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I Quotes

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All I Quotes

“I'll bite: Hard science TA's and RA's often repair equipment; it's part of our science. If you want a silver spoon, don't go to grad school. Science is all about dangerous chemicals, semi-safe experimental equipment, and 4am drives down gravel roads in old vans with a nice steep drop on one side. Guardrail? Ho ho ho. Fixing the computers is just the tip of the iceberg. Plus, where else could you get on-the-job experience with a PDP-8?”

“I'll buy you a blow-up doll. I'm sure my mate won't mind when I explain how hard up you are." She didn't bother to punch him this time, just glared with promise of future retaliation. "Very funny. You wouldn't be laughing if you knew how sexually frustrated I am right now." [...] "The last time was when that SilverBlade sentinel was in town for a communications meeting." All amusement left Dorian's face. "You serious? That was months ago." A very long time to go without intimate touch. "Merce, that could get dangerous." "I know. Do you think I don't know?" She thrust her hands through her hair. "Damn it Dorian! It's getting to the point where I'm starting to wonder if some of the wolves would be good in bed. [...] "Cat and wolf isn't a ... um ... normal combination." "And Psy and cat is?" She made a face at him. "Yeah, yeah I know. Cat and wolf is strange." [...] "How about one of the Rats?" Dorian's eyes gleamed.”

“I'll call any length of fiction a story, whether it be a novel or a shorter piece, and I'll call anything a story in which specific characters and events influence each other to form a meaningful narrative. I find that most people know what a story is until they sit down to write one. Then they find themselves writing a sketch with an essay woven through it, or an essay with a sketch woven through it, or an editorial with a character in it, or a case history with a moral, or some other mongrel thing. When they realize that they aren't writing stories, they decide that the remedy for this is to learn something that they refer to as "the technique of the short story" or "the technique of the novel." Technique in the minds of many is something rigid, something like a formula that you impose on the material; but in the best stories it is something organic, something that grows out of the material, and this being the case, it is different for every story of any account that has ever been written.”

“I'll come,' Celeste cuts in. There's something very tantalizing about the chance to see for herself the man who dared to replace her in Gemma's life. The work aspect is another huge perk, which Gemma had mentioned in her account. 'It'll be good for the project if we went together, right? Why don't we kill two birds with one stone? Piss off your ex-fiancé and secure our chances of a cover story. I want this cover, Gem. It'll be my very first one.' Gemma groans. 'Your Gemini and Capricorn placements are showing.' Celeste is taken aback by the random segue. When her brain catches up, she asks, 'You remember my signs?' Gemma sighs dramatically. 'Gemini Sun, Capricorn Moon, and Scorpio Rising. But also, Gemini Venus and Virgo Mars. Basically, a hot workaholic who loves drama but hates emotions.' A surprised laugh escapes from Celeste's mouth. 'Gem,' she says. ‘And what are you...a Pisces?' Astrology is a common gay pastime, and many of Celeste's queer friends- especially the ones who live in LA- are deeply involved in it, sometimes even using things like astrocartography to determine where to travel or relocate. Meanwhile, she herself always has trouble remembering the different signs and who is what. 'Yup,' Gemma says with another loud sigh. 'Pisces Sun, Taurus Moon, and Cancer Rising. With a Leo Mars and Aquarius Venus at that. Basically, a stubborn ball of water that loves people a bit too much.' 'I don't know that much about astrology, but I know enough to know that I love your Big Three. I have friends with some of the exact same placements. So adorable.' 'Even if it makes me a stubborn ball of emotions?' 'A cute ball of emotions.' The moment she says it, Celeste bites her lip. Somehow, they've gotten dangerously close to flirting. Gemma clears her throat. 'Anyway, I have to go. I'll text you the information about the party. Thanks for agreeing to do this last minute. And for listening to me vent.' 'Great,' Celeste says. She does her best to switch gears so her tone is once again clipped and professional. 'And you're welcome. See you.' She hangs up, hoping she didn't make a huge mistake.”

“I'll come with you,' I said softly to Tamlin, to Lucien, shifting on his feet, 'if you leave them alone. Let them go.' You do not hold me. Tamlin's face contorted with wrath. 'They're monsters. They're-' He didn't finish as he stalked across the floor to grab me. To drag me out of here, then no doubt winnow away. You do not hold me. The fist gripping my power relaxed. Vanished. Tamlin lunged for me over the few feet that remained. So fast- too fast- I became mist and shadow. I winnowed beyond his reach. The king let out a low laugh as Tamlin stumbled. And went sprawling as Rhysand's fist connected with his face. Panting, I retreated right into Rhysand's arms as one looped around my waist, as Azriel's blood on him soaked into my back. Behind us, Mor leaped in to fill the space Rhys had vacated, slinging Azriel's arm over her shoulders. ... Tamlin rose, wiping the blood now trickling from his nose as he backed to where Lucien held his position with a hand on his sword. But just as Tamlin neared his Emissary, he staggered a step. His face went white with rage. And I knew Tamlin understood a moment before the king laughed. 'I don't believe it. Your bride left you only to find her mate. The Mother has a warped sense of humour, it seems. And what a talent- tell me, girl; how did you unravel that spell?' I ignored him. But the hatred in Tamlin's eyes made my knees buckle. 'I'm sorry,' I said, and meant it. Tamlin's eyes were on Rhysand, his face near-feral. 'You,' he snarled, the sound more animal than Fae. 'What did you do to her?”

“I’ll define that term, for the purposes of this book, as the alignment of potentially unlimited aspirations with necessarily limited capabilities. If you see ends beyond your means, then sooner or later you’ll have to scale back your ends to fit your means. Expanding means may attain more ends, but not all ends can be infinite and means never can be. Whatever balance you strike, there’ll be a link between what’s real and what’s imagined: between your current location and your intended destination. You won’t have a strategy until you’ve connected these dots—dissimilar though they are—within the situation in which you’re operating.”

“I'll drive." Sam held out his hand. "It's my car. I'll drive." Sam bristled. "I'm the man." "So?" "The man drives. That's a man's job. Just like fixing things, building things, taking out the trash, proposing marriage, mowing the lawn, barbecuing, carrying heavy furniture..." Layla snorted. "Wake up. It's not the '50's anymore. No one drives this woman's Jeep. I can build anything from IKEA without help, and if I ever do find someone I want to marry, I'll ask the dude myself. However, if you want to take out the trash or fix the leaky faucet in the restroom, knock yourself out." "How about Layla takes her Jeep and Sam takes his car and I promise not to tell anyone that you two single-handedly destroyed the environment?" Daisy suggested. "That's ridiculous," Sam snapped. "We're going to the same place for the same reason. We only need one vehicle." "This is my gig," Layla said. "I'm driving my car. If you can't get over your traditional sexist patriarchal controlling self, then I'll meet you there.”

“I'll eat whatever you put in front of me." He grinned uneasily, eyeing the egg. "You'll not toss that at my head, will you?" "This?" Helena held the light brown egg between thumb and forefinger. "Why would I do that?" Sven glanced from Hakan to Helena. She cupped the egg and let it roll across her palm. "Helena." Hakan's voice threaded with warning. "Twould please me greatly to have my eggs cooked this morn." She gave the egg a small toss and it plopped into her palm intact. "As you wish.”