Door Stop Quotes

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Door Stop Quotes

In the long evenings in west Beirut, there was time enough to consider where the core of the tragedy lay. In the age of Assyrians, the Empire of Rome, in the 1860s perhaps? In the french mandate? In Auschwitz? In Palestine? In the rusting front-door keys now buried deep in the rubble of Chatila? In the 1978 Israeli invasion? In the 1982 invasion? Was there a point where one could have said: Stop, beyond this point there is no future? Did I witness the point of no return in 1976? That 12 year-old on the broken office chair in the ruins of the Beirut front line. Now he was in his mid-twenties - if he was still alive - a gunboy, no more. A gunman, no doubt ...
— Robert Fisk —

To stop Maria before she ruined everything, he grabbed her about the waist, hauled her against him, and sealed his mouth to hers.
At first she seemed too stunned to do anything. When after a moment, he felt her trying to draw back from him, he caught her behind the neck with an iron grip.
"Oh," Gran said in a stiff voice. "Beg pardon."
Dimly he heard the door close and footsteps retreating, but before he could let Maria go, a searing pain shot through his groin, making him see stars. Blast her, the woman had kneed him in the ballocks!
As he doubled over, fighting to keep from passing out, she snapped, "That was for making me look like a whore, too!

— Sabrina Jeffries

A lie is like a cat: you need to stop it before it gets out the door or it's really hard to catch.

— Charles M. Blow

Jamie: Maybe you could stop being a neat freak and ease off with barking orders at me.
Dante: I resent the neat-freak statement. And I do not bark.
Jamie: Sure you don't, Popeye.
Dante: And it wouldn't kill you to use the shoe rack. I mean, it's right by the door.
Jamie: Stop putting my CD's in chronological order, and I'll work on the shoe rock thing.
Dante: How about alphabetical order?
Jamie: How about you go to therapy?

— Suzanne Wrightt

Stop wasting your time looking for the key to happiness ... the door is open and unlocked ... just walk through it.

— Steve Maraboli

He crossed his arms on his chest. "You do know with this shit you're pullin' that no way in fuck I'm ever gonna stop and help a woman change her tire again." "That's fifty cents." He stared at me. Then he turned on his boot and stalked to the door, muttering, "Fuck me." "Sixty cents!" I yelled at his back.

— Kristen Ashley

Beatrice?" he whispered. "Yes," she said, moving so she could maintain eye contact with him until the last possible second. "I'm Beatrice. You were my first kiss. I fell asleep in your arms in your precious orchard." Gabriel sprang forward to stop the elevator door from closing. "Beatrice! Wait!" He

— Sylvain Reynard

It's like a door open at the side of the house and this cool breeze is blowing in over the back of my neck. The breeze is Death whispering and that door is open for me to go through anytime I want. And I want to go through. I want the confusion to stop
no, not only confusion but pain too.

— Walter Mosley

Good-bye,' I said to them, but they didn't seem to hear me, and why would they have wanted to? Why would they have wanted to do with the world outside of each other? Outside each other, they were mean little human beings like the rest of us, the kind of people you both loathed and pitied. Separately, they were characters, and not in a good way. But together they were something to wonder at and maybe even envy. I had this unoriginal thought as I walked out the door and toward my van: love changes us, makes us into people whom others then want to love. That's why, to those of us without it, love is the voice asking, What else? What else? And to those of us who have had love and lost it or thrown it away, then love is the voice that leads us back to love, to see if it might still be ours or if we've lost it, love is also the thing that makes us speak in aphorisms about love, which is why we try to get love back, so we can stop speaking that way. Aphoristically, that is.

— Brock Clarke

We all jumped-a cab with its light on skidded across the lane to us, throwing up a fan of sewer-smelling water. "Watch it!" said Goldie, leaping aside as the taxi plowed to a stop-and then observing that my mother had no umbrella. "Wait," he said, starting into the lobby, to the collection of lost and forgotten umbrellas that he saved in a brass can by the fireplace and re-distributed on rainy days. "No," my mother called, fishing in her bag for her tiny candy-striped collapsible, "don't bother, Goldie, I'm all set-" Goldie sprang back to the curb and shut the taxi door after her. Then he leaned down and knocked on the window. "You have a blessed day," he said. iii. I LIKE TO THINK of myself as a perceptive person (as

— Donna Tartt

Open shelving may be fashionable, but a closed cabinet door is the best way to stop grease and dust collecting in the first place.

— Sheherazade Goldsmith

He pushes his hair, soaked from the snow, out of his eyes. "So what are we going to do, break a window? Look for a back door?"
"I'm just going to walk in," I say. "I'm her son."
"You also betrayed her and left the city when she forbade anyone from doing that," he says, "and she sent people after you to stop you. People with guns."
"You can stay here if you want," I say.
"Where the serum goes, I go," he says. "But if you get shot at, I'm going to grab it and run."
"I don't expect anything more."
He is a strange sort of person.

— Veronica Roth

I jerked to a stop at the door to my room. "What's wrong with my boots?" I said, thinking they were the only thing that I was going to keep on. Ah ... the only thing from this outfit, not the only thing total.

— Kim Harrison

God put thorns around the
Love's door to stop anyone
who's not a Lover from entering.

— Rumi

Every year on my birthday I get a small dash on my inner thigh where my balls currently hang. You can't tell me that's not going to be a beautiful work of art when it's finished. My grandkids are playing with my balls, they can't figure it out. They're like, 'What are these things?' I'm like, 'It's your future, read the chart.' They don't stop growing; they're like earlobes. That joke was inspired by a door that wasn't locked when I was 11.

— Daniel Tosh

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