Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Quotes

A divided heart offers a strange sensation.

I am sorry," was all Drizzt could quietly mouth. Vierna shook her head, refusing any apology. To Drizzt, it seemed as if that buried part of her that was Zaknafein Do'Urden's daughter approved of this ending.

I don’t stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You’ll never be able to let him go. You’ll always feel wrong about being with me.” “The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you,” I say. Gale holds my gaze. “If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it.

I'm a war of head versus heart, it's always this way. My head is weak, my heart always speaks, before I know what it will say.

My brained warned me, but my heart didn't want to take its advice.

He should be the one to die, part of me thinks. I don't want to lose him, another part argues. I don't know which part to believe.

Life is very difficult. It seems right to me sometimes that we should follow our strongest feelings; but then such feelings continually come across the ties that all our former life has made for us,--the ties that have made others dependent on us,--and would cut them in two.

You can take the high moral ground intellectually, but if it ever happens to you personally, I don't know that I could honestly say that I wouldn't want to kill someone who took someone away from me. So, it's a rich, fertile ground for great characters and great storytelling. That was the impetus.

I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night. I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye.

I hate, and yet must love the thing I hate.

I am gay on the outside, especially among my own folk (I count Poles my own); but inside something gnaws at me; some presentiment, anxiety, dreams - or sleeplessness - melancholy, indifference - desire for life, and the next instant, desire for death; some kind of sweet peace, some kind of numbness, absent-mindedness.

We as beings are very contradictory, complicated creatures that work in our best interest and against our best interest. In a certain way, I want my work to have all that messiness.

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

Let me say to begin with: It is not neurotic to have conflict ... Conflicts within ourselves are an integral part of human life.

I am a jumble of passions, misgivings, and wants. It seems that I am always in a state of wishing and rarely in a state of contentment.

She knew, of course that she was being supremely unfair, that Franz was the best man she ever had- he was intelligent, he understood her paintings, he was handsome and good-but the more she thought about it, the more she longed to ravish his intelligence, defile his kindheartedness, and violate his powerless strength

I've made love to my mother, killed my father, and my brother. What am I to do?

[Neurotics are] torn by inner conflicts ... Every neurotic ... is at war with himself.

In suffocating the voice of conscience, passion carries with itself a restlessness of the body and the senses: it is the restlessness of the "external man." When the internal man has been reduced to silence, then passion, once it has been given freedom of action, so to speak, exhibits itself as an insistent tendency to satisfy the senses and the body.

I believe there's a killer in all of us. I know there's one inside me. When you know the killer in you and you know also that you do not want to kill, you have to set yourself upon a course of learning. Not to kill that killer then, but to control it.

You couldn't do it?" Rob Lynburn sneered. "I know her," Ash said in a low voice. "I can't... hurt someone I know.

He looks like the sort of man who can't afford to leave, and doesn't want to stay, and so he is doing both at once.

My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.

Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

I hated this. I hated knowing what I wanted and knowing what was right and knowing they weren't the same thing.