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All T Quotes

“Tell me again what you said at the revel,” he says, climbing over me, his body against mine. “What?” I can barely think. “That you hate me,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Tell me that you hate me.” “I hate you,” I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He kisses me harder. “I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth. “I hate you so much that sometimes I can’t think of anything else.”

“Tell me again what you said at the revel,' he says, climbing over me, his body against mine. 'What?' I can barely think. 'That you hate me,' he says, his voice hoarse. 'Tell me what you hate me.' 'I hate you,' I say, the words coming out like a caress. I say it again, over and over. A litany. An enchantment. A ward against what I really feel. 'I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.' He kisses me harder. 'I hate you,' I breathe in to his mouth. 'I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.' At that, he makes a harsh, low sound.”

“Tell me all the things you love about yourself? I love.. my strength, my wisdom and my courage. My compassion, kindness and sensitivity. My humor, good heart and positivity. I love my loyalty, my creativity and intelligence. My motivation, perseverance and passion. My ability to love unconditionally, my honesty, and integrity. My connection to self, to source and my intuition. I love my independence, thoughtfulness, and uniqueness. My open mind, my joy of making others laugh, and my acceptance of change, My self-discipline, my gratitude and my ability to dream big.”

“Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.”

“Tell me, as a pagan, who do you worship?' 'Worship?' 'That's right. I imagine you must have a pretty wide open field. So to whom do you set up your household altar? To whom do you bow down? To whom do you pray to at dawn and at dusk?' 'The female principle. It's an empowerment thing. You know.' 'Indeed. And this female principle of yours. Does she have a name?' 'She's the goddess within us all. She doesn't need a name.' 'Ah,' said Wednesday, with a wide monkey grin, 'so do you hold mighty bacchanals in her honour? Do you drink blood wine under the full moon, while scarlet candles burn in silver candle holders? Do you step naked into the seafoam, chanting ecstactically to your nameless goddess while the waves lick at your legs, lapping your thighs like the tongues of a thousand leopards?”

“Tell me, could you love me?' he asks, seemingly out of nowhere. 'Of course.' I laugh, not sure of the answer I am supposed to give. But the question is so oddly phrased that I can hardly deny him. I love my parents' murderer; I suppose I could love anyone. I'd like to love him. 'I wonder,' he says. 'What would you do for me?' 'I don't know what you mean.' This riddling figure with flinty eyes isn't the Locke who stood on the rooftop of his estate and spoke so gently to me or who chased me, laughing, through its halls. I am not quite sure who this Locke is, but he has put me entirely off balance. 'Would you forswear a promise for me?' He is smiling at me as though he's teasing. 'What promise?' He sweeps me around him, my leather slippers pirouetting over the packed earth. In the distance, a piper begins to play. 'Any promise,' he says lightly, although it is no light thing he is asking. 'I guess it depends,' I say, because the real answer, a flat no, isn't what anyone wants to hear. 'Do you love me enough to give me up?' I am sure my expression is stricken. He leans closer. 'Isn't that a test of love?' 'I- I don't know,' I say. All this must be leading up to some declaration on his part, either of affection or of a lack of it. 'Do you love me enough to weep over me?' The words are spoken against my neck. I can feel his breath, making the tiny hairs stand up, making me shudder with an odd combination of desire and discomfort. 'You mean if you were hurt?' 'I mean if I hurt you.' My skin prickles. I don't like this. But at least I know what to say. 'If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back.' His step falters as we sweep over the floor. 'I'm sure you'd-' And then he breaks off speaking, looking behind him. I can barely think. My face is hot. I dread what he will say next. 'Time to change partners,' a voice says, and I look to see that it's the worst possible person: Cardan. 'Oh,' he says to Locke. 'Did I steal your line?”

“Tell me, Eric,” he said, licking a droplet from the corner of his mouth. “Have you ever tasted blood?” My mouth was so dry I could barely find the voice to answer him. “What an odd question...” “But a valid one. Well, have you?” “I’ve cut my lip before, so yes, I suppose I have tasted blood, but...” “Not your own, you foolish boy.” He let out a short, derisive laugh and leaned in so that he was only a few inches from my face. “I mean the blood of another.” “Good God, Stefan, of course not!” “Pity...”

“tell me even though lies soft words it was about to kill me with you that statue i still in the art of love a baby between us seas and mountains you still can't understand that all men are babies so if i stood before your love quietly then quietness in the love is love our words in love are killing our love and letters are dying after they're said love stories may drive you crazy cause its all full of fantasies love is not a story,my dear where the stars marry each other by the end its to get hot blooded for anything silly it's our misery, it's our killing doubting it's this hand that assassin us and we accept that hand that assassin”

Author:Nizar Qabbani

“Tell me everything about this woman you once knew. Tell me everything she ever told you about Jesus of Nazareth." Marcus saw the fever in his eyes. "Why?" he said, frowning. "Why does it matter?" "Just tell me, Marcus Lucianus Valerian. Tell me everything. From the beginning. Let me decide for myself what matters." And so Marcus did as he was asked. He gave in to his deep need to speak of Hadassah. And all the while he talked of her, he failed to see the irony in what he was doing. For as he told the story of a simple Judean slave girl, Marcus Lucianus Valerian, a Roman who didn't believe in anything, proclaimed the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

“Tell me everything!" she'd cry, salivating. Poor Reva. She might actually have thought I was capable of sharing things. "Friends forever?" She'd want us to make some sacred pact. She always wanted to make pacts. "Let's make a pact to have brunch at least twice a month. Let's promise to go for a walk through Central Park every Saturday. Let's have a daily call-time. Will you swear to take a ski trip this year? It burns so many calories.”

“Tell me, Harry, what difference would it make if it wasn't real?" Harry thought a moment, his chinless face sour. "We wouldn't have to do what we think we have to do. But even if we don't have to do what we think we have to do, it won't make any difference if we do it Which means we should just go ahead." Mavis sighed. "Just go ahead." "Just go ahead," said Hagbard. "A powerful mantra." "And if we don't go ahead," said George, "it doesn't matter either. Which means that we just do go ahead." "Another powerful mantra," said Hagbard. "Just do go ahead.”

“Tell me, have you done much circus work in your life?' [asked Mulder]. Nutt drew himself up to his full height. 'And what makes you think I've ever even gone to a circus, let alone been a slave in one?' he demanded... Finally Mulder managed to say, 'I didn't mean any offense.' 'Offended? Why should I be offended?' Nutt demanded. 'It's human nature to make quick judgements of people based only on their looks. Why, I have done the same thing to you.' 'Have you?' said Mulder. 'And what have you concluded?' 'I have taken in your all-American face, your unsmiling expression, your boring necktie. I have decided you work for the government,' Nutt said. 'You are- an FBI agent.' 'Am I really?' Mulder said. 'I hope you get my point,' Nutt said. 'I want to show how stupid it would be to look at you as a type, rather than as an individual.' 'But I am an FBI agent,' Mulder said, showing Nutt his badge. There was a loud silence. Then Nutt said, 'Sign the book please.”

“Tell me,' he asked, with some embarassment, as we strolled along: 'you're a bloody German, aren't you?' 'Oh, no. I'm Hungarian.' 'Hungarian?' 'Hungarian.' 'What's that? Is that a country? Or you are just having me on? 'Not at all. On my word of honour, it is a country.' 'And where do you Hungarians live?' 'In Hungary. Between Austria, Romania, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia'. 'Come off it. Those places were made up by Shakespeare.”

“Tell me, how is it that we can’t all be like brothers together? Why is it that even the best of men always seem to hide something from other people and to keep something back? Why not say straight out what is in one’s heart, when one knows that one is not speaking idly? As it is every one seems harsher than he really is, as though all were afraid of doing injustice to their feelings, by being too quick to express them.”

“Tell me how it was different." Derek shook his head. "You're the one with the fancy words. I can't explain it." "Try," she insisted, tugging threateningly at his wiry chest curls. "In your own words." He covered her plucking fingers with his own, pressing her hand flat. "It was just better, all the way through. Especially this part." He cuddled her closer. "I've never felt so peaceful afterward." "And happy?" she asked hopefully. "I don't know how 'happy' feels." He sought her mouth for a brief, hard kiss, and his voice turned to rough velvet. "But I know I want to stay inside you forever.”