“Tragedy may hit all of us in one way or another, but fate's not our enemy, Brooke. We are. By locking yourself away from the world, you choose your own mistakes and destroy any chance of ever finding happiness. You cannot control life, but you can chose who you are and what you make of it.”
“Falling in love often happens at the wrong time, in the wrong place, with the wrong person.”
“He was dazzlingly gorgeous. Forget gorgeous. He was beautiful. Utterly, totally, mind-blowingly stunning. On a scale from one to ten, he was a hundred.”
“Why do you want me?" I asked, suppressing the trembling of my voice. "I’m strange, definitely not perfect, and fucked up. Actually, a lot of the latter.”
“Perfect is boring and overrated.” He smiled that lopsided grin of his that made my lower abdomen twist and curl with delicious desire. “I’m looking for sexy, fun, kind, and honest. And you tick all the right boxes, Brooke.”
“I'd let him get under my skin, and now he had started to occupy my every thought.”
“The thing with love is, you cannot choose who you fall for. Falling in love often happens at the wrong time, in the wrong place, with the wrong person. Just as much as you cannot stop growing feelings for a certain man, there's no switch to turn off your heart.”
“Why did I always end up loving the person who hurt me the most? Why was love so cruel?”
“The guy was a piece of sin. If he were the devil holding a contract, this would be the moment I might just give in to temptation and sign over my soul.”
“Faster's always better, but you have to mind those curves. They're wicked. They can kill a man in a heartbeat.”
“You drive like a maniac,” I said through clenched teeth.
“That’s not the only thing I do like a maniac, Brooke.” His hand moved away from the steering wheel and settled on my thigh.”
“I don't do relationships because I don't want to love and lose myself.”
“Just as much as you cannot stop growing feelings for a certain man, there’s no switch to turn off your heart.”
“I hired you for your attitude, and so far I’m pretty happy with my decision. But I’m not sure I can work with you until I’ve fucked this attraction out of my system.”
“I hope you don't mind spending so much time with me," Jett said. "I promise to be good, and I won't be too hard on you." His tone oozed amusement as he added, "Unless you want me to.”
“The way he looked at me, I felt as though he saw through my body and directly into my soul. No one had ever made me feel like that before. Then again, I had never met someone so electrically good-looking, but there's a first time for everything.”
“Maybe someday, I'd find someone who'd prove he really loved me. Someone who'd hold me rather than let me fall. Someone who'd never lie to me.”
“To me, love was a drug. Jett was my drug.”
“Wine?" I asked, ready to order.
"I’d rather have Sex on the Beach." He winked at me with a devilish grin.”
“In the harsh veracity of the real world, he was rich, successful, and one of the most desired bachelors in New York—and I was, well, me. A world I hoped wouldn’t tear us apart by pointing out just how different our lives were.
“You’re probably eager to get home,” Jett whispered in my ear so the flight attendant serving coffee wouldn’t hear us, “but will you stay with me one more night? I’m not quite ready to let this go.”
“I had never seen eyes like his. Dark green. Smoldering. Ready to undress a woman with a single glance.”
“All heat drained from my face. Holy shit. I hadn’t even started my new job and already I was insulting my new boss…right after sleeping with him. I was worse than Sylvie. “So you’re—”
My speech eluded me.
“Jett Mayfield, the stingy SOB who just hired you.” He held out his palm.”
“He was the bad boy type all right. The type my mother warned me about. the type you have a good time with, then forget about as you go home to live your boring life, while he moves on to the next skirt ready to give him the time of day.”
“His eyes sparkled again, and in that instant I felt a strong urge to get up and leave him behind. I had been wrong to think what Sean and I had was special. He wasn’t ‘the one’. He couldn’t be. ‘The one’ would never leave me behind.”
“Spandex bodysuits, huh?” His eyes twinkled. “If that’s what turns you on—I’m all for giving it a try.”
“This isn’t working, Brooke. Don’t get me wrong, the sex is amazing. But it’s turning into something else, and I need to know where I’m standing. I need to know whether we’ll ever be together.”
“Tragedy may hit all of us in one way or another, but fate’s not our enemy, Brooke. We are. By locking yourself away from the world, you choose your own mistakes and destroy any chance of ever finding happiness. You cannot control life, but you can choose who you are and what you make of it.”
“focused on the contents of my”
“Nelson-Rees had since been hired by the National Cancer Institute to help stop the contamination problem. He would become known as a vigilante who published “HeLa Hit Lists” in Science, listing any contaminated lines he found, along with the names of researchers who’d given him the cells. He didn’t warn researchers when he found that their cells had been contaminated with HeLa; he just published their names, the equivalent of having a scarlet H pasted on your lab door.”
“These are the three main diseases of this country, sir: typhoid, cholera, and election fever. This last one is the worst; it makes people talk and talk about things that they have no say in ... Would they do it this time? Would they beat the Great Socialist and win the elections? Had they raised enough money of their own, and bribed enough policemen, and bought enough fingerprints of their own, to win? Like eunuchs discussing the Kama Sutra, the voters discuss the elections in Laxmangarh.”
“So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.”
“Do not work primarily for money; do your duty to patients first and let the money follow; our life is short, we don't live twice; the whirlwind will pick up the leaves and spin them, but then it will drop them and they will form a pile.”
“The child came to a stop beside her mother and stared up at her face as if she had never seen it before. It was the face of the new misery she felt, but on her mother it looked old and it looked as if it might have belonged to anybody, a Negro or a European or to Powell himself. The child turned her head quickly, and past the Negroe's ambling figures she could see the column of smoke rising and widening unchecked inside the granite line of trees. She stood taut, listening, and could just catch in the distance a few wild high shrieks of joy as if the prophets were dancing in the fiery furnace, in the circle the angel had cleared for them.”
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