What a time to have a brain-to-mouth filter malfunction.
I can’t bear to hurt you because I love you.
My favorite sound in the whole world is your giggle, Anastasia.
There is something about Christian that is old-fashioned and romantic.
Oh no! My subconscious slams down her Complete Works of Charles Dickens, leaps up from her armchair, and puts her hands on her hips.
Oh my.
I don’t know any other way. Anastasia. This is who I am.
My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.
I’m intoxicated with this man, my man, my Fifty Shades.
Three little words. My world stands still, tilts, then spins on a new axis.
Like Eve, you’re so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge.
Are you gay, Mr. Grey?
Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things.
The pain is such that I refuse to acknowledge it. I feel numb. I have somehow escaped from my body and am now a casual observer to this unfolding tragedy.
For the first time in twenty-one years, I want to be kissed. I want to feel his mouth on mine.
If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone.
I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals and dreams, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, to share my hopes and dreams with you, and bring you solace in times of need.
I can’t stay. I know what I want and you can’t give it to me, and I can’t give you what you need.
In the back of my mind, my mother’s often-recited warning comes to me: ‘Never trust a man who can dance.
I never know what you’re thinking. Sometimes you’re so closed off... like an island slate. You intimidate me. That’s why I keep quiet. I don’t know which way your mood is going to go. It swings from north to south and back again in a nanosecond.