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I Quotes

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All I Quotes

“I can’t spend time with people I don’t enjoy. I can’t do it anymore as theater. I make choices, and that’s a beautiful thing about growing up, learning to say no, in a nice way, just say no. I have this friend…we just went different ways in life. Once he came to me and said, “Francis, you don’t like me anymore.” and I said “No, it’s not that I don’t like you, we’ve chosen different styles of life. I still have beautiful souvenirs of all the things we did together and how close we were, but the truth is it’s not that you bore me, but I don’t enjoy talking to you anymore and I don’t want to fight with you but there’s nothing in common between your life and mine nowadays”. I would have never said that but he asked me. So what could I say? I said the truth. Growing up has a bit to do with that, to be able to tell the truth, to show who you are, even if it hurts.”

“I can't stand how much like my dreams you smell; it's torture. You are torture. You wear metal on your skin like you're made of it, and it bites at me every time you're around. No matter how many showers I take, I smell your scent on me, on this ship, while I'm trying to sleep. I don't understand it, and can't stand it. I can't stand how I want you so badly and don't at the same time, because you're what I've been looking for, and I don't know what it means to have found it.”

“I can’t stand it. I have my circle and that’s it. I don’t want to tell people outside the circle. I don’t want them to have to find out. I don’t let anyone in…” “And yet,” I said, gulping air, getting a hold of myself. “Here I am.” “Here you are…” He said, his eyes roaming my face. “Believe me, I didn’t want to let you in. But it was almost as if…” “What?” I whispered. “As if I didn’t have a choice,” He said. “I tried to keep [my] walls up, keep to my routine… But you got in anyway.” He gently swiped a tear from my chin. “You feel it too, right?” I nodded. “Yes.”

“I can’t stand the word empathy, actually. I think empathy is a made-up, New Age term that—it does a lot of damage. But it is very effective when it comes to politics. When Bill Clinton said, 'I feel your pain,' that was a brilliant political move. It was total nonsense, but it worked. I prefer sympathy. Sympathy is a much better word. Sympathy is saying, 'I’m sorry for what you’re going through, I’m going to try to help you.' Empathy is like, 'I’m going to become you, I’m going to feel exactly what you’re feeling.' It’s impossible, it’s narcissistic, and it’s destructive.”

“I can't stand the word "mentality," which I think is a completely artificial concept, but it is plainly true that some kind of Russian national character exists, and this bravado about enduring privation, which could so easily be avoided, is a significant aspect of it. We suffer appalling conditions, criticize and gripe about the authorities, yet simultaneously manage to take pride in being able to survive in these horrid conditions, and consider it a great competitive advantage in a hypothetical confrontation between nations. Well, yes, we say, the Japanese do make good cars, but just let them try to assemble a functioning car form the spare parts of three others and some rusty scrap metal the way our neighbor Vasily managed to. I notice the same thing in myself when I go abroad and compare the activities of opposition politicians in Russia and Europe. I can find myself on the verge of saying, "I wonder how you would get on as a politician if, after every meeting in an electoral campaign, you were placed under arrest for a month." It is as if I were priding myself on living in an environment so grim, and where politics is so very real, that I absolutely have to go to prison. You don't need to be a great psychologist to recognize what is a the root of this: Russians yearn for a normal life, fully aware that we have invented all our existing problems for our ourselves. We can't admit to being fools, though, so we look for something to boast about, where in fact there is nothing to be proud of. There were political discussions in our home regularly, and the overall attitude toward the authorities was critical. That seemed to be true of other families I knew, which might appear strange, because all military officers were obliged to be members of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, and propaganda in the army and control of its ideological loyalty were top state priorities. These directives had exactly the opposite effect of what was intended. The title of "political worker" (an officer responsible for ideological work) was always tinged with irony. They were laughed at behind their backs, because everybody knew their sole professional duty was to tell lies. The mind-boggling discrepancy between what political workers said and the reality of life was obvious, even to a child when these geezers turned up at school to tell us about the wonders of the Soviet system. One who had served in Cuba described the wiles of the Americans and how marvelous life had become in the "Island of Freedom" after the victory of the revolution, but all the children wanted to know was whether it was true you could just walk into a shop there and buy Coca-Cola and how their parents could best draw the lucky straw and get to work anywhere as long as it was abroad.”

“I can't stand to see you punish yourself." I regarded him with wariness. "Do what?" "Continue to punish youself for your father's sins," He replied steadily. "How long are you supposed to pay for them? How many vampires do you have to kill until you and your mum are squared? You're of the bravest people I've ever met, yet you're scared to death of your own mum. Don't you realize? It's not me for hiding in the closet—it's yourself?”

“I can’t stand up in front of people and play and sing. I would rather die. Remember, Viv, the Year of Saying Yes. So what if I die? So what if I’m crap and make a fool of myself? I know that no one ever does anything or gets anywhere without failure and foolishness. I’ve got to do it. Nelson has made me an offer I can’t refuse, the bugger.”

“I can’t stop caring, Sin. I wouldn’t be normal if I wasn’t curious, and that’s the same for anyone who cares for you.” She sat up, all wet and flushed with beautiful marks. “Being open is important, but that is your choice. I won’t push, but you must understand how hard it is to ignore.” “Which is why I hide it.” I sat up and pressed a kiss to her jaw. “I’m trying, Little Bird. Only for you.” “Not for me, Sin. Do it for you if that’s what feels right; it can’t stop me loving you.”

“I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me. “If you are going to mate, mate quietly,” Harrec calls out in a sleepy voice from across the cave. “Rukhar is trying to sleep.” Kate shushes him, and someone—Gail? Elly?—giggles. I pull away from Warrek’s mouth and bury my face against his neck in embarrassment. Oh my god. That’s totally my fault—I was loud. I’m not sure I know how to be quiet. “Sorry,” I whisper to Warrek. “No apologies. I was impatient. We will wait for privacy.” He gives me one more quick kiss and then presses his mouth to my forehead. “Sleep now.” “Yeah,” Kate says, giggling. “Sleep now.”

“I can’t stop thinking about Elijah sitting underneath the juniper tree & asking God to die. God sent an angel who says, “This journey is too much for you.” & that he must eat. Elijah does, then he rests. He wakes up still feeling hopeless, & the angel repeats himself. It took Elijah longer than he wanted to get better. Sometimes we want to move but we can’t. Sometimes the journey is too much. It is not a sin to understand your limitations. Start there, get stronger, then get up.”

“I can't stop thinking about what Caroline said to Minna about death. It isn't an infection, she said. She might be right. Then again, we've nested in the walls like bacteria. We've taken over the house, its insulation and its plumbing - we've made it our own. Or maybe it's life that's the infection: a feverish dream, a hallucination of feelings. Death is purification, a cleaning, a cure.”

“I can't stop thinking about what he felt like against my body, against my lips. I can't remember anything else, anything before that. And I realize in this moment that I've finally done it. That horrible, awful thing I swore I would never do. The frosting. The cigarettes. The blue glass triangle. The shooting stars. The taste of his mouth on mine in the hall closet. Gone. All I can think about is Sam. Matt is – erased. My whole body is warm and buzzing. Sam is smiling next to me, because of me. And I've never felt so lonely in all my life.”

“I can't stress enough: when doing business with friends, the agreement needs to be ironclad. The terms need to be crystal clear. THe more you leave open to interpretation, the more one party will make assumptions based on friendship rather than business. Sometimes we avoid these conversations because we don't want our friends to think we don't believe in them, but it's always better to discuss contingency plans before you need them.”

“I can’t take the ring. It means—it means too much to you. It’s all you have left of them.” “That’s why it’s better if you have it,” he said, and held out the box, cupped in one hand.“Because you can make it a better memory. I can barely look at this thing without seeing the past. I don’t want to see the past anymore. I want to see the future.” He didn’t blink, and she felt the breath leave her body. “You’re the future, Claire.”