A Quote by Alyson Noel

He stops in his tracks, face expressing major disappointment. "Wait - seriously? That's it? We don't get to do a stealthy tiptoe as we slip around back? No sneaking through a cracked window, or arguing over who gets to crawl through the dogie door to let the other one in?
Sometimes you don't get in through the front door. Sometimes you don't get in through the back. Sometimes you got to climb through the window. That doesn't mean the opportunity wasn't there. There's a way; you've just got to find it.
I remember the day before my dad died, I was in a hospital room with him, and he had lived a long life. He was 94, and I helped him get up, and there were two windows separated by the partition. I took him to the first window, and he kind of found his way to the second window, and on the way there was a mirror, and he looked into it, and I saw through the corner of my eye, I remember the look on his face. What came over his face was "So I'm here. I've crossed that bridge."
Those who enter through the back door can expect to be shown out through the window
Sunday morning may be cheery enough, with its extra cup of coffee and litter of Sunday newspapers, but there is always hanging over it the ominous threat of 3 P.M., when the sun gets around to the back windows and life stops dead in its tracks.
Prose is like a window; fiction is like a door. But it is not uncommon that he who should come in through the door jumps in through the window.
Glory never arrives through the front door. She sneaks in uninvited round the back or through an upstairs window while you are sleeping.
It was a great time. We did hurt ourselves [on Pineapple Express set]. [James] Franco cracked his face open.[Danny ] McBride cracked the back of his head open. I punched Amber[Heard] in the face just to get her in the mood for things. 'Welcome to the set!' But it was a lot of fun. I loved it.
Fame it's like... When you look through a window, say you pass a little pub, or an inn. You look through the window and you see people talking and carrying on. You,can watch outside the window and see them all being very real with each other. But when you walk into the room, it's over. I don't pay any attention to it.
I didn't like hovering above myself and looking back, or going through a door and thinking, How many times did I just go through that door? How do I get back? You know, that's not for me.
Greater is he who suffers through the pain and comes through the other side improved. Greater is he who accepts discouragement and keeps forward momentum, never retreating. Greater is he who sees the light at the end of the tunnel and keeps their eye on the light. Greater is he who gets knocked off his feet and gets back up, dusts himself off and gets back in the fight. Life is tough, but you are stronger.
All around you, people will be tiptoeing through life, just to arrive at death safely. But dear children, do not tiptoe. Run, hop, skip, or dance, just don't tiptoe.
Wherever there is any element of pride or of conceit, Jesus cannot expound a thing. He will take us through the disappointment of a wounded pride of intellect, through disappointment of heart. He will reveal inordinate affections-thin gs over which we never thought He would have to get us alone.
I was a door-to-door window salesmen in what feels like a cheap, creepy pedophile situation. And I can say that because we were a bunch of kids driving around in the back of some old guy's van and it was creepy. Now that I look back on it I get chills of creepiness.
Shut the door, they're coming through the window, shut the window, they're coming through the door," are the words to an old song. They fit my lifestyle with newly arriving butcher/censors every month. Only six weeks ago, I discovered that, over the years, some cubby-hole editors at Ballantine Books, fearful of contaminating the young, had, bit by bit, censored some 75 separate sections from the novel. Students, reading the novel which, after all, deals with censorship and book-burning in the future, write to tell me of this exquisite irony.
I’ve written this poem before but always through a window, never through an open door.
This guy in high school tried to run me over with his dad’s SUV. Bad shoved the vehicle through a store window.” The memory brought a smile to my face.
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