Quotes by American Authors - Page 9

Perhaps we can conceive of the ironist as the fetishist's apprentice, reaching out for all readers, ensnaring them in a tangle of ambiguity, uncertainty and indecision from which there is no escape. Irony, quite possibly, makes fetishists of us all.
Janet Beizer
One night of sin with Jack. No commitment. No promises. Just hot, sweaty, headboard-banging sex.Jeana E. Mann. Intoxicated (Kindle Locations 828-829).
Jeana E. Mann
The loud rasp of leather yanked through Carson’s belt loops sent her attention to his torso.“What are you doing?” London’s panicked gaze shot to his face.“I don’t have a collar on me.”“I am wholly disinterested in being collared.”“One weekend, London.” He grasped one of her hips with his free hand. “If you’re disappointed at any time, you can walk. I’ll never speak of it again. Our work together will go unaffected. No one—and I mean no one—but us will know.”“Would you put that in writing?” Her eyes filled with mischief.Priceless. London lured him toward a lightning storm. He could play. Hell, nothing appealed in the moment more than a weekend playing with London. Yes, this is what he wanted. Now he needed to know if she was willing.“I’ll do one better.” He snaked the belt around her waist until the leather rested against her hips.“I’m not a notch on a belt.”“You could never be a notch, London Chantelle. You’re the whole belt, sugar.”Her face softened, and the playfulness in her eyes died. He recognized the deliberation behind them, the wonder if she’d be safe, here and at work. London needn’t have worried. She might get scared, but mutual satisfaction was the only way his brand of sexual fulfillment worked.“Say yes or no.” He pressed his torso to her corseted body, the last space between her body and his obliterated. “But say yes.”“What will happen if I say yes?”“What you want. What you’ve probably always wanted.”Her eyes misted with a surprising vulnerability. “Yes.
Elizabeth SaFleur
One cowboy is never enough.
Vanessa Vale
Careful old-timer, your age is showing.”“Hey, I’m only thirty-two. I’m in my prime, woman!”She harrumphed. “Well, I’m a mere twenty-five and you’re way too old for me.”Jay’s eyes smoldered as he whispered, “My experience is your gain.
Anne Rainey
To crush fear doesn't mean you eliminate it; crushing fear means you literally crush it down into smaller, more manageable parts and tackle one piece at a time.
Richie Norton
Proformas rarely perform; missed projections are more often the norm. Still, we skew them up high, we miss but we try, for proformas which rarely perform.
Ryan Lilly
Writing is not a numbers game. You should focus more on reaching the hearts of readers and building fans more than publishing a plethora of books that no one may care about.
Selena Haskins
If a writer writes something that he or she has never experienced, I think the reader can sense right away that it is garbage. The only thing that can replace experience, though, is imagination; however it takes experience to grow an imagination.
Roman Payne
You have the power to manifest your dreams.You are fully supported by the Divine.Take action. Do what you need to do.Heal what you need to heal.Create your magic.
Eileen Anglin
Listening to Leonard, Madeleine felt impoverished by her happy childhood. She never wondered why she acted the way she did, or what effect her parents had had on her personality. Being fortunate had dulled her powers of observation.
Jeffrey Eugenides
If you do not like a certain behavior in others, look within yourself to find the roots of what discomforts you.
Bryant McGill
More than ambition, more than ability, it is rules that limit contribution; rules are the lowest common denominator of human behavior. They are a substitute for rational thought.
Hyman G. Rickover
I was ambitious and desperate to direct my first film, so I capitulated and blew it. Never again. Never fucking again.
Craig Ferguson
And stop with the playboy title. I simply enjoy the company of beautiful women and ( . )( . ) and (_Y_) That’s tits & ass to the untrained eye. :D
Ella Dominguez
Doing something once can be addicting. Doing it twice is admitting it.
Paul Morabito
Moonlight does things to a street scene that no other natural or man-made phenomenon can effect. People walk slower, their smiles lingering on contended faces. Horses that usually move along fast enough to stir up the dust off the street plod lazily in the clear, cool night. And in dark corners where people forget to look, the goons come out.
Bailey Bristol
Are you quite certain you won't mind having a virgin on your hands?" Not that she imagined she would remain that way for much longer. The penis pressing against her seemed to say that her time as a virgin was down to mere minutes.
Hope C. Tarr
Beware, lion’s lady, for your predator is hungry tonight. He may not wait long before devouring you.” “Devouring me?” she asked, challenge gleaming in her eyes. “What if I devour him first?
Shelly Thacker
Isn't one man's truth another man's lie?
Amy Jarecki
You are charismatic. Men are drawn to you. I am drawn to you. And by your size, let alone your skill with weapons, they will be in awe of you.
Amy Jarecki
God save him, she smelled of a field of roses and tasted sweeter than port wine.tDrawing her hands over her mouth Charlotte gasped. “Hugh. How did we end up on the bed?”t“I think we must have floated,” he whispered.
Amy Jarecki
It occurred to Gavin that the first thought a groom had upon spying his bride shouldn’t be to wonder whether or not she wore knickers.
Kerrigan Byrne
The lass was no damsel.tHe’d prepared himself for a hard sell, one that might require a few extra knee-weakening smiles, perhaps so much as a seduction, but he’d never in a million years expected the disaster that landed his arms.tThe disaster named Alison Ross.
Kerrigan Byrne
Experience should have taught ye by now that denying me what I want only makes me more relentless.
Kerrigan Byrne
The theatre is a place where one has time for the problems of people to whom one would show the door if they came to one's office for a job.
Tennessee Williams
there is still a kind of unique loneliness to child rearing for women. We so often do it in isolation. Add to the fact that in our competitive, perfectionist culture, in which the price woman are required to pay for freedom still seems to be martyrdom, almost everyone lies about motherhood. Part of that lying is loyalty - I can't let on that my kid is the only one on the playground who can't read or play the piano - and part of it is self-protection, since we've made hyper-motherhood a measure of female success. The preferred answer to the question "How are you?" is always "Fine," and the answer to the question "How are the kids?" is supposed to be "Great!" That's true even if the accurate answers would be "terrible" and "a mess." I think it produces its own kind of desperation, especially for women, who yearn to be emotionally open.
Anna Quindlen
Being a mother was like being trapped in the first fifteen minutes of a horror film. Everything was fine, lovely. But there was this persistent sense of dread.
Laura Lippman
Ode to Douglas AdamsIn the solar system we inhabit, we live on a small planet we all call Earth. Okay, when I say small, I mean it’s small compared to say, oh, Jupiter. Earth is something like a dime compared to Jupiter’s beach ball. On this Earth is a fairly large country we all call The United States of America. Of course, when I say fairly large, it’s like the U.S. is a piece of broccoli next to China’s really large cauliflower. Now that I think of it, that may not be a good comparison as it depends on the restaurant you go to. At the place I was at last night it would be a good comparison as the cauliflower was larger than the broccoli. Not that I’d touch either. I had a hamburger with fries and somebody at the next table had those ghastly vegetables.From the Preface to "Sex and the American Male." I was saddened by the passing of Douglas Adams and wrote the preface to sound a little like his "Hitchhiker's..." books and to honor him. I hope he's smiling.
Jay Williams
Grandpa stopped and looked at me. I paused, too, knowing this meant he had something important to say. His body was frail, but when he stood with his chin up like that, staring into my eyes, I had no choice but to respond with complete honesty. He could level me with that look. I was like a vulnerable child every time he did it.
James Russell Lingerfelt
So we went for a stroll in Alumni Park, a grassy lawn in front of Pepperdine that overlooks the coast. Deer trickle down from the hills and rocky bluffs to graze there. The coral trees rise like watchtowers over a pond where fresh water reeds grow, providing a small refuge for ducks and wild birds. At night, a full moon leaves a trail on the ocean’s black waters, and the constant coastal breeze disturbs the tree limbs, sending their leaves into a continuous stirring.
James Russell Lingerfelt
She shook her head, and we parted, kissing, as the first beams from the sun burst forth behind us. When I returned to my bedroom, the scent of her hair remained on my pillow. For the first time in my life, at the age of twenty-five, I was in love.
James Russell Lingerfelt
She was wrapped in my jacket, almost swallowed by it. You never realize how small a woman is until she wears your clothes.
James Russell Lingerfelt
Payton “Sin” Sinclair was an unapologetic people-watcher. As a sports consultant, working with some of the biggest and most recognizable athletes in sports and business, he had to be able to read the smallest nuances of others. That ability was just one of the unique attributes that set him apart from the competition and made him the go-to person when corporations wanted to align themselves with the top professional athletes in the country.
Francis Ray
Few would argue that a simpler consciousness, no matter how harmonious, is preferable to a more complex one. While we might admire the serenity of the lion in repose, the tribesman’s untroubled acceptance of his fate, or the child’s wholehearted involvement in the present, they cannot offer a model for resolving our predicament. The order based on innocence is now beyond our grasp. Once the fruit is plucked from the tree of knowledge, the way back to Eden is barred forever.
Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
Find comfort in questioning yourself.
Bryant McGill
If you didn't want to know things, you didn't have to know them. Things didn't become facts until someone actually spoke them. Until then, you could just go on acting just the way you had been acting and even if you suspected there was something that would change everything, you didn't have to acknowledge it; you didn't have to let it in.
Corinne Demas
Secrets are foolish creatures, I have learned. No longer do I wish to play with fools.
Jesikah Sundin
He had been searching for it his entire life. He had devoted himself to poetry to find it. Now, in the middle of his life, he found it. It was in the face of the love of his life, his daughter. She who had never blushed before, now blushed. And in that blushing, he knew, was the existence of God. That was the day her father learned what God was. God was pure beauty, God was his daughter’s face when she blushed.
Roman Payne
Do you have kids?" Anna asks.I laugh. "What do you think?""It's probably a good thing," she admits. "No offense, but you don't exactly look like a parent."That fascinates me. "What do parents look like?"She seems to think about this. "You know how the tightrope guy at the circus wants everyone to believe his act is an art, but deep down you can see that he's really just hoping he makes it all the way across? Like that.
Jodi Picoult
So I'll send my parents money, and maybe they can get a bigger place, too. They can even relax when they're older, the way they deserve to. Without having to worry about how they're going to survive. But for now, I'm the one who has to survive.
Susane Colasanti
The wall sawyer did not ask the little queen what she did. This was because in the little queen’s kingdom, people only volunteered their doings if they wanted to, and they never asked others their doings. It was considered impolite. Asking what one did was like asking who they were, and that was too simple a question for a very complex answer.
Meia Geddes
I’m serious, now let me know every time you see her cry. The thought brings me great joy. Hope.
Vicki Covington
May We Love Ourselves. May We Love Each Other.May We Believe that Our Dreams Can Come True.We Are Strong.We Are Wise.We Are the Heroines of our Own Lives -The Heroine’s Club benediction
Melia Keeton-Digby
Kessler depicts his developing intimacy with a handful of dairy goats and offers an enviable glimpse of the pastoral good life. Yet he also cautions, "Wherever the notion of paradise exists, so does the idea that it was lost. Paradise is always in the past." The title Goat Song is a literal rendering of the Greek word traghoudhia, tragedy. Reading it, I was reminded of Leo Marx's analysis of Thoreau's Walden. In The Machine in the Garden, Marx names Thoreau a tragic, if complex pastoralist. After failing to make an agrarian living raising beans for commercial trade (although his intent was always more allegorical than pecuniary), Thoreau ends Walden by replacing the pastoral idea where it originated: in literature. Paradise, Marx concludes, is not ultimately to be found at Walden Pond; it is to be found in the pages of Walden.
Heather Paxson
A love letter lost in the mail, forgotten, miss delivered and then discovered years later and received by the intended is romantic. A love letter ending up in someone's spam filter is just annoying.
B.J. Neblett
I have beenhanging hereheadlessfor so longthat the body has forgottenwhyor where or when ithappenedand the toeswalk along in shoesthat do notcareand althoughthe fingersslice things andhold things andmove things andtouchthingssuch asorangesapplesonionsbooksbodiesI am no longerreasonably surewhat these thingsarethey are mostlylikelamplight andfogthen often the hands willgo to thelost headand hold the headlike the hands of achildaround a balla blockair and wood -no teethno thinking partand when a windowblows opento achurchhillwomandogor something singingthe fingers of the handare senseless to vibrationbecause they have noearssenseless to color becausethey have noeyessenseless to smellwithout a nosethey country goes by asnonsensethe continentsthe daylights and eveningsshineon my dirtyfingernailsand in some mirrormy facea block to vanishscuffed part of a child’sballwhile everywheremovesworms and aircraftfires on the landtall violets in sanctitymy hands let go let golet go
Charles Bukowski
You will never be lost to me, Selinne.
Emm Cole
He's completely complicated. And lost. And frustrating. But we do something for each other. . . . We fit. We need each other.
Megan Erickson
I have to crack a nut in order to enjoy it.
Donna Lynn Hope
He said, “If God lived on Earth people would stalk his Facebook page and leave nasty comments on his Pinterest site.” Then it sunk in- timing was everything and social media was the devil.
Shannon L. Alder
This is supposed to be a lighthearted session of symbolic document destruction, not a political debate.
Veronica Roth
Kei: Is there anything else you need while I'm here, Your Highness?Cabot: No, but you can leave the sarcasm in there.
Stefne Miller
people don't generally believe themselves to be evil. Just strong. And they think that the world owes them something
Mary Elizabeth Summer
If you are rude, cynical, habitually-sarcastic or pessimistic, your life options are going to be very limited.
Bryant McGill
Now the moon of the Aztecs is at the zenith, and all the world lies still. Full and white, the white of bones, the white of a skull; blistering the center of the sky well with its throbbing, not touching it on any side. Now the patio is a piebald place of black and white, burning in the downward-teeming light. Not a leaf moves, not a petal falls, in this fierce amalgam. ("The Moon Of Montezuma")
Cornell Woolrich
I realized I still had my eyes shut. I had shut them when I put my face to the screen, like I was scared to look outside. Now I had to open them. I looked out the window and saw for the first time how the hospital was out in the country. The moon was low in the sky over the pastureland; the face of it was scarred and scuffed where it had just torn up out of the snarl of scrub oak and madrone trees on the horizon. The stars up close to the moon were pale; they got brighter and braver the farther they got out of the circle of light ruled by the giant moon. It called to mind how I noticed the exact same thing when I was off on a hunt with Papa and the uncles and I lay rolled in blankets Grandma had woven, lying off a piece from where the men hunkered around the fire as they passed a quart jar of cactus liquor in a silent circle. I watched that big Oregon prairie moon above me put all the stars around it to shame. I kept awake watching, to see if the moon ever got dimmer or if the stars got brighter, till the dew commenced to drift onto my cheeks and I had to pull a blanket over my head. Something moved on the grounds down beneath my window — cast a long spider of shadow out across the grass as it ran out of sight behind a hedge. When it ran back to where I could get a better look, I saw it was a dog, a young, gangly mongrel slipped off from home to find out about things went on after dark. He was sniffing digger squirrel holes, not with a notion to go digging after one but just to get an idea what they were up to at this hour. He’d run his muzzle down a hole, butt up in the air and tail going, then dash off to another. The moon glistened around him on the wet grass, and when he ran he left tracks like dabs of dark paint spattered across the blue shine of the lawn. Galloping from one particularly interesting hole to the next, he became so took with what was coming off — the moon up there, the night, the breeze full of smells so wild makes a young dog drunk — that he had to lie down on his back and roll. He twisted and thrashed around like a fish, back bowed and belly up, and when he got to his feet and shook himself a spray came off him in the moon like silver scales. He sniffed all the holes over again one quick one, to get the smells down good, then suddenly froze still with one paw lifted and his head tilted, listening. I listened too, but I couldn’t hear anything except the popping of the window shade. I listened for a long time. Then, from a long way off, I heard a high, laughing gabble, faint and coming closer. Canada honkers going south for the winter. I remembered all the hunting and belly-crawling I’d ever done trying to kill a honker, and that I never got one. I tried to look where the dog was looking to see if I could find the flock, but it was too dark. The honking came closer and closer till it seemed like they must be flying right through the dorm, right over my head. Then they crossed the moon — a black, weaving necklace, drawn into a V by that lead goose. For an instant that lead goose was right in the center of that circle, bigger than the others, a black cross opening and closing, then he pulled his V out of sight into the sky once more. I listened to them fade away till all I could hear was my memory of the sound.
Ken Kesey
Night is brushed aside like so much cobweb. The day is wound up and begins even before the last haunted dreams, the last of the fog, those spectral and evanescent residues, have faded away.
Gregory Maguire
Altitude sickness, unregulated drugs and medical gas enabled workers to become drug abusers/addicts
Steven Magee
so often victims end up unnecessarily prolonging their abuse because they buy into the notion that their abuser must be coming from a wounded place and that only patient love and tolerance (and lots of misguided therapy) will help them heal.
George K. Simon