“These shoes look like they're straight out of 'The Wizard of Oz,' but since I'm like the tornado that blew you into Oz, I guess you can wear Dorothy's red slippers. And if I'm gone and seem lost, maybe you can do a little click and I'll find my way home.”
“I’ve wrapped myself up in him, something that no woman should do with any man.”
“–The Prince Charming myth is the other curse God created to punish Eve and every other woman for biting that stupid apple.”
“Why did you come after me? Why did you bring me this?" I thrust my hand in his face showcasing our ring.
"Yeah, I brought it to you. You're my wife. Why the hell do you keep taking it off?”
“He’s the master of manipulation, the king of allure.”
“I was caught before I even knew I was being hunted,”
“I have a lot of confusion about his love for me, but what I have never been confused about is my love for him. I love Cal. That’s it. There’s been nothing I’ve been able to do to stop loving him yet. No matter how angry or how frustrated I get. He knows the exact moment, to do the exact thing to make me fall in love with him all over again.”
“He’s thinking, which is always a good sign.”
“A guy is supposed to put you on cloud nine and help you forget about your problems.”
“That longing feeling of missing him so much that I felt a part of me was missing, gone. That part of me would be returned in pieces, but not quite broken.”
“Love and hate crashing together in a never-ending battle that I fought within myself.”
“I have to let go. I have to let him go and believe that the future can take the place of my past.”
“The bags around my eyes can carry groceries. I look like I haven’t slept in days. I”
“I don’t want to be a part of your past. I want to be the only person to touch you in ways that give you chills, to whisper things that make you turn red. I know there are a lot of things that you want to know about me that I haven’t been exactly open with you about. But know that I love you; I’ve been in love with you longer than I’ve admitted to myself.”
“care about and what’s important to me.” “Lauren, that’s not true. If it were, when Angie called”
“The four-carat yellow diamond on my finger is a beautiful but painful reminder of the vows he broke. I”
“I expected his lack of response, but it hurts all the same. I’m pretty sure he regards me more as his personal high-class escort than his wife. I”
“The loneliest time of my life didn’t begin until I married the one person I would have given my life for.”
“Nothing is certain now. The bond between us, once so real—so tangible, I believed in it with every ounce of my being—is now in tatters. Whatever we had has been lost, our home void of warmth and love and filled with anger instead. We are participants in a war of words that continues to be recycled over and over again.”
“I hate the fact that I still get chills when he touches me. I wish I would cringe instead. I hate it even more that he knows the effect he has on me.”
“He lifts me up and carries me inside to our bed. This is what he does, after all. He’s the master of manipulation, the king of allure. He knows me inside and out—”
“What you don't know, boy, is that people have feelings that don't obey logic... Once you know true love, how could you settle for anything less?”
“But you have to live in the present. You have to take the old and make it new -- that's my point.”
“Boswell, like Lecky (to get back to the point of this footnote), and Gibbon before him, loved footnotes. They knew that the outer surface of truth is not smooth, welling and gathering from paragraph to shapely paragraph, but is encrusted with a rough protective bark of citations, quotations marks, italics, and foreign languages, a whole variorum crust of "ibid.'s" and "compare's" and "see's" that are the shield for the pure flow of argument as it lives for a moment in one mind. They knew the anticipatory pleasure of sensing with peripheral vision, as they turned the page, gray silt of further example and qualification waiting in tiny type at the bottom. (They were aware, more generally, of the usefulness of tiny type in enhancing the glee of reading works of obscure scholarship: typographical density forces you to crouch like Robert Hooke or Henry Gray over the busyness and intricacy of recorded truth.) They liked deciding as they read whether they would bother to consult a certain footnote or not, and whether they would read it in context, or read it before the text it hung from, as an hors d'oeuvre. The muscles of the eye, they knew, want vertical itineraries; the rectus externus and internus grow dazed waggling back and forth in the Zs taught in grade school: the footnote functions as a switch, offering the model-railroader's satisfaction of catching the march of thought with a superscripted "1" and routing it, sometimes at length, through abandoned stations and submerged, leaching tunnels. Digression—a movement away from the gradus, or upward escalation, of the argument—is sometimes the only way to be thorough, and footnotes are the only form of graphic digression sanctioned by centuries of typesetters. And yet the MLA Style Sheet I owned in college warned against lengthy, "essay-like" footnotes. Were they nuts? Where is scholarship going?”
“I had stood and stared at the webbing of steel then wished for a hole to climb through. The wires had just unraveled without setting off the klaxon. I remembered thinking with a horrible kind of panic that I had somehow done withcraft, and was convinced I was the blackest kind of evil. Then I realized how ridiculous I was being, and figured it was a coincidental gift from the universe, or something.”
“The only thing that ever really gives us any genuine satisfaction is caring for other people. It doesn't matter how popular we are or anything. The only thing that actually makes life more fulfilling is our love for others... And the results speak for themselves.”
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