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S Quotes

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“She asks me, "How do you grieve someone you never met?" With each patient, I hear similar questions. It keeps emerging, this pulse. It presses in every room, leans on every shoulder, demands an answer: How do you grieve future loss? Underneath that, more questions: How do you deal with the viciousness of a broken dream? How do you move on from the picture of life in your head? How do you keep moving through a parallel-universe life? My patients suffer from good dreams. What I mean is, it's not the nightmares that keep them up. It's the hope. Daydreams of another life. Instead of homesick, they're timesick. Before becoming a chaplain, I thought grief was about missing the past. About reflecting on all the things before, the stuff we had until mortality crawled through the window. It's true. We grieve the past. But mostly no one gets a chance to grieve the future. It doesn't seem to read as a real loss. I need to tell you about this because nobody told me: The dream that didn't happen is as much of a loss as losing the one that did.”

“She averted her eyes from his naked chest and reached up to close her window. He lifted his arms, curling his hands around the sash of his own window. Between his upraised arms, he stared at her, and his smile widened. "What's wrong, Lily? Are you shutting your window because you're afraid I'll breathe the same air you do?" She met his gaze across the short distance that separated them. "I didn't know leeches could breathe." He didn't get angry at the insult. Instead, he laughed. "You're a worthy opponent. I don't think I've ever met a woman with a quicker wit than you. If you'd been a man, there's no telling what you might have accomplished." "If I'd been a man, I'd have called you out in the fine old Southern tradition five years ago and shot you. That would have been a fine accomplishment." She slammed the window shut and closed the curtains. Daniel was right, of course. Within minutes, the room became suffocatingly hot. She desperately wanted to open the window again, but she didn't want to give him any victory, no matter how small. So, she waited in the dark as her bedroom became an oven, listening to the clock on her dressing table tick away the minutes. When the clock chimed the quarter hour twice, she got out of bed and walked to the window. He was sure to be asleep by now. She slipped the curtains open, and as quietly as possible, she raised the sash. "Told you so," a sleepy male voice murmured. Lord, she hated him.”

“She averted his eyes, but not before he recognized the pain in them, a tormented and languished gaze, a stare preserved for people who were able to love deeply enough that they could be destroyed by it. For a moment, he knew that gaze intimately, remembering it from a time long gone. The ache of a shattered belief once known. He knew that feeling.”

“She backed away from him, staring at his black-and-white elegance with a kind of numb contempt. "Forgive me," she said in a husky voice. "I didn't mean..." His smile was wintry sweet. "You're very pretty, child," he said, reaching out with one of his slender, strong hands, and brushing it against her cheek. She jerked, but he merely smiled at her reaction, and ran his fingertips over her soft lips. "If you just sit in the taproom with your magnificent eyes filled with tears, I'm certain you'll find someone to take care of you." He glanced down at her. "You might, however, endeavor to wash some of the blood off your hands. It might put a man's appetite off a bit." She tried to pull back from him, but he was surprisingly fast and surprisingly strong for such an indolent-looking creature, and she found her wrist caught tightly in one of his deceptively pale hands. "Then again," he murmured, leaning closer, "it does seem to whet mine." He was dangerously, hypnotically close, and she wondered dazedly what would happen if he moved closer still. "Killoran!" A young man stood in the doorway, his body radiating outrage and horror. The dark man's smile was sudden, rueful, and oddly charming as he released her, released her hand, released her from his dark, entrapping gaze. "My conscience calls, sweeting," he murmured. And he walked away from her, clearly dismissing her from his mind. Emma watched him go. She found she was trembling. She could still feel the heat and strength of his hand on her wrist, still feel the caress against her face.”

“She backed away from the boat. She started to flail in the mud, but before she could tumble backward, a set of strong arms braced around her. "I have you," Naveen said. He was so close she could feel his warm breath against her ear. Tiana did her best to ignore the goose bumps pebbling up and down her skin, but she would have had a better chance of ignoring a fireworks display taking place on her front porch.”

“She became fascinated by the statue of Edith Cavell and would stand at the base of it in the freezing cold of a December morning, looking up: - Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness for anyone-. Sometimes those words made her cry. The tears would come uncontrollably and they would not stop. And in those moments Anna found forgiveness and it made her free. But they were only moments. Forgiveness is a hard thing to hang on to.”

“She became politically conscious thanks to Studs Terkel and the radio. She started reading all the books we brought home from college and was a great fan of Noam Chomsky. She was a real lefty and yet was not able to meet her dream of becoming an artist. She got drafted into motherhood big time - seven kids - and that wasn't the life that she had planned. So she opened the path so that I could be the artist that she wanted to be.”

“She became uncontrollable and violent, succumbing to a greater depth of evilness than any Night Empian had ever seen. She turned on us, one by one, taking men away for her own torture and pleasure...an art she mastered well. She claimed she only wanted to keep the Night Empians in line and strengthen them. But she opened a more dangerous depth to the Night Empians psyche that not even the Dark Guardian was able to reach.”