventive and un-unique dessert display was dissed.”

EnvyVerbal SaltLow Blow
Book:Bitter and Sweet
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