If you and I are friends, there is an expectancy that exists within our relationship. When we see each other or are apart, there is an expectancy of being together, of laughing and talking. The expectancy has no concrete definition; it is alive and dynamic and everything that emerges from our being together is a unique gift shared by no one else.
It was one of the queer things of life that you saw a person every day for months and were so intimate with him that you could not imagine existence without him; then separation came, and everything went on in the same way, and the companion who had seemed essential proved unnecessary.
All the world used her ill, said this young misanthropist, and we may be pretty certain that persons whom all the world treats ill, deserve entirely the treatment they get. The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn look sourly upon you; laugh at it and with it, and it is a jolly kind companion; and so let all young persons take their choice.
Have you ever had a difference with a dear friend? How his letters, written in the period of love and confidence, sicken and rebuke you! What a dreary mourning it is to dwell upon those vehement protests of dead affection! What lying epitaphs they make over the corpse of love! What dark, cruel comments upon Life and Vanities! Most of us have got or written drawers full of them. They are closet-skeletons which we keep and shun
In a word, in adversity she was the best of comforters, in good fortune the most troublesome of friends...
In the midst of friends, home, and kind parents, she was alone.
Who has not remarked the readiness with which the closest of friends and honestest of men suspect and accuse each other of cheating when they fall out on money matters? Everybody does it. Everybody is right, I suppose, and the world is a rogue.
Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.- Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!
He hath disgrac'd me and hind'red me half a million; laugh'd at my losses, mock'd at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated my enemies. And what's his reason? I am a Jew.
She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.
Nothing could be taken for granted. Women who loved you tried to cut your throat, while women who didn't even know your name scrubbed your back. Witches could sound like Katharine Hepburn and your best friend could try to strangle you. Smack in the middle of an orchid there might be a blob of jello and inside a Mickey Mouse doll, a fixed and radiant star.
A disquieting loneliness came into my life, but it induced no hunger for friends of longer acquaintance: they seemed now like a salt-free, sugarless diet.
Who knows a man's name, holds that man's life in his keeping. Thus to Ged, who had lost faith in himself, Vetch had given him that gift that only a friend can give, the proof of unshaken, unshakeable trust.
He loved books; books are cold but safe friends.
It's a hard thing to explain to somebody who hasn't felt it, but the presence of death and danger has a way of bringing you fully awake. It makes things vivid. When you're afraid, really afraid, you see things you never saw before, you pay attention to the world. You make close friends. You become part of a tribe and you share the same blood- you give it together, you take it together.
Yet it is true-skin can mean a great deal. Mine means that any man may strike me in a public place and never fear the consequences. It means that my friends do not always like to be seen with me in the street. It means that no matter how many books I read, or languages I master, I will never be anything but a curiosity-like a talking pig or a mathematical horse.
Remembering from last year how Haymitch's gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. Be friends with Finnick. You'll get food.
So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends. - Peeta Mellark
Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything screams in my dreams tonight.
Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us.
It's my new best friend, Claudius Templesmith, and as I expected it, he's inviting us to a feast.
When Mister Safety Catch Is Not On, Mister Crossbow Is Not Your Friend.
They spoke very little of their mutual feelings: pretty phrases and warm attentions being probably unnecessary between such tried friends.
Her companion, also in black, appeared as a well-formed young woman about 18, completely possessed of that ephemeral precious essence youth, which is itself beauty, irrespective of complexion or contour.
Yeah, I'll always be your friend. No matter what you love.
And he was my friend. Not that he wouldn't kill me if things turned out that way, but he wouldn't like doing it. With humans, what more could you ask for a friend?
It's real interesting to have a soul as a friend, and it makes me feel super special that I've managed it.
I felt excited to go to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't the simulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edward Culllen. And that was very, very stupid.
I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be.
Where had I been that I didn't know about imaginary friends? I could see the point of it. How a lost part of yourself steps out and remind you who you could be with a little work.
Friends don't spy; true friendship is about privacy, too.
I'm going to put them in the slam, my friend, and if I hear they got their puckery little assholes cored down there in Thomaston, I'm gonna send them cards saying I hope whoever did it had AIDS.
Friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of regard.
Shall there be truth between us, as two men? Not as friends, but as enemies and equals?
Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.
I'm just here to be your friend. Your best friend, one last time.
He was my best friend. I would always love him, and it would never, ever be enough.
One open, one closed. It was no wonder that the first image that came to mind when I thought of either of my sisters was a door. With Kirsten, it was the front one to our house, through which she was always coming in or out, usually in mid-sentence, a gaggle of friends trailing behind her. Whitney's was the one to her bedroom, which she preferred to keep shut between her and the rest of us, always.
Hey, and for what it's worth? Friends don't leave you alone in the woods. Friends are the ones who come and take you out.
Many of our tribe went to the cliff each night to count the number killed during the day. They counted the dead otter and thought of the beads and other things that each pelt meant. But I never went to the cove and whenever I saw the hunters with their long spears skimming over the water, I was angry, for these animals were my friends. It was fun to see them playing or sunning themselves among the kelp. It more fun than the thought of beads to wear around my neck.
Her only way home was to betray her friend.
He has eyes so expressive they give a hint to more than what he portrays. He's dedicated to his friends, family, and even his motorcyle. He touched me as if I were made of glass. He kissed me as if he'd savor it for the rest of his life.
If you can't share with your friends, who can you share with?
I don't want to feel this way around him. I want things to be normal. I want to be his friend, not another stupid girl holding out for something that will never happen.
And things were back to normal except we were just friends.
I don't know how much longer I can keep going without a friend. I used to be able to do it very easily, but that was before I knew what having a friend was like.
O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if ever I read Satan's signature upon a face, it is on that of your new friend.
They used to be buddies, I thought, they used to be friends, and now they hate each other because one has to work for a living and the other comes from the West Side. They shouldn't hate each other...
Being left makes you doubt your ability to keep people, even friends.
What if all everybody needed in the world was to be sure of one friend? What if you were the one, and you refused to say those simple words?