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“You still aren't screaming." "Is that the usual reaction you get when people realize you're, um..." "Different? Yes, generally." Marcus stepped up beside him. "We also get shrieks, curses, pant wetting, bowels releasing"--Sarah grimaced--"religious recitations..." Her eyebrows rose. "Religious recitations?" "You know--Get thee back, you, ah..." He nudged Roland. "What was it that priest called us?" Roland rolled his eyes. "Which one?" "The one in London." "What century?" "Eighteenth." Sarah's mouth fell open. "The one with hair like Albert Einstein?" "Yes." "Spawns of Satan." "Right." Adopting a raspy elderly man's voice, Marcus shook his fist at Sarah and intoned dramatically, "Get thee back, ye spawns of Satan. Return thee to the bowels of hell where ye belong!" Lowering his fist, he proceeded in a normal voice."Then he hurled numerous biblical versus at our heads as we walked away...But screaming is by far the most common reaction, from both men and women.”

“You still could go to some industry or some university or the government and if you could persuade them you had something on the ball—why, then, they might put up the cash after cutting themselves in on just about all of the profits. And, naturally, they'd run the show because it was their money and all you had done was the sweating and the bleeding.”

“You still have no idea what it was like for me- to be on the verge of starvation for months at a time. And you can call her a glutton all you like, but I have sisters, too, and I remember what it felt like to return home without any food.' I calmed my heaving chest, and that force beneath my skin stirred, undulating along my bones. 'So maybe she'll spend all that money on stupid things- maybe she and her sisters have no self-control. But I'm not going to take that chance and let them starve, because of some ridiculous rule that your ancestors invented.”

“You still haven't told me what you're up to,’ she said at last. ‘One more minute,’ Tamani said, smiling against her lips. ‘We don't need minutes,’ Laurel said. ‘We have forever.’ Tamani pulled back to look at her, his eyes shining with wonder. ‘Forever,’ he whispered before pulling her into another kiss. ‘So does this make us entwined?’ Laurel asked, a sharp twinge of grief piercing her happiness as she repeated the word Katya had used, so long ago, to describe committed faerie couples. ‘I believe it does,’ Tamani said, beaming. He leaned closer, his nose touching hers. ‘A sentry and a mixer? We shall be quite the scandal.’ Laurel smiled. ‘I love a good scandal.’ ‘I love you,’ Tamani whispered. ‘I love you, too,’ Laurel replied, relishing the words as she said them. And with them, the world was new and bright-- there was hope. There were dreams. But most of all, there was Tamani.’ “ Aprilynne Pike Destined pgs. 284-292.”

“You still haven't managed to heal the scars left by some of the injustices committed against you in your life and it doesn't do you any good. All it does is feed a constant desire to feel sorry for yourself, because you were the victim of people stronger than you. Or else it makes you go to the other extreme and disguise yourself as an avenger ready to strike out at the people who hurt you. Isn't that a waste of time?...It is human, but it's not intelligent or reasonable.”

“You still indulge in distrustful fears that things will go wrong, or that people will betray you, or mistreat you; get above all of them.”

“You Still Live (Overcoming Grief Sonnet) After your month long battle for breath, Today I place you in nature's lap. I know she'll care for you well, like she once brought you to the world. Fact of the matter is, you still live, just in different form among the elements. Nature's forces make us awake and restless, Nature's forces coerce us into eternal rest. There is no heaven, there is no hell, these are concepts made by cowards. Life is too sacred to be confined by obsolete lies and superstitions. Your light of affection shall continue to shine bright in my memories. You who was, nay, is like my second mother, I won't say goodbye, for you still live.”

“You still long for freedom, my friend, and that longing is your cage. You do not even realize what you are missing, or what it is that you are longing for, but something in you calls out to be aware. You have become parched in the desert of apathy, and thirst for the Bacchic springs forever out of your reach. And while your highest aspects thirst for freedom, so too your basest roots thrust outwards and strangle the hopes—”

“You still lost, Marj. You still got hurt. And losing and hurting are what I don’t want.” Her sister held her stare. “Do you honestly think you’re not losing and hurting now, as you speak?” She didn’t have an answer to that. She didn’t need to. Her heart was busy shattering into pieces. Why was that? She got out before she was even in, didn’t she? She should be congratulating herself for being spared of the certainty of heartbreak and tears. Why was she feeling like a huge part of herself was gone, replaced by a bottomless hole where regret and longing suddenly took up residence, and where questions like ‘if you were only brave enough’ and ‘what if things turn out differently than you expected’ echoed endlessly within its walls?”

“You still love me - even if there's one expression of it that you will always feel and want, but will not give me no longer. I'm still what I was, and you'll always see it, and you'll always grant me the same response, even if there's a greater one that you grant another man. No matter what you feel for him, it will not change what you feel for me, and it won't treason to either, because it comes from the same root, it's the same payment in answer to the same values.”

“You still love planning, you still love organizing, you still love making it beautiful-but you do it because you want to, not because everything will fall apart if you don't. You operate from a well of desire, not a pit of desperation. Your life may or may not look the same on the outside, but on the inside, much has changed. You stop working to curate a programmed experience. You allow yourself open access to all that you think and feel. You allow yourself to be free.”

“You still miss her?" "Yes, I still miss her frightfully. It's two years since she died, but I haven't got used to doing without her. I still keep on wanting to tell her things." "I know the feeling," said Louise. "I miss Mummy like that. It comes and goes. Sometimes I forget about it—and then the tide rises and I'm almost drowned. It happens quite suddenly—I never know when it's going to happen.”