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W Quotes

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All W Quotes

“When she said "im okay/fine", its mean shes not. When she said "i want to be alone for a while", let her do it. When she cant talk about something she feel, dont push her but hug her and understand her. When she said" i can do it by myself", let her do it. Whatever she do, you still stay close to her, protect her but dont to much. she need a space.Give all of your heart and soul to her.Dont ever leave and hurt her. and Love her so much”

“When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line. She told me that I was taking up too much of her time. She told me that she shouldn't have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but... How can it be a mistake that I don't have to wash my hands after I touched her? Love is not a mistake, and it's killing me that she can run away from this and I just can't. I can't go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.”

“When she sat, she crossed her hands and ankles perfectly. Yes, yes, everything was in the classroom. We chatted, bonded, as Brandy flopped around on the silver concrete floor with the silver hook still in her bloody mouth. Both of us were excited. Celinas tried to climb in her purse, which was filled with dirty broken makeup, the true sign of a queen. I was thrilled she had let me look, even slip my hand into it for a moment. I let her huddle near me, but when she tried to clutch my hand I had to recoil. I hated being touched by anything in the human-skin package.”

“When she saw him face to face their eyes met and brushed like birds’ wings. After that everything was all right, everything was wonderful, she knew that he was beginning to fall in love with her.”

“When she slowly fell for him It felt beautiful A new kind of feeling Happiness and contentment It felt as if he felt it too And then distance was felt Not physically but mentally, emotionally, spiritually Like whatever she felt was an illusion to her And for him he never admitted Then came in some pain, some confusion The missing him The wanting him And again she found herself in a sick dark place where she would have never gone if she kept her emotions unacknowledged And today letting go of feelings for him feels so painful yet necessary Another chapter to close because her mind and her heart are her most valuable treasures Ridding it off all kinds of baggage would help it live healthier”

“When she started with the first empty canvas, she didn’t know what she was going to paint, she just let her paint brushes glide and they religiously followed the trajectory of her angst; the choice of colours and the strokes, they were all a reflection of what was going through her mind. The reds were the embers within her that refused to die. The blues were the rare instances when she was spent by her grief. The blacks were her moments of absolute weakness, the colour of the bottomless pit within her that she had plunged into, falling through and through. The brush strokes moved around blank canvases like snakes with fangs of elixir that filled her scars with a deluge of hope and a gale of faith in herself. The colours spoke to her in whispers, narrating their own tale while she poured out hers to them. They allowed her to channel her life through them. They listened. They cared. They laughed. They cried. They reassured her that there was life waiting ahead, staring at her past, urging her forward with eager arms. And Preeti rushed into them with her brush in hand that rose along with her and fell along with her.”

“When she stepped back, she smiled at me and then turned. "What?" she yelled. I followed her gaze to find Zayne and Roth standing several feet away, watching us. "Nothing." Roth has hands in his pockets. "Just that you two getting all handsy was kind of hot." Zayne jerked his head toward Roth. The demon prince shrugged. "Look, I'm just being honest. I'm a demon. I don't know why any of you would expect anything less from me." "It's a good thing I love him," Layla muttered as she stalked forward, and I got moving. "And I do love him with every part of my being and then some, but he... he just doesn't people well.”

“When she taught me the recipe, Makiko told me that her potato salad tasted the best when you used a potato variety called Destroyer. As implied by its name, these potatoes have a sinister look to them. They are marked with red patches, reminiscent of a pro wrestler's mask, hence the name. After comparing many different varieties, Makiko fell in love with the rich, full-bodied flavor, so much so that for a while she even contemplated growing them on her veranda. In the Kanto region, Destroyer potatoes aren't a common variety. Unlike Danshaku or May Queen potatoes, they're rarely distributed in the markets unless it's early summer. One night, after Makiko kept on shouting "I want some Destroyer potatoes!" at the bar, one of her customers drunkenly started to call her "Makiko the Destroyer." From then on, the nickname took on a life of its own, and that was apparently how rumors of "Makiko the Destroyer of Sangenjaya" began to spread.”

“When she thinks of the toxins built up inside of her from so many years of eating carelessly, of the resentment that has grown steadily over fifteen years of marriage, of the stretch marks and the varicose veins that came from two pregnancies, only one of them fulfilled, she thinks the inside of her body must tell a story like a tree. Were she to break open a bone, perhaps it would look like the inside of a coffee mug - riddled with lines, stained with brown blotches.”

“When she thought about it — and increasingly she had been thinking about it — Nora was only able to think of herself in terms of the things she wasn't. The things she hadn't been able to become. And there really were quite a lot of things she hadn't become. The regrets which were on permanent repeat in her mind. I haven't become an Olympic swimmer. I haven't become a glaciologist. I haven't become Dan's wife. I haven't become a mother. I haven't become the lead singer of The Labyrinths. I haven't managed to become a truly good or truly happy person. I haven't managed to look after Voltaire. And now, last of all, she hadn't even managed to become dead. It was pathetic really, the amount of possibilities she had squandered.”

“When she thought about what it might mean to step out into the world she could hardly breathe, she could hardly think. It felt like suffocating, waiting for the next enemy to take his swing. Was she ready for that? Would she ever be ready for that? She’d thought Ely foolish, naïve. Maybe he was just brave enough to hope. Maybe she was just too scared.”

“When she told Fletcher what had happened, he said people who were cold and aggressive were not happy people. They treated others the way they did because they were unhappy within themselves. She wasn't sure if she believed him, but she appreciated his efforts to help. After all, she had been unhappy most of her life, and she always tried hard, maybe too hard, to be kind to others. She had heard the saying that those who hurt others had been hurt themselves. But she didn't believe that either. She had been hurt and knew how awful it felt, so she tried not to hurt anyone. Maybe some people never learned.”

“When she took her opposite place in the carriage corner, the brightness in her face was so charming to behold, that on her exclaiming, "What beautiful stars and what a glorious night!" the Secretary said "Yes," but seemed to prefer to see the night and the stars in the light of her lovely little countenance, to looking out of window.”

“When she tricked me out of my powers and left the scraps, it was still more than the others. And I decided to use it to tap into the minds of every Night Court citizen she'd captured, and anyone who might know the truth. I made a web between all of them, actively controlling their minds every second of every day, every decade, to forget about Velaris, to forget about Mor, and Amren, and Cassian, and Azriel. Amarantha wanted to know who was close to me- who to kill and torture. But my true court was here, ruling this city and the others. And I used the remainder of my powers to shield them all from sight and sound. I had only enough for one city, one place. I chose the one that had been hidden from history already. I chose, and now must live with the consequences of knowing there were more left outside who suffered. But for those here.... anyone flying or travelling near Velaris would see nothing but barren rock, and if they tried to walk through it, they'd find themselves suddenly deciding otherwise. Sea travel and merchant trading were halted- sailors became farmers, working the earth around Velaris instead. And because my powers were focused on shielding them all, Feyre, I had very little to use against Amarantha. So I decided that to keep her from asking questions about the people who mattered, I would be her whore.' He'd done all of that, had done such horrible things... done everything for his people, his friends. And the only piece of himself that he'd hidden and managed to keep her from tainting, destroying, even if it meant fifty years trapped in a cage of rock....'' Those wings now flared wide. How many knew about those wings outside of Velaris or the Illyrian war-camps? Or had he wiped all memory of them from Prythian long before Amarantha? Rhys released my chin. But as he lowered his hand, i gripped his wrist, feeling the solid strength. 'It's a shame,' I said, the words nearly gobbled up by the sound of the city music. 'That others in Prythian don't know. A shame that you let them think the worst.' He took a step back, his wings beating the air like mighty drums. 'As long as the people who matter most know the truth, I don't care about the rest. Get some sleep.' Then he shot into the sky, and was swallowed by the darkness between the stars.”

“When she turned away, he caught her hand. He waited until she looked back at him. “I need my weapons. Just in case.” “You won’t shoot me. Or stab me. Or throw one of those thingies at me.” “No.” She snorted. “How would you know? You don’t know what you’re doing half the time.” “Still.” She sighed and began stacking weapons on the bed beside the pillow. “Fine. But I’ll be royally pissed if you try to kill me again. It’s getting old.”

“When she turned eighteen, Tara had traveled to India in search of her father. She hadn't found him, but she had spent ten years in a yoga ashram in Jammu. She'd come home with Siddhartha, a four-year-old boy she'd adopted, and joined her mother in running the studio. Two years after that she'd adopted India from an orphanage in Bangkok, and two years after that China from an orphanage in Nairobi. India hadn't known there was anything different about her family until a substitute teacher in her kindergarten classroom had looked at her with an expression India would come to know well as she grew up, and asked, Aren't you one of that yoga teacher's kids? The ones with the cleft lip scars adopted from three continents? When India had told Sid about it on their way home from school, he'd said, But India and Thailand are on the same continent. It's how India had learned that adults, even teachers, didn't always know everything. To India, their family was how families were supposed to be. Many years later, when China was in her rebellious phase, she had asked Tara why she had felt the need to adopt children from three countries. I took a lifelong vow of celibacy. How else was I supposed to have children? That had been Tara's answer.”