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Ya Quotes

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Ya Quotes

“A dark voice within warned him to stop, but Aaron brushed it off. He flashed Holden a patronizing smile. “All right, then. Why not here? I have no problem giving you a fair fight, considering our history.” Slowly Holden relaxed his arms. There was a dark glimpse of metal, and then he took quick aim with his right hand. The short, lonely barrel of a gun stared Aaron in the eye. Even in his surprised state, Aaron could see what he was up against. An innocuous-looking Remington 1911, its wood-grip base outdated in style, but its precision and reliability lauded throughout the years. “Considering our history,” Holden said through his teeth, “I have no interest in fair.”

“Someone once told me that when you die every deed you ever committed, whether on behalf of good or bad is represented in the form of pebbles. Black ones for every deed done in the name of evil, white ones for every act of good. The pebbles are weighed upon a great scale, and if the white stones outweigh the black then your soul is granted peace.” He opens one bleary eye. “What’s the punishment for too many black acts?” “There is no worse punishment than standing on the threshold of heaven alone.”

“Samir loves Joe’s face. He studies it every day in class: a face as old as his own but already, in eighteen years, the cli s and hills and odd proportions of its geography have been shaped by life’s weather. Samir likes to observe the ever-watchful green eyes, hidden in their shadowy alcoves over the at nose and cheekbones, and the heavy brow that scrunches up with Joe’s moods – all those sculptural planes could have been carved by Easter Islanders. en there’s the pout of his lips, the pucker of their concentration or the twist of their anger. But most of all, Samir examines the thoughts as they cross the wide-open landscape of the face. Tries hard to read their cloud shapes from the merest shadow.”

“Layla had always just been there. In my life. I wasn't sure who said, 'hi,' first, or maybe who smiled at who first—all I really remembered was staring at her, and her staring back at me, neither of us looking away. Both of us standing frozen, and life falling into the background with a distant hum. As if the world had stopped spinning. Just for us. I remembered not caring if it had. She'd seemed so familiar, and even as a little kid, I'd known she was special. Like something bigger than me, older than me, had taken over my emotions in a way I didn't understand. She just felt like ... home. I could have gazed into her eyes forever. Happy to stand in that powerless state for the rest of my life”

“In a really good thrift store you feel like you're in a room with all of these stories, and it's up to you to go and find the stories that you want to bring home with you. And then when you wear the clothes, they help you tell a new story, but they're bringing that old part with them and with you and you're benefiting from that in a way that you can't even really understand.”

“I picked up the blue tube again, unscrewed the cap, and squeezed a perfect line of paint onto the palate. As soon as I brushed it on the canvas, I was responsible for it, for the inevitable imperfections. My world had always been like that paint, left on a palate. That color was a passive observer. But not it wanted to make something of itself. And I was terrified.”

“Bartender," she said to an invisible person, "a Jeremy special." She grabbed two plastic cups. "Coming right up," she replied to herself. The Jeremy special ended up being an elaborate mix of fruit juices and vodka, and wasn't half bad. "i think you have a successful bartending career ahead of you," I said as we made our way into the living room. "Later I'll make you the Sebby special," she said. "It's used to remove paint from cars.”

“No. I don’t want to set the speed. I don’t like being in control. I want him to set the pace. I’m not good at this kind of stuff. I’m stunned. I think I’m just staring at him with my mouth hanging open. How could he be so perfect in so many ways and then do something like this to me? Can’t he see that I’m about as aggressive as a water lily? Webb, R. M. (2015-09-01). Speak (Witches & Warlocks Book 1) (p. 36). . Kindle Edition.”

“I have no idea what to do, and everything is starting to feel dangerously hopeless. Hopelessness is not an emotion to be indulged. On the heels of hopelessness comes defeat, and even though everything seems pointless and impossible, I still want to win. Underneath my confusion and utter, bone-crushing fatigue, even though I don't know much of anything at all, I still know I want to win.”