Talking Behind You Famous Quotes & Sayings
94 Talking Behind You Famous Sayings, Quotes and Quotation.
You're standing by yourself talking about tits?" Kyler asked from behind me. I gave a little shriek and spun around. "God ... " A sexy half-grin appeared. "I need to keep a better eye on you, if that's what you talk about when you're alone.— Jennifer L. Armentrout
George could only stare at the young lady's kindling face, which lighted up all in a moment, and was suddenly beautiful, like some transparency which seems a dingy picture till you put a lamp behind it. The young surgeon could only stare wonderingly at Mr. Sleaford's daughter, for he hadn't the faintest idea what she and his friend were talking about.— Mary Elizabeth Braddon
I did come up with the term "sack" to describe the devastation I was bringing on the poor, cringing quarterbacks in the NFL. "Sack the quarterback." That was nice. I thought it was lots better than saying, "Jones tackles the QB behind the line for another loss of yardage ... " It had a ring to it, and it caught on with the sports writers. But I tell you, doing it was a lot more fun than talking about it.— Deacon Jones
Talking behind someones back does not make you better. It only demonstrates how much of a coward you are for not saying it in the persons face.— Unknown
This is what I get very upset at ... ' Temple, who was driving suddenly faltered and wept. 'I've read that libraries are where immortality lies ... I don't want my thoughts to die with me ... I want to have done something ... I'm not interested in power, or piles of money. I want to leave something behind. I want to make a positive contribution - know that my life has meaning, Right now, I'm talking about things at the very core of my experience.' I was stunned. As I stepped out of the car to say goodbye, I said, 'I'm going to hug you. I hope you don't mind.' I hugged her - and (I think) she hugged me back.— Oliver Sacks
He smiled. "You're into me, I can tell."— Janette Rallison
"I'm not into you," I said hotly. Hotly, because as soon as the words left my lips, sparklers erupted on top of my head.
Hudson looked at them, and a grin spread across his face. The baby cooed and reached out, trying to grab the flaring light. Hudson moved farther away. "Don't touch. Just look at Mommy's pretty liar hat."
He was enjoying this way too much. "Okay," I said. "Maybe I like you a little."
The sparklers dimmed, but didn't go out.
Hudson raised an eyebrow.
"All right," I said, nervously eyeing the area to make sure no one saw us. "I'm into you."
The sparklers died, but I didn't wait around for more commentary. I headed to the inn. Behind me I heard Hudson still talking to the baby. "Yes, we like Mommy's flaming hairdo, don't we?
All of that art-for-art's-sake stuff is BS," she declares. "What are these people talking about? Are you really telling me that Shakespeare and Aeschylus weren't writing about kings? All good art is political! There is none that isn't. And the ones that try hard not to be political are political by saying, 'We love the status quo.' We've just dirtied the word 'politics,' made it sound like it's unpatriotic or something." Morrison laughs derisively. "That all started in the period of state art, when you had the communists and fascists running around doing this poster stuff, and the reaction was 'No, no, no; there's only aesthetics.' My point is that is has to be both: beautiful and political at the same time. I'm not interested in art that is not in the world. And it's not just the narrative, it's not just the story; it's the language and the structure and what's going on behind it. Anybody can make up a story.— Toni Morrison
What... what are you doing here?"— Greg Logsted
He's shaking his head as he walks my way; a steaming coffee mug is in his hand.
"What am I doing here? I live here."
"Y-you do? How did I get here?"
He starts to laugh. "You don't remember?"
"No... I really don't."
He places the mug in front of me. "You called me on your cell. I found you spaced out of your mind in an alley behind the bar. You were talking to a cat. You claimed it was your mother.
I like bustling around Paul's kitchen. And I like it even more when he walks up behind me and wraps his arms around me while I'm standing at the stove. He pretends like he's going to try to steal a piece of chicken from the pasta, but he presses his lips to my shoulder and lingers, his hot breath blowing across my neck. I reach up and wrap my hand around his neck and bring him down so I can kiss him. Then he pops the chicken into his mouth and grins. "That's pretty good," he says, nodding. I roll my eyes. "Glad you like my chicken." "Oh, I wasn't talking about the chicken," he says, letting his eyes roam up and down my body.— Tammy Falkner
Forget about lien about you behind your back and talking nonsense, some people can lie to you looking in your eyes ...— Honeya
Stupid, infuriating, overgrown ass!" I hiss as I slam the back door behind me and stomp my foot for good measure. I'm home, I think to myself. I can finally throw a satisfying fit all by myself. Fuming, I stomp both of my feet on the kitchen floor again and again, picturing my cousin's face each time I bring my feet down. He is the most infuriating oaf on the face of the planet, and I want nothing more than to punch him. I'm still muttering to myself when I hear chuckling and jump in response.— Allana Kephart
Whirling around, I look up and find Flint standing by the coffee pot watching my display of temper and shaking his head. "I certainly hope you're not talking about me."
I scowl at him. "For once, no. You may be an infuriating ass, but I've never considered you stupid. Looks like sparking my temper isn't an exclusive ability of yours, after all.
Quiet, you say.— Nachoem M. Wijnberg
I hardly hear you.
You're already that far.
Don't leave me behind like this.
I stop talking.
Immediately I'm so dizzy
I have to hold on to myself.
Quiet, you say.
I miss your laugh so much
I copy it,
louder and louder.
That's as quiet as I can be.
Behind all the dark humor, Bill was talking about the same things I'd read in Joseph Campbell. If you look at things, really look, if you lift the veil, you start to recognize that light is love, is infinite, is unconditional. Bill was saying that once you understand the nature of nature, you can let go of difficulties and sign on for the ride - knowing that it's just a ride. And— Maynard James Keenan
Sumire was a hopeless romantic, a bit set in her ways - innocent of the ways of the world, to put a nice spin on it. Start her talking and she'd go on nonstop, but if she was with someone she didn't get along with - most people in the world, in other words - she barely opened her mouth. She smoked too much, and you could count on her to lose her ticket every time she took the train. She'd get so engrossed in her thoughts at times she'd forget to eat, and she was as thin as one of those war orphans in an old Italian film - like a stick with eyes. I'd love to show you a photo of her but I don't have any. She hated having her photograph taken - no desire to leave behind for posterity a Portrait of the Artist as a Young (Wo)Man.— Haruki Murakami
We can't have your people fighting each other, I said. The 'royal we' is very important in police work; it reminds the person you're talking to that behind you stands the mighty institution that is the Metropolitan Police, robed in the full majesty of the law and capable, in manpower terms, of invading a small country. You only hope when you're using that term that the whole edifice is currently facing in the same direction as you are.— Ben Aaronovitch
Can you even cry, anyway? With your eyes and all." Josh asks, fingers tapping a rhythm on the cushion behind Caid's right shoulder.— Seventhswan
Caid swats his arm away. Says, "How is someone paying you to teach children? Of course I can fucking cry; it's not my tear ducts that are broken."
"I teach history, not the anatomy of eyeballs, shithead."
"How old are you?" Caid scoffs, feeling frustrated and exposed. He hates talking about his blindness. Hates it almost more than actually being blind.
Nick spreads cream cheese on my bagel for me because it's hard to do with one hand. You need to hold the bagel and everything.— Carrie Jones
"You are the nicest boyfriend ever," I tell him and kiss his cheek.
"Gag," Devyn says.
"You're just jealous," Nick teases him and points his plastic knife at Devyn. "Which is ridiculous because you are the star of the school now that the wheelchair is totally gone. Everyone is talking about you."
"Star of the school?" Devyn asks. He takes a swig of Gatorade.
"All the girls." Nick gestures to the girls giggling behind them. "They like miracles. It's sexy. Remember how much play Jay Dahlberg got when he came back from being abducted?" He does not add by pixies because he does not have to.
"Really?" Devyn does this cheesy and really fake eyebrow wiggle thing so he looks like some sleezy porn dog.
You're going to have to drive off the road and park behind thoses bushes," I instructed Vee. Vee leaned forward, peering into the darkness. "Is that a ditch between me and the bushes ?" "It's not very deep. Trust me, we'll clear it." "Looks deep to me. This is a Neon we're talking about, not a Hummer.— Becca Fitzpatrick
'Are we done? You can avoid us all again and we'll keep talking about you behind your back.'— Lynn Kelling
Give us privacy," James told him, his voice sharp. The man beat a hasty retreat. James shut and locked the door behind him. Handy that, a lock. He started loosening his tie. When it was untied, he hooked a finger into the hoop at my neck. He pushed my back to the wall. Or rather, the door. He reached above my head and I looked up. There was a coat hanger above me, hooked over the top of the tall door. James was tying his tie to it with swift, sure motions. He pulled my arms up and together, wrapping the tie around them, tying more swift knots around my wrists. This took longer, and I watched those skillful hands with rapt attention. "This is going to get loud, Bianca. I'm going to fuck you so hard that you scream my name. And you are going to scream so loudly that nobody will doubt just why you're screaming. Would you like to tell me what you and Roger were talking about before I'm inside of you? Or will this be a mid-fuck confession?— R.K. Lilley
That church . . . it reminds me of one in downtown Chicago. Do you remember? That beautiful one with the courtyard near the Drake."— Jessica Martinez
Jeremy took a newspaper from a stack behind him and sat across from me. "I know the one you're talking about, but that church," he gestured out the window, "is older than America."
I sighed. "Of course it is. Did I really just try to compare British and American architecture? How insensitive of me.
A famous Japanese Zen master, Hakuun Yasutani Roshi, said that unless you can explain Zen in words that a fisherman will comprehend, you don't know what you're talking about. Some fifty years ago a UCLA professor told me the same thing about applied mathematics. We like to hide from the truth behind foreign-sounding words or mathematical lingo. There's a saying: The truth is always encountered but rarely perceived. If we don't perceive it, we can't help ourselves and we can't much help anyone else.— Jeff Bridges
He scoffs. "I fucking bought this house. You did nothing but sign a piece of paper."— Winter Renshaw
My teeth grind, and I point at my chest. "I did nothing? Really? Nothing? I didn't give birth to two of your children? I didn't sacrifice my career? I didn't keep your house while you were running off behind my back fucking that fake-breasted skeleton?"
I see red and my body is on fire. Everything burns. My eyes. My chest. My lips. I can't even feel my face. Every cell in body buzzes. I've never felt more alive. If this is what Saige was talking about when she said anger is healthy, then I'll have to let her know, once again, that she was right because this feels fan-fucking-tastic.
And we certainly don't have full conversations on cellphones. You know? Usually the reception is so bad, but it's only bad on your side. The person talking to you has no clue. They're just rambling on and on. You've got your finger jammed in your ear, you're shushing people on the streets. You're ducked behind a dumpster so you can hear about your friend's new hair cut. What about the bangs are they shorter?! Are the bangs shorter?! The bangs!— Ellen DeGeneres
When you're in these movie deals and the studios are talking, they're putting business deals and packages together, but they're making calls based on previous relationships. They go, "Oh, let's call this actor because we did this with him, and he might like him. Does he like him? Let's piece them together." There's a brain behind that puzzle, and I want to be the brain.— Kevin Hart
It's not that simple."— Penny Reid
"It's as simple as dry toast."
"You're encouraging me to knowingly hurt him."
Cletus grunted impatiently and threw his hands up. "We're talking in circles. Here's reality: People get hurt and they move on or they don't. You can't have it both ways. You either get to be famous, and deal with the hassle that comes with it, or you leave it all behind. Own your shit, Sienna. And let Jethro own his. And then get married and own that shit together."
Cletus stood, clearly frustrated, and stomped away from me to the back door. He disappeared into the house only to appear three seconds later to add, "And while you're at it, beget me some nieces and nephews.
You must learn to ignore what people say," Sebastian murmured, coming to her. Standing behind her, he rested his fingers lightly on her shoulders, causing her to start a little. "You'll be much happier that way." Suddenly his voice was tipped with amusement. "I've learned that while gossip about others is often true, it's never true when it is about oneself.— Lisa Kleypas
When my son Lowell was eight years old, one day he and I had just finished playing. Tired and exhausted, we were lying on the bed talking. He sat up in the bed and started to trace his finger over the scar behind my neck. He asked me with concern in his voice,— Drexel Deal
'Daddy, how you got this cut behind your neck?'
I hesitated for a while, wondering how much I should tell him, or if I should even tell him at all. I decided to tell him some of it, leaving out the part about the shooting. So I told him,
'I got that from fighting with one of my friends.'
Lowell didn't respond right away. After a moment of silence and tracing his finger over the scar, my son said something to me that I had never even considered up to that point. He said,
'Daddy, your friend tried to kill you!
There was one incident at a movie theater where my girl got mad at these guys who were talking behind us. I never looked back there, but she was like, 'Will you all just shut up!' And I just got up and moved three rows in front. She was like, 'What are you doing?!' I was like, 'You better get up here! I don't play the fighting games.'— Kevin Hart
And let me tell you something else, my friend," she said in the precise enunciation of a trained nurse talking to a worried patient. "It is all very easy for a man to talk about living in the present. Much more so than for a woman, who is liable to get knocked up higher than a kite every time the man enjoys himself in the present. Thats one thing I dont have to worry about, thank God. But there are a lot of others: such as what I am going to do when my husband kicks me out and then my lover throws me over when he has to support me, and me not being trained for anything but to be somebody's wife and having to do all my politicking and achieving and gain what little success I can by getting behind some stupid man and pushing him.— James Jones
I met a reverend mother once who cried ... ah, it's all so sad' - 'What did she cry about?' - 'I don't know, after talking to me, I remember I said some silly thing like "the universe is a woman because it's round" but I think she cried because she was remembering her early days when she had a romance with some soldier who died, at least that's what they say, she was the greatest woman I ever saw, big blue eyes, big smart woman ... you could do that, get out of this awful mess and leave it all behind— Jack Kerouac
When people talk about you behind your back, they're not just behind you, they're beneath you.— Donald L. Hicks
Hey," Shane said from the other side of the bars. "Trade you cigarettes for a chocolate bar."— Rachel Caine
Funny," Eve said. She was almost back to her old unGothed self again, though there were still red splotches on her cheeks and around her eyes. "How come you're always behind bars, troublemaker?"
Look who's talking. I didn't try to outrun the cops in a hearse."
That hearse had horsepower." Eve got that moony look in her eyes again. "I love that hearse.
Kestrel, this isn't you."— Marie Rutkoski
She pressed back against the chill glass. "I don't know what you mean."
"This voice you've been using, that bright one...do you think I don't recognize it? It's the sound of you laying a trap. Of you hiding behind your own words. And I know that the way you've been talking is not you. Say what you want about me, about what happened between us, about the shape of the sun and the color of the grass and any other truths in this world you want to deny. Deny everything until the gods strike you down. But you can't say that I don't know you." He was now close enough that the air between them was alive against Kestrel's skin. "I... have thought about you." His voice dropped. "I have thought about how I have never known you to be dishonest with me.
His heart's occupied elsewhere," said Ben from behind me. "And even if it weren't he's not interested in your kind. But, I'm available and ready."— Patricia Briggs
"You don't have a heart," I told him. "Just a gaping hole where it should have been."
"All the more reason for you to give me yours."
I pounded my forehead against Warren 's back. "Tell me Ben's not flirting with me."
"Hey," said Ben sounding hurt. "I was talking cannibalism, not romance.
I should interweave my theology with prayer. I should frequently interrupt my talking about God by talking to God. Not far behind the theological sentence, "God is generous," should come the prayerful sentence, "Thank you, God." On the heels of, "God is glorious," should come, "I adore your glory." What I have come to see is that this is the way it must be if we are feeling God's reality in our hearts as well as describing it with our heads.— John Piper
I never look at my watch if I'm talking with someone. I think that's such an insulting gesture! It suggests you're trying to gauge whether you think what they're saying is worth your time. Rushing is no way to bring out what's best in people, and I'm always looking for the best. That's what's ultimately behind my determination to take my time.— Frances Hesselbein
Anarchy!" Tony confirmed in sort of a laugh.— Donald Miller
"Sometimes I think, you know, if there were not cops, I would be fine, and I probably would. I was taught right from wrong when I was a kid. But the truth is, I drive completely different when there is a cop behind me than when there isn't."
And what Tony and I were talking about is true. It is hard for us to admit we have a sin nature because we live in a system of checks and balances. If we get caught, we will be punished. But that doesn't make us good people; it only makes us subdued. Just think about the Congress and Senate and even the president. The genius of the American system is not freedom; the genius of the American system is checks and balances. Nobody gets all the power. Everybody is watching everybody else. Is is as the founding fathers knew, intrinsically, that the soul of man, unwatched, is perverse.
Did you see the mailman while doing your rounds yesterday?"— Ilona Andrews
Curran's face turned carefully blank. "Yes, I did."
"Did you do anything to scare him?"
"I was perfectly friendly."
"Mhm." Please continue with your nice story. Non-judgemental.
"He was putting things into the mailbox. I was passing by and I said, 'Hello, nice night.' And then I smiled. He jumped into his truck and slammed the door."
"Rude!" Julie volunteered.
"I let it pass," Curran said. "We're new to the neighborhood."
The former Beast Lord, a kind and magnanimous neighbor. "So you sneaked up behind him, startled him by speaking, and when he turned around and saw a six-hundred pound talking lion, you showed him your teeth?"
"I don't think that's what happened," Curran said.
"That's exactly what happened, Your Furriness." I laughed.
While it does matter what words you use when talking with other people, to an angel it's more about the intentions and energy behind the words.— Doreen Virtue
I think we're raising whole generations who regard facts as more or less optional.— Thomas Sowell
We have kids in elementary school who are being urged to take stands on political issues, to write letters to congressmen and presidents about nuclear energy.
They're not a decade old, and they're being thrown these kinds of questions that can absorb the lifetime of a very brilliant and learned man. And they're being taught that it's important to have views, and they're not being taught that it's important to know what you're talking about.
It's important to hear the opposite viewpoint, and more important to learn how to distinguish why viewpoint A and viewpoint B are different, and which one has the most evidence or logic behind it. They disregard that. They hear something, they hear some rhetoric, and they run with it.
I live in England, so I take a lot of trains, and you can't really go anywhere without somebody talking on their mobile phone behind you, forcing you to listen to their conversation. With the Internet, with texting, with networking sites, there's already information everywhere.— Patrick Ness
People say Malala's voice is being sold to the world. But I see it as Malala's voice reaching the world and resonating globally. You should think about what is behind Malala's voice. What is she saying? I am only talking about education, women's rights, and peace.— Malala Yousafzai
Ty tapped Nick's knee. "Do you really want him left behind knowing you did this? It can wait until we get back."— Abigail Roux
"Just stop talking, Beaumont," Nick grunted. "You're like the Bermuda Triangle of morals."
Zane snorted and covered it with a cough.
The freckle-faced corporal from Iowa grinned. "Geez, Major, whatever you gave that German broad last night sure got her talking. Was it some new Russian drug? Something from HQ?"— Joseph Heywood
"That's my affair." Major Rosemary Wilson ignored the grinning boy and lit a cigarette, blowing out smoke as she gazed through the one way mirror. The German girl, Waller, looked pale and lost under the interrogation lights, but she was still exceptionally pretty. No doubt last night had been her first time with a woman. Still, Greta had been an enthusiastic learner, responsive and eager to please. The Major had every intention of continuing the girl's education -- once Werewolf and his Nazi pack were back behind bars.
For me, working in the fashion industry is about getting to meet the minds behind the brands. Sure, there are nice dinners, events and shows - even the occasional freebie - but the best part is getting to sit down with and talk to people that have done great things. You quickly realize that no matter who you're talking to, how famous, brilliant or wealthy they are, they are just "people."— Ben Clymer
If you want to know how to make people shun you and laugh at you behind your back and even despise you, here is the recipe: Never listen to anyone for long. Talk incessantly about yourself. If you have an idea while the other person is talking, don't wait for him or her to finish: bust right in and interrupt in the middle of a sentence.— Dale Carnegie
You're not mending anything, remember, Sand? The hedge." He paused and shook his head at himself. "And Perrotte's away for a few minutes, and you're talking to yourself again.— Merrie Haskell
What are you looking to do?" Aaron asked as we walked into his workroom.— Bijou Hunter
"Nothing too complicated," I said, displaying my wrist. "I want Bailey's name on my wrist."
Aaron exhaled slowly. "Are you sure? The Johanssons don't play when it comes having their women's names on their wrists. It's forever shit for them. That's how I knew Cooper wasn't fucking around with Farah."
"Bailey's mine, but I can't find a way to make her truly believe. When I try, it feels like just words. I know her name on my wrist is a word too, but maybe it's one that she'll know means forever."
"Fair enough. Just know once the Johansson boys see her name on your wrist, it's like you've gotten on one knee and proposed. Trust me that Bailey and Jodi will be talking wedding dates behind your back. If you lose interest or cheat or break it off, it's not going down softly. The shit will hit the fan."
"The only way Bailey gets rid of me is to put me in the ground.
I have a secret. A big, fat, hairy secret. And I'm not talking minor-league stuff, like I once let Joseph Applebaum feel me up behind the seventh-grade stairwell or I got a Brazilian wax after work last Friday or I'm hiding a neon blue vibrator called the Electric Slide in my night table. Which I'm not, by the way. In case you were wondering.— Karen MacInerney
Emilio appeared with wine before Cal could say anything, and Min beamed at him, grateful for the rescue. "Emilio, my darling. I forgot to mention cake boxes. Two hundred cake boxes."— Jennifer Crusie
"Already on it," Emilio said. "Nonna said you'd need them. She said to get four-inch-square boxes for three-inch-square cakes."
"I'm getting the boxes," Min said, nodding. "Sure. Great. Fine. Your grandmother is an angel and you are my hero. And of course, a genius with food."
"And you are my favorite customer." Emilio kissed her cheek and disappeared back into the kitchen.
"I love him," she told Cal.
"I noticed," Cal said. "Been seeing him behind my back, have you?"
"Yes," Min said. "We've been having conversations about cake."
"Whoa," Cal said. "For you, that's talking dirty.
But how can she change a person like that? said Victoria.— Claire Legrand
She just can. I'd never have thought before, ever, that I could hate music and want to leave it behind, but now
Lawrence Prewitt, said Victoria. Her voice was shaking, but she stood up and put on such a fierce dazzle that even Donovan seemed to wake up. Don't you dare ever start talking like that again, or when I get out of here, I'll leave you behind with the gofers. Lawrence smiled. I've missed your threats, Vicky.
There isn't a single spot I'll miss tonight, my wife." Blake pulled her against him, tilting her head until he could kiss her again. His fingers and lips made her moan. He placed a hand on her stomach and the other behind her neck. "How many times can I make you come before you can't take it anymore?"— Debra Anastasia
"I think we might have one to count already."
"Really? Just from talking? Imagine what'll happen when you feel my tongue inside you." Blake backed her up against the bed.
"Get on the bed, Livia. That lingerie is about to be a very pretty necklace.
She sat silently in her rocking chair. Some people are good at talking, but Granny Weatherwax was good at silence. She could sit so quiet and still that— Terry Pratchett
she faded. You forgot she was there. The room became empty.
Tiffany thought of it as the I'm-not-here spell, if it was a spell. She reasoned that everyone had something inside them that told the world they
were there. That was why you could often sense when someone was behind you, even if they were making no sound at all. You were receiving their
I-am-here signal.
Some people had a very strong one. They were the people who got served first in shops. Granny Weatherwax had an I-am-here signal that bounced off the mountains when she wanted it to; when she walked into a forest, all the wolves and bears ran out the other side. She could turn it off, too. She was doing that now. Tiffany was having to concentrate to see her. Most of her mind was telling her that there was no one there at all.
Dear God, surely you aren't the chef Sam was talking about?"— Lynsay Sands
"No," he said with a laugh, and gestured behind him with a thumb. "Cale here is."
"Kale?" Alex echoed blankly, her eyes sliding to the still half-closed door. She didn't see any evidence of a second man. Frowning, she set the phone back in its receiver and leaned to the side, trying to see out into the kitchen as she muttered, "Kale is a vegetable.
Can't you get a guard or something to take me to the bathroom?" I asked.— Amanda Hocking
"I am the guard," Ludlow snapped, sounding huffy.
"Oh,really?" I smirked at him, realizing this might be far easier than I thought.
"Don't underestimate me, Princess," Ludlow growled. "I eat girls like you for breakfast."
"So you're a cannibal?" I wrinkled my nose.
"Ludlow, are you harassing the poor girl?" came a voice from behind Ludlow. He moved to the side, and through the slot I saw Loki swaggering toward us.
"She's harassing me," Ludlow complained.
"Yes,talking to a beautiful Princess-what a rough lot you have in life," Loki said dryly, and Matt snorted behind me.
On this Very Street in Belgrade— Charles Simic
Your mother carried you
Out of the smoking ruins of a building
And set you down on this sidewalk
Like a doll bundled in burnt rags,
Where you now stood years later
Talking to a homeless dog,
Half-hidden behind a parked car,
His eyes brimming with hope
As he inched forward, ready for the worst.
Hi, big brother," she said flipping on the light. He groaned again. "Please stop talking so loudly," he grumbled, turning his head to the side. "And make the room stop spinning." "You deserve it." Dafne stood up from the door, scowling. "That was really dumb of you, getting drunk." "Can you please save the lecture for when the room is not spinning," he grated, covering his face with this arm. "Sure, brother. I can wait," she answered soft and sweet, before turning and slamming the door behind her. The house shuddered. Knowing— Kelly Riad
Yeah, but the haram shit I do is, like, having a dog. It's not like smoking crack or talking behind people's backs or stealing or lying to my mom or fugging girls." "Moral relativism," Colin said. "No it's not. I don't think God gives a shit if we have a dog or if a woman wears shorts. I think He gives a shit about whether you're a good person.— Anonymous
Where'd you get that lighter?" she demanded.— Clifford Riley
"Frida," Dan said, closing it. "She left it behind. Remember how she was always talking about outdoorsy stuff? She said she kept a water-resistant lighter on her at all times, in case she needed emergency fire."
There was a short beat of silence in the dumpster.
"Huh," said Dan. "Except probably now.
The opportunity was too perfect to miss. Harry crept silently around behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, bent down, and scooped a large handful of mud out of the path.— J.K. Rowling
'We were just talking about your friend Hagrid,'
Malfoy said to Ron. 'Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his hippogriff's - '
SPLAT.
Malfoy's head jerked back as the mud hit him; his silverblond hair was suddenly dripping in muck.
He put the fork, knife, and spoon back in his pocket and tucked the flower behind his ear, then walked to the door, reaching it right before that butler did. He gave the man a glare - it was only a matter of time before he cracked and tried to kill them all - then pulled open the door.— Brandon Sanderson
( ... )
"Nice flower," the kandra said. "Can I have your skeleton when you're dead?"
"My ... " Wayne felt at his head.
"You're a Bloodmaker, correct? Can heal yourself? Bloodmaker bones tend to be particularly interesting, as your time spent weak and sickly creates oddities in your joints and bones that can be quite distinctive. I'd love to have your skeleton. If you don't mind."
Taken aback by this request, Wayne stopped in place. Then he ran past him, pushing into the room where Wax and Steris were talking. "Wax," he complained, pointing, "the immortal bloke is being creepy again.
Men, too, secrete the inhuman. At certain moments of lucidity, the mechanical aspect of their gestures, their meaningless pantomime makes silly everything that surrounds them. A man is talking on the telephone behind a glass partition; you cannot hear him, but you see his incomprehensible dumb show: you wonder why he is alive. This discomfort in the face of man's own inhumanity, this incalculable tumble before the image of what we are, this "nausea," as a writer of today calls it, is also the absurd.— Albert Camus
What do I say to a whale, Galen?" I hiss.— Anna Banks
"Tell him to come closer."
"No way."
"Fine. Tell him to back up."
I nod. "Right. Okay." I lace my fingers together to keep from wringing my hands raw. Even more than terror, I feel the insanity of the situation. I'm about to ask a fish the size of my house to make a U-turn. Because Galen, the man-fish behind me, doesn't speak humpback. "Uh, can you please back away from me?" I say. I sound polite, like I'm asking him to buy some Girl Scout cookies.
I feel better in the few moments afterward because Goliath doesn't move. It proves Galen doesn't know what he's talking about. It proves this whale can't understand me, that I'm not some Snow White of the ocean. Except that, Goliath does start to turn away.
I look back at Galen. "That's just a coincidence."
Galen sighs. "You're right. He probably mistook us for a relative or something. Tell him to do something else, Emma.
It's important to raise your voice in things you feel passionate about and things that you know about. Don't raise your voice just to raise your voice if you have nothing behind it and don't know what you're talking about.— Zendaya
Who's that man you were talking to?"— Gina Damico
"Oh, that's Norwood. He was checking you in for your first shift. I'll introduce you tomorrow."
She made a face. "No rush."
"I mean, you were scheduled to have a brief orientation with him today, but you know, you needed your beauty sleep, so we don't have time. Are you aware, Lex, that sloth is a deadly sin?"
She made a face at him, then glanced back at the hallway. She thought she could make out a bustle of activity behind the array of frosted glass tiles that lined its right-hand wall, but Uncle Mort ushered her out the front door too quickly for her to get a closer look.
"Wait, we're done here?"
"Well, I was going to show you around upstairs as well, but - "
"No time. Sloth. I get it."
"Deadly sin.
Let me know when you're ready to talk." She stopped and glanced at them both over her shoulder. "Maybe then I'd be ready to discuss your sexual twists and my own little abnormal desires. You never know what we all might learn that we haven't already."— Lora Leigh
With that, she turned and moved back into the house, closing the door behind her and disappearing out of sight. And Cam found his back slammed against the side of Ian's Hummer, his brother in his face.
Lust and irritation flared in his brother's eyes. "You better start talking," he grated. "Because you know what she just did?"
"She just dared us, Cam. And I don't know about you, but the thought of 'abnormal desires' dancing through her mind is going to drive me fucking crazy. Now, fix it.
I'm not really putting this very well. My point is this: This book contains precisely zero Important Life Lessons, or Little-Known Facts About Love, or sappy tear-jerking Moments When We Knew We Had Left Our Childhood Behind for Good, or whatever. And, unlike most books in which a girl gets cancer, there are definitely no sugary paradoxical single-sentence-paragraphs that you're supposed to think are deep because they're in italics. Do you know what I'm talking about? I'm talking about sentences like this:— Jesse Andrews
The cancer had taken her eyeballs, yet she saw the world with more clarity than ever before.
Barf. Forget it. For me personally, things are in no way more meaningful because I got to know Rachel before she died. If anything, things are less meaningful. All right?
A true friend is the one who treats you and gives you advices, exactly as if he is treating himself and giving advices to himself, so if you are a true friend never ever talk about your friends behind their backs, cause you must be sure that you are talking about yourself— Mona Hanie
she saw all those who were in the pickup truck with her husband. Their clothes were torn. Their hands and faces were covered in blood and dust. They looked as shell-shocked as they felt. What's more, they were hungry and thirsty and exhausted and grieving their families and friends and the town they had left behind. "I heard, on the wireless," Claire said without missing a beat. "It's all anyone is talking about. Thank God you're okay. Come in. All of you, please come in. We will get you something to eat and give you a place to sleep and a hot bath. Come in; don't be shy. You're with friends here.— Joel C. Rosenberg
Thomas was still outside, so I knocked once and opened the door without waiting for a response. Loki was in the middle of changing clothes as I came in. He'd already traded his worn slacks for a pair of pajama pants, and he was holding a white T-shirt, preparing to put it on.— Amanda Hocking
He had his back to me, and it was even worse than I'd thought.
"Oh, my god, Loki," I gasped.
"I didn't know you were coming." He turned around to face me, smirking. "Shall I leave the shirt off, then?"
"No, put the shirt on," I said, and I closed the door behind me so nobody could see or overhear us talking.
"You're no fun." He wrinkled his nose and pulled the shirt over his head.
"Your back is horrific."
"And I was just going to tell you how beautiful you look today, but I'm not going to bother now if you're going to talk that way." Loki sat back down on his bed, more lying than sitting.
Can you imagine how incredibly quiet it was everywhere, when the gentlemen from this world" - he made a vague circular gesture towards the battalions of meditating Asians behind him - "were hatching and proclaiming their ideas? Anyone who now tries to follow these ideas in order to find the road back to what they were talking about, is faced with obstacles that would have driven an entire tribe of oriental ascetics into the ravine. The world from which they felt it so necessary to retreat would have seemed idyllic to us. We live in a vision of hell, and we have actually got used to it." He looked at his statues and continued, "We have become different people. We still look the same, but we have nothing in common with them any more. We are differently programmed. Anyone who now wants to become like them must acquire a big dose of madness first; otherwise he will no longer be able to bear the life of our world. We are not designed for their kind of life.— Cees Nooteboom
Having your beautiful woman free and uncovered, for all to see, with everyone knowing that she's with who she chooses - you - and that no one else, no matter how much they want her or lust for her, can lay a finger on her." He focussed on Mae. "Tell Hansen what you studied in school."— Richelle Mead
She wasn't expecting the question and presumed he wasn't talking about her military training. "Music," she said.
Hansen, however, was one step behind. "You went to school?"
"All our women do," said Justin. "They can learn what they want, take on what professions they want, and be with the men they want. We don't cover them up either. We let them show off their beauty. And we don't let men who are full of themselves crush others who've done the work. A man who serves gets his rewards. They aren't snatched up by others.
My grandmother taught me that accomplishments meant less than what you left behind. I started to ask myself what impact my comedy would have on people's lives. And that changed my act. I got cleaner. I stopped talking about generic stuff like airplane peanuts and started speaking the truth about my gift.— Sherri Shepherd
Total?" I said when he was close. "Can you talk?" He flopped down on the grass, panting slightly. "Yeah. So?" Jeezum. I mean, mutant weirdos are nothing new to me, you know? But a talking dog? "Why didn't you mention this before?" I asked him. "It's not like I lied about it," said Total, reaching up with a hind leg to scratch behind one ear. "Between you and me, I'm still trying to get used to the whole flying-kid thing.— James Patterson
Curiosity broke her earlier resolve. "Have you ever been tested?"— Karin Slaughter
"No." He stood behind Sara, holding the camera in front so she could see. "Zoom here," he said, flicking the toggle.
"You could probably-"
"This is macro."
"Will-"
"Super macro." He kept talking over her until she gave up. "Here's where you adjust for color. This is light. Anti-shake. Red-eye." He clicked through the features like a photography instructor.
Sara Finally relented. "Why don't I point and you shoot?"
"All right." His back was stiff, and she could tell that he was irritated.
"I'm sorry I-"
"Please don't apologize."
Sara held his gaze for a few moments longer, wishing she could fix this. There was nothing to say if he wouldn't even let her apologize.
You should be proud of her. She cracked the wall, and I never thought I'd live to see it cracked."— Larry McMurtry
What are you talking about?" I said. "What wall?"
The one you built around you," Jeannie said. "Don't say it wasn't there. It was there. I tried to crack it but I didn't have the confidence, you know? What happened is, it cracked me, but that's okay, I'm working around my crack pretty well. But you were dying behind your wall, and you're lucky to have a daughter who has the guts to crack it. I hope she smashes it to fucking smithereens and you never have another peaceful day in your whole fucking life, Mr. Deck!
His feet started in her direction, his body following rather as a dog would its master, with no thought of deviating from the path chosen by her for him— J.R. Ward
iAm grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "Don't even fucking think about it."
Trez's first impulse was to rip himself free, even if he left his own limb behind in his brother's grip. "I don't know what you're talking about - "
"Do not make me grab your hard-on to prove my point," iAm hissed.
Numbly, Trez looked down at the front of himself. Well. What do you know. "I'm not going to ... " Fuck her came to mind, but God, he couldn't use the f-word around that female, even in the hypothetical. "You know, do anything."
"You actually expect me to believe that."
Trez's eyes flipped over to the doorway she'd disappeared through. Shit. Talk about having no credibility on the subject of abstinence
She stared at me curiously. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Sometimes, when I walk along the corridor here, I fancy I hear her just behind me. That quick, light footstep. I could not mistake it anywhere. And in the minstrels' gallery above the hall. I've seen her leaning there, in the evenings in the old days, looking down at the hall below and calling to the dogs. I can fancy her there now from time to time. It's almost as though I catch the sound of her dress sweeping the stairs as she comes down to dinner." She paused. She went on looking at me, watching my eyes. "Do you think she can see us, talking to one another now?" she said slowly. "Do you think the dead come back and watch the living?— Daphne Du Maurier
Many times I've gone on tours with Paul Anka. He would have someone sitting behind him to keep people from even talking to him. You were almost in a little restricted area there.— Ben E. King
They are going to laugh at you and mock you and then they are going to - " "Eat me. Yes. I understand." "You don't seem to be grasping the meaning behind the words. This isn't a metaphor. I'm talking about huge teeth and digestive systems." "Fat and bones and marrow and meat," Winter sang. "We only wanted a snack to eat." Scarlet grunted. "You can be so disturbing.— Marissa Meyer
Here, m'lord." She put her hands over his eyes from behind. "Can you guess what I'm wearing?"— George R R Martin
"Nothing?"
"Oh, you're so smart," she pouted, snatching her hands away. "How did you know?"
"You're very beautiful in nothing".
"Am I?" She said. "Am I truly?"
"Oh yes."
"Then shouldn't you be fucking me instead of talking?
I'm from the South, where if you walk down the street and there's somebody behind you talking with a Southern accent, you can't tell whether it's a black or a white person.— Johnnie Cochran
She looks exactly like a - like a gimlet." Marilla smothered a smile under the conviction that Anne must be reproved for such a speech. "A little girl like you should be ashamed of talking so about a lady and a stranger," she said severely. "Go back and sit down quietly and hold your tongue and behave as a good girl should." "I'll try to do and be anything you want me, if you'll only keep me," said Anne, returning meekly to her ottoman. When they arrived back at Green Gables that evening Matthew met them in the lane. Marilla from afar had noted him prowling along it and guessed his motive. She was prepared for the relief she read in his face when he saw that she had at least brought back Anne back with her. But she said nothing, to him, relative to the affair, until they were both out in the yard behind the barn milking the— L.M. Montgomery
Winter, I know you're used to batting your eyelashes at everyone who walks by and expecting them to fall in love with you, but that's not going to happen here. They are going to laugh at you and mock you and then they are going to - "— Marissa Meyer
"Eat me. Yes. I understand."
"You don't seem to be grasping the meaning behind the words. This isn't a metaphor. I'm talking about huge teeth and digestive systems.
The call was already under way when Lauren walked into his office. Nick gestured toward his chair and got up so taht she could sit at his desk and take notes.Two minutes after Lauren sat down, he leaned over her from behind, braced his hands on the desk on either side of her and brushed his lips across her hair.— Judith McNaught
Lauren's self-control snapped. "Damn you, stop it!" she burst out.
"What?" "What?" "What?" three masculine voices chorused.
Nick leaned toward the speaker and drawled, "My secretary thinks you're talking too fast,and she'd like you to stop it so she can catch up."
"Well,all she had to do was ask," one offended male replied.
"I hope you're satisfied!" Lauren whispered furiously.
"I'm not," Nick chuckled in her ear. "But I'm going to be.
You are gonna shoot me," he says. "One day." He's still holding Lindsay's hand, he's looking down at where their fingers are wound together and not at Lindsay's face, but his voice is clear. "I ain't thick. I know you'll get sick of me. You can't just let me go, I know too much, you'd be freaked out forever in case I snitched. You'll get proper sick of me one day, not just annoyed, and then you'll shoot me. It's okay."— Richard Rider
"I won't get sick of you," Lindsay says. He feels numb and far away, as if its somebody else talking, and almost like he's going to throw up, a sort of lurch in his stomach like when you're at the top of the the Angel tube station escalator and somebody a bit too eager to get on the train shoves you from behind.
"Yeah you will. I'm gonna be with you til I die, though. Least I can say that and know its true, how many people can do that? Bit romantic, really. If you squint, and look at it sideways.
Their faces were the way women's faces are when they've been talking about you behind your back and they think you've heard: embarrassed, but also a little defiant, as if it were their right.— Margaret Atwood
When you're in a two-shot together, you can't be the same as when you're both in singles. Try as you will, it cannot be the same as when you're in the shot together. It simply cannot be. It's physically impossible. You're behind the camera desperately wanting to help your colleague. When it's just you, on your own, it can be self-conscious in a way that you're not when we're just talking, you and I, and then all of a sudden it's me and then it's you. The two-shots were probably more natural.— Tom Courtenay
A good thing about talking to someone who is standing behind you is that you can pretend you don't know they're crying, and not trouble yourself too much with working out why. You can simply concentrate on helping them feel better.— Nathan Filer
I don't care if you've changed. I don't care who you are now. I don't need or want your explanations because what you did, you didn't do it to me, you did it to that girl you left behind. And I'm not her anymore. You made certain of that. She might have needed answers and an apology, but me ... I don't know what you're talking about.— Samantha Young
Yes, I'm sorry you won't be coming with us," Chloe said to Alex. "But please don't worry. I'm certain The Lord has another plan for you." She glanced at me. "For both of you."— Meg Cabot
"Oh, I can assure you,"said a new, deeply masculine voice from behind me. I turned to see John sitting, tall and dark and disapproving, on the back of his horse, Alastor. "He does."
"Chloe wasn't talking about you," I said to John, leaning my elbows against the rough wood of the dock railing. "She meant the other lord."
John raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh, that one," he said. "My mistake.
I mean, all this stuff you're involved in, it's all gossip. It's people talking about each other behind their backs. That's the vast majority of this social media, all these reviews, all these comments. Your tools have elevated gossip, hearsay and conjecture to the level of valid, mainstream communication. And besides that, it's fucking dorky.— Dave Eggers
A true friend has a habit of talking behind your back good things about you.— Tareq Ragheb
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