A Quote by Francine Pascal
Jessica walked away from Aaron and Ken, flashing them both a big smile. They were both very attractive - she had dated each of them a number of times. In fact, not too long ago she had contemplated falling in love with Ken for lack of anything better to do.
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I didn't have a chance to buy you anything," she said, then held both closed hands toward him. Uncurled her fingers. In each cupped palm a brown egg. He took them. They were cold. He thought it a tender, wonderful thing to do. She had given him something, the eggs, after all, only a symbol, but they had come from her hands as a gift. To him. It didn't matter that he'd bought them himself at the supermarket the day before. He imagined she understood him, that she had to love him to know that it was the outstreched hands, the giving, that mattered.
Talking with Ken Shamrock was almost a one-way conversation. I knew Ken was a tough guy, one of the toughest in the world at one time and still tough as nails. I had heard he had a tough background, but there are two times in that interview when I teared up. I'm "Stone Cold" Steve Austin, and I didn't cry, but I teared up. Ken saw me, and he almost started tearing up, too. I'd never experienced anything like that. To hear some of the things that he went through, my jaw was on the floor.
I actually love...Well I love both of them [Paris Hilton or Britney Spears] but I really love Paris Hilton. I interviewed her once, she had a record coming out. She was DJing and promoting that. It was actually only a couple of years ago. She had her persona in tact when I was interviewing her and then after we broke she came for a cigarette with me and I just found it so... she's so intelligent and interesting and obviously is playing the game.
When he thought of her, it rather amazed him, that he had let that girl with her violin go. Now, of course, he saw that her self-effacing proposal was quite irrelevant. All she had needed was the certainty of his love, and his reassurance that there was no hurry when a lifetime lay ahead of them. Love and patience- if only he had had them both at once- would surely have seen them both through.
Can I say anything good about Ken Livingstone? A long time ago he did some good things, but I can't now remember what any of them were.
I asked each if [Yao Xingtong and Zhang Lanxin] was afraid of heights. Each said no, and although they had never had the action movie experience they were willing to be trained. Then I asked if they could swim, and each said yes, but she (gestures toward YX) is better. She said, I can also dive, in fact I once won a diving championship in an international competition. Then she said, "But big brother, I'm not very strong," and I said that's all right.
She had, without realizing it at the time, learned to follow Nick's gaze, learned to learn his lust...his desires remained memorized within her. She looked at the attractive women he would look at...She had become him: she longed for these women. But she was also herself, and so she despised them. She lusted after them, but she also wanted to beat them up. A rapist. She had become a rapist, driving to work in a car.
She raised her eyes to his. They had both come from misery, she thought, and survived it. They had been drawn together through violence and tragedy, and had overcome it. They walked different paths and had found a mutual route. Some things last, she thought. Some ordinary things. Like love.
Yes, of course I love little Sarah Jessica Parker. I love the fact that when she accepts awards, she thanks everyone she's ever met and inanimate objects that have 'been kind to her.' And I love the fact that she hasn't had a flesh-coloured mole removed from her forehead (I'm not making it up; have a closer look next time she's on the screen).
And then she thought that you went on living one day after another, and in time you were somebody else, your previous self only like a close relative, a sister or brother, with whom you shared a past. But a different person, a separate life. Certainly neither she nor Inman were the people they had been the last time they were together. And she believed maybe she liked them both better now.
Both Socrates and Jesus were outstanding teachers; both of them urged and practiced great simplicity of life; both were regarded as traitors to the religion of their community; neither of them wrote anything; both of them were executed; and both have become the subject of traditions that are difficult or impossible to harmonize.
In Tereza’s eyes, books were the emblems of a secret brotherhood. For she had but a single weapon against the world of crudity surrounding her: the novels. She had read any number of them, from Fielding to Thomas Mann. They not only offered the possibility of an imaginary escape from a life she found unsatisfying; they also had a meaning for her as physical objects: she loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It had the same significance for her as an elegant cane from the dandy a century ago. It differentiated her from others.
I dated all these girls and ended up not liking them and thought to myself, 'What was it that all of them had in common?' They had too much time on their hands. Even though they were pretty, they lacked something. A woman could be less attractive but with ambition and drive, that's the most beautiful thing.
Life had stopped for her a long time ago. She was so out of touch with her feelings that she had no joy in her life and no concept of the fact that she could be wrong. She delivered her care of her insane patients in a killing manner, but she was convinced she was right.
I don't know about you, but I have to sleep. I had a long night and I'm exhausted." She was rather tired, too. But as she slid her gaze to the fake leather sofa, she realized it would never fit both of them. Hunter grinned at her. "You take the couch, I'll sleep on the floor." "Can you do that?" "I've slept in worse places." "Yeah, but don't you need a coffin?
She saved my life...and I’ve ruined hers. They sat in silence for a full minute, the air between them growing heavy, as if they both wanted to speak, and yet had nothing to say. They were strangers, after all, on a brief and bizarre journey that had just reached a fork in the road, each of them now needing to find seperate paths.
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