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D Quotes

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“Dragostea e ca spărgătorul de muzee: intră în tine dosnic, prin crăpături neştiute, se strecoară prin canale insalubre pînă în mijlocul secret al sufletului, iar de-acolo, neştiind să facă diferenţa între ce-i frumos şi ce nu, bagă în traistă cea mai păzită dintre pînze, cea mai veche dintre statui, cea mai sclipitoare dintre coroane. Şi cu tolba asta de furăciuni pripite dragostea se duce la picioarele femeii din care s-a născut şi, deşertînd-o, îi spune: iată-ţi ofranda! Dragostea n-are gust propriu. Dragostea e un whisky, sorbind aroma şi culoarea doagei în care s-a turnat. Unii simt gustul miracolului, alţii pe cel al puterii, ori al poeziei, ori al vieţii împlinite. Mie unuia, ca să n-o confund şi să n-o uit, dragostea mi-a lăsat pe esofag, un pic mai sus de capul pieptului, gustul morţii. O fi că am citit eu cărţile nepotrivite, sau poate că băusem prea mult în zilele alea, habar n-am. Dar, privind încheietura Milenei, cu pielea subţire, întinsă peste capătul rotund şi proeminent al radiusului, venele urcînd albastru spre nişte degete lungi şi subţiri, cu unghii tăiate rotund, şcolăreşte, am simţit numai şi numai moarte. Dorinţa nefirească de a nu mai exista, cea mai seducătoare dintre dorinţe, m-a copleşit într-o ciunteală de clipă. Ada Kaleh înghiţită de Dunăre, cu tot cu trecut, şi poveşti, şi rahat, şi sugiuc.”

“Dragostea reprezintă revanșa și alibiul naturii într-o lume deja conștientă, și puțin rușinată, de viitorul ei mecanizat. Mitul dragostei, care avea să îmbogățească cinematografia, muzica ușoară, literatura și să devină celălalt și adevăratul opiu al poporului înainte de a se transforma, la capătul unui ultim avatar, într-o armă de luptă religioasă și politică, începea să intre în calculele mamelor și industriașilor.”

“Dragul meu prieten, nu fi indurerat, zise Edward. N-am esuat, ci dimpotriva, am reusit. Nici nu-ti poti imagina cu cat elan contemplu viata, cat de plina mi se pare si cat de semnificativa. Uneori (...) ai sa te gandesti la mine. Am sa-mi cladesc o casa pe insula mea de corali si am sa traiesc acolo ingrijindu-mi copacii si scotand miezul din nuci in acelasi mod stravechi pe care l-au folosit bastinasii din timpuri imemoriale. Am sa cultiv tot felul de legume in gradina mea si am sa pescuiesc. Voi avea destula treaba sa-mi consum energia, dar nu atata incat sa ma duca la indobitocire. Voi avea carti, o voi avea pe Eva si, sper, copii; si voi avea, mai presus de toate, infinita varietate a marii si a cerului, prospetimea zorilor si frumusetea amurgurilor, bogatia magnifica a noptilor. Am sa fac o gradina din ceea ce nu demult era doar o paragina. In felul acesta voi fi creat ceva. Anii vor trece pe nesimtite si, cand voi fi batran, sper sa privesc inapoi multumit, pentru ca am trait o viata linistita, simpla si fericita. In felul meu modest, voi fi cultivat si eu, in viata, frumosul. Crezi ca e putin lucru sa cunosti multumirea si sa te bucuri de ea? Stim bine ca nu-i foloseste mare lucru omului daca dobandeste intreaga lume pierzandu-si sufletul. Eu cred ca pe al meu am reusit sa-l pastrez." Din povestirea Decaderea lui Edward Barnard, din Honolulu, de W. Somerset Maugham.”

“Drake." His name was breathless on her lips. "What does it mean?" The jolt coursed through him again. No one had ever asked him that. He reached over and took her hand. Rubbing little circles in her palm with the pad of his thumb he said deeply, "'Dragon,' I believe. My father was obsessed with them." "Oh." She would be so easy to seduce. Drake drew her hand to his mouth and just touched the backs of her fingers with his lips. She inhaled sharply, and he smiled. "I don't have to ask what Serena means." He watched the play of emotions on her face. "'Tis obvious." He glided her fingertips across her lips. "And so fitting." Serena gasped, snatching her hand away. Her color filled her face. "What art thou doing?" Drake released an abrupt laugh. Some part of him, some part he hadn't known was there, felt like he had known her forever. "I don't know. I fear I lose my grasp on reality and propriety when you are near.”

“Drake: "I know it;s love because I think of you night and day. I miss you when you are sitting right next to me. When I look at you my heart races and my stomach turns in the best and worst way possible. When I'm with you I feel complete, I feel whole. When I'm away from you it;s hard to breathe. When I think of my life without you I panic and tears fill my eyes. Before I met you, I didn't think I had much of a future besides being CEO at Baylor. I look at you, Morgan, and am filled with beautiful optimism at all of the things my future could have, and that is because i see you right there with me. I want to marry you, Morgan, I want to have children with you. You are my best friend, my confidant, my everything. To me that's love. You say you love me, Morgan, is that how you feel?" I ask hopefully. "Yes," Morgan says, as a confident smile crosses her face and tears fill her eyes. "Yes, that is exactly how I feel. I love you, Drake, you are my everything,”

“Drake looked down at his bride, pride nearly crushing him. She looked the picture of virtue in a gown the color of dark cream. Her hair sat atop her head in a shining red-gold mass of thick braids and curls. A band of small pink rosebuds haloed the curls, their stems a tightly intertwined crown. There was no cap now. Her face was pale and glowing, her neck as graceful as any swan's he had ever seen on the lakes of Northumberland, her delicate collarbones as elegant and stately as the jewels of a queen. What he wouldn't have done to give her the magnificent London wedding she deserved. He would relish seeing her in rich satin and jewels, the envy of the civilized world. But Serena would never be in London... would probably not 'wish' to be, he realized. Gazing at her beauty, her tranquility, he had a blinding realization that caused him to grasp more tightly to her hand and almost falter as he turned toward the minister: Had he not left all behind, he never would have found her. For the first time, he had something to be thankful for in the wake of his ruined existence. Had he stayed in London, he would have wed one of the haughty women of the ton, a woman in whose eyes he would have seen a hunger that was never satisfied. Instead, he was marrying a woman of quiet strength and faith, all of which gave the very air around her peace. Was she not worth a dukedom? Yes. A thousand times yes. That and more. She was worth all that he had gone through to have her.”

“Drake’s dead,” Astrid said. “Dead people don’t come back. Let’s not be ridiculous.” Howard made a derisive snort. “Okay. That’s as far as I go with you on this, Sammy boy.” He made a hand-washing gesture. Astrid slammed her palm on the table, surprising even herself. “Somebody better tell me what all these back-and-forth looks are about.” “Brittney,” Howard said, spitting the name out like it was poison. “She came back. Sam had her and stuck her with Brianna, and told me not to talk about it.” “Brittney?” Astrid said, confused. Howard said, “Yeah. You know, like dead-girl Brittney? Way dead? Dead a long time and buried a long time and suddenly she’s sitting in my house chatting? That Brittney.” “I’m still not…” “Well, Astrid,” Howard said, “I guess we just found the limits of your big old genius brain. Point is that someone who was very seriously dead is suddenly not so dead anymore.” “But…,” Astrid started. “But Drake…” “As dead as Brittney,” Howard said. “Which might be a slight problem, since Brittney isn’t exactly dead herself.”

“Drake's whip hand spun Diana like a top. She cried out. That sound, her cry, pierced Caine like an arrow. Diana staggered and almost righted herself, but Drake was too quick, too ready. His second strike yanked her through the air. She flew and then fell. “Catch her!” Caine was yelling to himself. Seeing her arc as she fell. Seeing where she would hit. His hands came up, he could use his power, he could catch her, save her. But too slow. Diana fell. Her head smashed against a jutting point of rock. She made a sound like a dropped pumpkin. Caine froze. The fuel rod, forgotten, fell from the air with a shattering crash. It fell within ten feet of the mine shaft opening. It landed atop a boulder shaped like the prow of a ship. It bent, cracked, rolled off the boulder, and crashed heavily in the dirt. Drake ran straight at Caine, his whip snapping. But Jack stumbled in between them, yelling, “The uranium! The uranium!” The radiation meter in his pocket was counting clicks so fast, it became a scream. Drake piled into Jack, and the two of them went tumbling. Caine stood, staring in horror at Diana. Diana did not move. Did not move. No snarky remark. No smart-ass joke. “No!” Caine cried. “No!” Drake was up, disentangling himself with an angry curse from Jack. “Diana,” Caine sobbed. Drake didn’t rely on his whip hand now, too far away to use it before Caine could take him down. He raised his gun. The barrel shot flame and slugs, BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. Inaccurate, but on full automatic, Drake had time. He swung the gun to his right and the bullets swooped toward where Caine stood like he was made of stone. Then the muzzle flash disappeared in an explosion of green-white light that turned night into day. The shaft of light missed its target. But it was close enough that the muzzle of Drake’s gun wilted and drooped and the rocks behind Drake cracked from the blast of heat. Drake dropped the gun. And now it was Drake’s turn to stare in stark amazement. “You!” Sam wobbled atop the rise. Quinn caught him as he staggered. Now Caine snapped back to the present, seeing his brother, seeing the killing light. “No,” Caine said. “No, Sam: He’s mine.” He raised a hand, and Sam went flying backward along with Quinn. “The fuel rod!” Jack was yelling, over and over. “It’s going to kill us all. Oh, God, we may already be dead!” Drake rushed at Caine. His eyes were wide with fear. Knowing he wouldn’t make it. Knowing he was not fast enough. Caine raised his hand, and the fuel rod seemed to jump off the ground. A javelin. A spear. He held it poised. Pointed straight at Drake. Caine reached with his other hand, extending the telekinetic power to hold Drake immobilized. Drake held up his human hand, a placating gesture. “Caine…you don’t want to…not over some girl. She was a witch, she was…” Drake, unable to run, a human target. The fuel rod aimed at him like a Spartan’s spear. Caine threw the fuel rod. Tons of steel and lead and uranium. Straight at Drake.”

“DRAMA: Be careful about being baited into the personal battles and confusion of others. If you want to help someone out emotionally, be certain he or she has made a commitment to the sacrifice before you intervene for his or her success. If you don’t, you’re likely to be drained of all your healthy energy with his or her selfish petty, pitiful pretending and negotiating. Be encouraged but more importantly if you can’t make it better, whatever you do don’t make it worse, for them and especially yourself”