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D Quotes

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All D Quotes

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asked. ”Enough to accept my apologies?” I suggested in a small voice. ”Heck no,” he said, and pushed off from the wall, stalking forward. When he reached me, he put his hands up and touched the sides of my neck with the tips of his fingers – as if I were something fragile. ”No apologies from you,” he told me, his voice soft enough to melt my knees and most of my other parts.”

“Do you have any idea how much I want her? How much it feels like I need her sometimes? It’s like she’s burrowed her way beneath my flesh and taken root in the depths of my soul. I hunger for her and ache for her and for the briefest moment, it felt like maybe she felt the same. Like all the anger and hatred between us had just been covering up everything else we desired. Like just maybe I could have something good like that, something pure and honest and just… mine.”

“Do you have any idea what it's been like?" he asks, getting more frustrated now in the face of my inarticulate fluster. "Every day, I woke up and wondered if that would be the day I'd see you again. And if I did, how would it go? I missed you, so much. I'm twenty nine, and I've never loved another woman." He stares at me, unblinking. "And every woman I've been with knows it, unfortunately for them.”

“Do you have any idea why you might be feeling better?” “No, not really,” I said curtly. Better wasn’t even the word for how I felt. There wasn’t a word for it. It was more that things too small to mention—laughter in the hall at school, a live gecko scurrying in a tank in the science lab—made me feel happy one moment and the next like crying. Sometimes, in the evenings, a damp, gritty wind blew in the windows from Park Avenue, just as the rush hour traffic was thinning and the city was emptying for the night; it was rainy, trees leafing out, spring deepening into summer; and the forlorn cry of horns on the street, the dank smell of the wet pavement had an electricity about it, a sense of crowds and static, lonely secretaries and fat guys with bags of carry-out, everywhere the ungainly sadness of creatures pushing and struggling to live. For weeks, I’d been frozen, sealed-off; now, in the shower, I would turn up the water as hard as it would go and howl, silently. Everything was raw and painful and confusing and wrong and yet it was as if I’d been dragged from freezing water through a break in the ice, into sun and blazing cold.”

“Do you have any of Beatrix's drawings?" "On the last page," Catherine said. "She began to sketch a protruding section of the wall, over there, but she became preoccupied with a squirrel that kept hopping into the foreground." Leo found a perfectly rendered and detailed portrait of a squirrel. He shook his head. "Beatrix and her animals." They exchanged a grin. "Many people talk to their pets," Catherine said. "Yes, but very few understand the replies.”

“Do you have change for a dollar? Geryon heard Geryon say. No. Herakles stared straight at Geryon. But I'll give you a quarter for free. Why would you do that? I believe in being gracious. Some hours later they were down at the railroad tracks standing close together by the switch lights. The huge night moved overhead scattering drops of itself. You're cold, said Herakles suddenly, your hands are cold. Here. He put Geryon's hands inside his shirt.”

“Do you have children, Dominick?" "Nope." "Well if you did," she said, "you would most likely read them not only Curious George but also fables and fairy tales. Stories where humans outsmart witches, where giants and ogres are felled and good triumphs over evil. Your parents read them to you and your brother. Did they not?" "My mother did," I said. "Of course she did. It is the way we teach our children to cope with a world too large and chaotic for them to comprehend. A world that seems, at times, too random. Too indifferent. Of course, the religions of the world will do the same for you, whether you're a Hindu or a Christian or a Rosicrucian. They're brother and sister, really; children's fables and religious parables...”

“Do You Have DID? Determining if you have DID isn’t as easy as it sounds. In fact, many clinicians and psychotherapists have such difficulty figuring out whether or not people have DID that it typically takes them several years to provide an accurate diagnosis. Because many of the symptoms of DID overlap with other psychological diagnoses, as well as normal occurrences such as forgetfulness or talking to yourself, there is a great deal of confusion in making the diagnosis of DID. Although this section will provide you with information which may help you determine if you have DID, it is a good idea to consult with a professional in the mental health field so that you can have further confirmation of your findings.”

“Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it's worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.”

“Do you have kids?" Anna asks. I laugh. "What do you think?" "It's probably a good thing," she admits. "No offense, but you don't exactly look like a parent." That fascinates me. "What do parents look like?" She seems to think about this. "You know how the tightrope guy at the circus wants everyone to believe his act is an art, but deep down you can see that he's really just hoping he makes it all the way across? Like that.”

“Do you have questions like that for your father?' 'Why am I the way I am?' His tone makes it clear he's proposing something I might suggest he ask, not really wondering about it. 'There are no real answers, Jude. Why was I cruel to Folk? Why was I awful to you? Because I could be. Because I liked it. Because, for a moment, when I was at my worst, I felt powerful, and most of the time, I felt powerless, despite being a prince and the son of the High King of Faerie.' 'That's an answer,' I say.”

“Do you have that feeling of happiness about what’s going to happen?” Macomber asked, still exploring his new wealth. “You’re not supposed to mention it,” Wilson said, looking in the other’s face. “Much more fashionable to say you’re scared. Mind you, you’ll be scared too, plenty of times.” “But you have a feeling of happiness about action to come?” “Yes,” said Wilson. “There’s that. Doesn’t do to talk too much about all this. Talk the whole thing away. No pleasure in anything if you mouth it up too much. - The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber, from The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway”