Seven, Richie thought. That's the magic number. There has to be seven of us. That's the way it's supposed to be.
Seven, Richie thought. That's the magic number. There has to be seven of us. That's the way it's supposed to be.
And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Edward was sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be more aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and touch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands balling into fists. I was losing my mind.
And the most terrifying question of all may be just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring, unrelenting sanity.
Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more excruciating, than the thought of turning away from him. it was an impossibility.
Free at last, he thought. Great God Almighty, I'm free at last. Then: I believe this is redemption. And it's good, isn't it? Quite good, indeed.
Because when I thought of him, of his voice, his hypnotic eyes, the magnetic force of his personality, I wanted nothing more than to be with him right now.
Any thoughts of guilt, any feelings of regret, had faded. The desert had baked them out.
Carlisle has a theory...he believes that we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified - like our minds, and our senses.
Few if any seemed to have grasped the Principle of Reality; new knowledge leads always to yet more awesome mysteries. Greater physiological knowledge of the brain makes the existence of the soul less possible yet more probable by the nature of the search.
I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through my mind.
At Hartford or New Haven or one of those other places where no one in their right fucking mind would want to live.
I was thinking about how disjointedly time seemed to flow in Forks, passing in a blur at times, with single images standing out more clearly than others. And then, at other times, every second was significant, etched in my mind. I knew exactly what caused the difference, and it disturbed me.
It is one thing to make a mistake, and quite another thing not to admit it. People will forgive mistakes, because mistakes are usually of the mind, mistakes of judgment. But people will not easily forgive the mistakes of the heart, the ill intention, the bad motives, the prideful justifying cover-up of the first mistake.
Salander assessed the situation and saw that it was anything but under control. Her brain was working at high speed. Click, click, click.
Sow a thought, reap an action; sow an action, reap a habit; sow a habit, reap a character; sow a character, reap a destiny.
Salander was afraid of no-one and nothing. She realized that she lacked the necessary imagination - and that was evidence enough that there was something wrong with her brain.
We not not our feelings. We are not our moods. We not even our thoughts.
She wondered what she thought of herself, and came to the realization that she felt mostly indifference towards her entire life.
How dare you imprint on my baby? Have you lost you mind?
You think you want to know something, and then once you do, all you can think about is erasing it from your mind.
What do I look like? The Wizard of Oz? You need a brain? You need a heart? Go ahead, take mine. Take everything I have.
You're exactly like Charlie. Once you make up your mind, there is no reasoning with you. Of course, exactly like Charlie, you stick by your decisions, too.
Eddie discovered one of his childhood's great truths. Grownups are the real monsters, he thought.
Just curious. Like James and Victoria had been curious in the beginning? The thought of Victoria made me tremble, thought the one thing they seemed certain of was that it had not been her. Not this time. She would stick to her obsessed pattern. This was just someone else, a stranger.
I felt that thread that had come between us, tugging, tugging at my heart - so hard, it hurt me. A hundred times I almost rose, almost went in to her; a hundred times I thought, Go to her! Why are you waiting? Go back to her side! But every time, I thought of what would happen if I did. I knew that I couldn't lie beside her, without wanting to touch her. I couldn't have felt her breath upon my mouth, without wanting to kiss her. And I couldn't have kissed her, without wanting to save her.
Below me Rontu was running along the cliffs barking at the screaming gulls. Pelicans were chattering as they finished the blue water. But suddenly I thought of Tutok, and the island seemed very quiet.
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.
Dying is one of those things that can't be fixed. Not by talking about it, not with all the brain surge in the world.
Under the strain of this continually impending doom and by the sleeplessness to which I now condemned myself, ay, even beyond what I had thought possible to man, I became, in my own person, a creature eaten up and emptied by fever, languidly weak both in body and mind, and solely occupied by one thought: the horror of my other self.
My name is tally youngblood and my mind is very ugly
This grove, that was now so peaceful, must then have rung with cries, I thought; and even with the thought I could believe I heard it ringing still.
She thought of the orchids spreading across the plains below, choking the life out of other plants, out of the soil itself, selfish and unstoppable. Tally Youngblood was a weed. And, unlike the orchids, she wasn't even a pretty one.
If your mind is truly, profoundly stuck, then it might be much better off than when it was loaded with ideas
The very idea of making shoes by hand boggled her mind.
Of course, the laws of science contain no matter and have no energy either and therefore do not exist except in people's minds. It's best to be completely scientific about the whole thing and refuse to believe in either ghosts or the laws of science. That way you're safe. That doesn't leave you very much to believe in, but that's scientific too.
Great minds may have cold hearts. Form but no color. It is an incompleteness. And so they are afraid of any woman who both thinks and feels deeply.
The test of the machine is the satisfaction it gives you. There isn't any other test. If the machine produces tranquility it's right. If it disturbs you it's wrong until either the machine or your mind is changed.
Clearly she was expected to say something, but panic at having to speak stole the thoughts from her head.
When analytic thought, the knife, is applied to experience, something is always killed in the process.
Hill House, she thought, You're as hard to get into as heaven.
But so far, the invisible line was holding, separating the potential from its realization. Strange, that invisible lines could be so powerful, thought Maneck--strong as brick walls.
I am like a small creature swallowed whole by a monster, she thought, and the monster feels my tiny movements inside.
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...
No, the menace of the supernatural is that it attacks where modern minds are weakest, where we have abandoned our protective armor of superstition and have no substitute defense.
She sometimes thought she was going crazy. Her first thought when she woke up was always how to get him out of her thoughts. And she would keep watch, hoping to see him next door, while plotting ways to never have to see him again.
That moment. That instant when your fingers curl round the handles of a shiny, uncreased bagùand all the gorgeous new things inside it become yours. WhatÆs it like? ItÆs like going hungry for days, then cramming your mouth full of warm buttered toast. ItÆs like waking up and realizing itÆs the weekend. ItÆs like the better moments of sex. Everything else is blocked out of your mind. ItÆs pure, selfish pleasure.
Watching him, I thought, not for the first time that night, that maybe it should have felt strange to be with him, here, now. And yet it didnÆt, at all. That was one of the things about the night. Stuff that would be weird in the bright light of day just wasnÆt so much once you passed a certain hour. It was like the dark just evened it all out somehow.
A man, though wise, should never be ashamed of learning more, and must unbend his mind.
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.
There are few things worse than having feelings for someone you shouldn't, and I don't like where my thoughts were headed.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories