A Quote by Becca Fitzpatrick

I have a free couple of hours," I told him, walking toward my car, which was parked on the next block. "There's a very private, very secluded barn in Lookout Hill Park behind the carousel. I could be there in fifteen minutes." I heard the smile in his voice. "You want me bad.
What's going on?" Kynan asked Luc smiled, which was little more than a baring of his teeth. "She's a warg. She knows I know, but I'm guessing her human buddies don't know. She's afraid I'll tell." "Are you going to?" "That depends." "On what?" Luc's voice dropped an octave. "Whether or not she gives me what I want." "And that is?" "Fifteen minutes. Naked." "That's blackmail." Luc snorted. "Wargs call it negotiation." "So you want fifteen minutes...what will she want?" "With me?" Luc winked. "Two hours.
She heard the very beginning of a smile in his voice--a fetal smile--and it very nearly killed her.
I've been riding the carousel in Central Park since I was five years old. If I'm very depressed or if something's bothering me today, my husband, Larry, and I go back to the park. We get on the carousel horse and we start riding, and I start singing at the top of my lungs. It is pure and absolute joy and happiness.
In the future, everyone will have fifteen minutes of fame. Followed by fifteen minutes of legal problems, fifteen minutes of ridicule from late-night TV hosts, fifteen minutes of obscurity, and fifteen minutes of "Where are they now?".
I left my car parked at the top of Lombard Street Hill, and I forgot to put the breaks on. It's the funniest thing. The car is running down the hill.
Not long ago, an English writer telephoned me from London, asking questions. One was "What's your alma mater?" I told him, "Books." You will never catch me with a free fifteen minutes in which I'm not studying something I feel might be able to help the black man.
Would a minute have mattered? No, probably not, although his young son appeared to have a very accurate internal clock. Possibly even 2 minutes would be okay. Three minutes, even. You could go to five minutes, perhaps. But that was just it. If you could go for five minutes, then you'd go to ten, then half an hour, a couple of hours...and not see your son all evening. So that was that. Six o'clock, prompt. Every day. Read to young Sam. No excuses. He'd promised himself that. No excuses. No excuses at all. Once you had a good excuse, you opened the door to bad excuses.
I've heard of people stopping their cars, having car wrecks, all kinds of things. But most of the banjo players I know had that moment when they heard Earl Scruggs. So, for me, it transcends the technique. It's the musician in him and his personality, his musical personality, such great taste, such great technique, very, very creative.
I heard someone's playing hooky,' Zach told me. He smiled. Standing there, it felt almost like nothing bad had ever happened- or would ever happen again 'There's a boy in my life,' I told him. 'He's a very bad influence.' Then Zach nodded. 'Bad boys have a way of doing that. But they're worth it.
For every IP block, DRM, and who-knows-what security feature Hollywood spends thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours on, some piracy kid will undo it for free and within a couple of minutes.
She thumped him again. He looked startled, then caught her flying fist in his hand and gently pried her fingers open. Very carefully he pressed a kiss into the exact center of her palm. 'Savannah? Were you trying to hit me?' 'I didn't hit you--twice, you scum. You didn't even notice the first time.' She sounded very irritated with him. For some reason it made him want to smile. 'I apologize, mon amour. Next time, I promise I will notice when you strike me.' The hard edge to his mouth softened into a semblance of a smile. 'I will even go so far as to pretend that it hurts, if you wish it.
My worst habit is probably that I'm extremely messy. I'm a big scatter-brain - I'm always losing my car keys, or worse, forgetting where I parked my car in the car park.
I'm very expressive, but I'm also a very private person. It is so hard to be private in the entertainment business. I'm really glad that I was famous and successful at the time I was because it was bad enough then in a profession which tended to eat you up and never give you any free time. But I think that the youngsters today have a really bad time from every angle.
Link is a quiet man to meet- easy and courteous. His music, though, betrays that deep inside he gets very very mean very often. I remember being made very uneasy the first time I heard Rumble , and yet very excited by the guitar sound. And his voice! He sounds like a cross between Jagger and Van Morrison, even sometimes like Robbie Robertson. We met him in New York in 1970 while recording Who's Next.... this later inspired the b-side Wasp Man, a tune we dedicated to Link Wray.
I once heard a sober alcoholic say that drinking never made him happy, but it made him feel like he was going to be happy in about fifteen minutes. That was exactly it, and I couldn't understand why the happiness never came, couldn't see the flaw in my thinking, couldn't see that alcohol kept me trapped in a world of illusion, procrastination, paralysis. I lived always in the future, never in the present. Next time, next time! Next time I drank it would be different, next time it would make me feel good again.
I am very bad at taking compliments. Even in school, when people told me that I look good, I could just manage an awkward thank you and a smile.
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