“I've wanted to be with you when I didn't have the right to.”
“So, you’re hitting on Clare the Fair.”
“I’m not hitting on her. I’m exploring the possibility of seeing her on social terms.”
“He’s hitting on her,” Owen said around a mouthful of chips. “You’ve still got that thing you had for her back in high school. Are you still writing bad song lyrics about heartbreak?”
“Suck me. And they weren’t that bad.”
“Yeah, they were,” Ryder disagreed. “But at least now we don’t have to listen to you playing your keyboard and howling them down the hall.”
“I'm messing this up. I love you. I should've started with that. I swear I trip up more with you than anybody. I love you, Clare. I always did, but it's different loving who you are now. It's so damn solid. You're so solid, so steady, strong, smart. I love who you are, how you are. I love those boys, you have to know.”
“Couples take care of each other, Clare, that's what makes them a couple. And couples tell each other when something happens that scares them.”
“It's about us. It's about trust.”
“You got used to running things on your own."
"What could he do about it when he's in Iraq and the car breaks down in Kansas?"
Beckett gave her a long, quiet look. "I'm not in Iraq."
"No, and it has to be said, I'm not in Kansas anymore." She lifted her hands, then let them fall. "It's not that I've forgotten how to be a couple, but that my experience in being part of one is different from yours. Maybe from most people's. And I've been on my own a long time."
"Now you're not. I'm not fighting a war, and I'm right here." Needed to be here, he realized, with her.”
“Men are boys in bigger packages.”
“Told you not to tell her.”
“That's not how I work things. That's not how you build a relationship.”
“Build a relationship.” Ryder snorted as he sent the drill whirling again. “You've been reading again.”
“Blow me.”
“You're the woman in my life,” he said. “Another thing about me and my brothers? We look after the women in our lives. We don't know any other way.”
“That's possible to likely. We're involved, you and me. I'm telling you what I'm going to do because I figure when people are involved, when they matter, they tell each other.”
“I hope that's true, because I figured out why I'd never finished it, what I was waiting for. I was waiting for you, Clare. For them. For us. I want to finish it up for you, for them, for us.”
“It's only thunder."
"It just startled me," she said, her eyes on his. "I'm not afraid of storms.'
"Let's see."
Still, he moved slowly, taking his time as much to prolong this new moment as to gauge her reaction. He laid his hands on her hips as the rain beat and splashed, sliding them up her body, smooth and easy as he lowered his head, paused-one long breath-then fit his mouth to hers.”
“You didn’t hurt me, the situation did. And now that I know why I felt that way, it won’t hurt.”
“Harry, I promised you something. I said I'd clear it with you before I asked your mom to marry me. I need you to tell me it's okay if I do.”
“You're seriously talking about a ghost. This building - or parts of it - has been here for two and a half centuries. It would strike me odder if there wasn't a ghost. Not everything, everyone, leaves.”
“He can't face you on an adult level, so he comes along and fucks up your truck. Classic payback method for the tiny-dick type.”
“Ryder - the oldest, Avery continued. He's standing as job boss on this project. Owen's the detail guy, runs the numbers, makes the calls, takes the meetings. Or most of them. Beckett's an architect.”
“He stayed nearly an hour. Clare would have kissed him again just for the fact he'd given her kids such a great time. He'd never seemed bored or annoyed with a conversation dominated by superheroes, their powers, their partners, their foes.”
“Still, he moved slowly, taking his time as much to prolong this moment as to gauge her reaction. He laid his hands on her hips as the rain beat and splashed, sliding them up her body, smooth and sexy as he lowered his head, paused - one long breath - then fit his mouth to hers. This, he thought as the took her face in his hands. Just this, so worth the wait. Soft, sweet, a yielding tremor, and her arms came up to wrap around his waist, to draw him into her.”
“Beckett, don't make me ask you to come upstairs and check in the closets. She laid her hands on his cheeks. Just come upstairs.”
“Romantic couples. Each room has its own flavor, its own feel.”
“When you know the answer, it's not being hardheaded. It's just being right.”
“He found his mother and Carolee on two in the Eve and Roarke room.”
“All three are terrific carpenters and cabinetmakers.”
“maybe waiting. No matter how both of them had changed, evolved, restructured their lives, at the base they remained who they were.”
“In his experience you got more results with flat reason than angry confrontation. He just had to keep reminding himself he wanted results and not the satisfaction of a fight.”
“Avery pushed to her feet. “I’ll”
“across the street, a few doors down, Sam watched the house, noting”
“Rules? Ixion is supposed to be free of rules, yet it seems as strict as Grave in its own way and more...more dangerous.”
“... đời sống hạnh phúc là một đời sống câm lặng...”
“Becoming a vegan is not about self-denial; it’s more a matter of self-awareness. It is about trying new foods and broadening your palate, expressing the joy of being alive, and knowing that you’re making a daily effort to live less violently and more sustainably.”
“There are not many secure hospitals that can boast someone who thought he was Napoleon, but St. Cerebellum’s could field three—not to mention a handful of serial killers whose names inexplicably yet conveniently rhymed with their crimes. Notorious cannibal “Peter the Eater” was incarcerated here, as were “Sasha the Slasher” and “Mr. Browner the Serial Drowner.” But the undisputed king of rhyme-inspired serial murder was Isle of Man resident Maximilian Marx, who went under the uniquely tongue-twisting epithet “Mad Max Marx, the Masked Manxman Axman.” Deirdre Blott tried to top Max’s clear superiority by changing her name so as to become “Nutty Nora Newsome, the Knife-Wielding Weird Widow from Waddersdon,” but no one was impressed, and she was ostracized by the other patients for being such a terrible show-off.”
“..but it's one of the reflections of our times. Young minds today are dulled by television and other visual sensations. When reading was one of the few pleasures available, we could recite whole passages to eachother.”
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