Quotes About Waiting

Raspberry iced tea for Irving, water for Tom, a soda for me, and Hans insisted that I bring Mr. Addison a nice chilled root beer. She handed them over, then leaned against Rick's arm as she popped the tab of her Diet Coke and took a drink. Anything yet? she whispered. Not so far, Richard answered, careful not to move. Sometimes he felt like a hunter trying to lure a deer into a trap. Don't move, or she'll remember you're there and run away .

The dead have a long reach. And they can be patient. They wait till you are ready, and then they seep back into your heart and crack it open.

Goddamn it. Wait for me, Eva. I waited my whole life for you.

Why?" He frowned. "You know there's no one else for either of us. What are you waiting for?

I'm not going to have what I want from you until you've reached the end of the road with him. I've got all the time in the world. I can wait 'til you get there.

Oh my God." She waited for the chastising sting of the mark, which acted like a behavioral-modification dog collar. When the burn didn't come after taking the Lord's name in vain, she found some of the fog in her brain lifting.

I dropped my pencil onto the notepad I'd been scribbling in, then sat back on the couch and curled my legs onto the cushion. It was rolling past nine o'clock and I hadn't heard from Gideon yet. I didn't know if that was a good or bad sign, considering he'd had an appointment with Dr. Petersen earlier.

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I'll laugh. And then I'll know what life is.

I wait and ache.

I waited, as if the sea could make my decision for me.

If you have no past or no future, which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide. But the cold reasoning mass of gray entrail in my cranium which parrots, 'I think, therefore I am,' whispers that there is always the turning, the upgrade, the new slant. And so I wait.

Waiting for the right wonderful person is so much more important than getting the outer comforts of marriage at an early age.

Everywhere the pallid waiting. And you are the moving epitome of all this. Of you, by you, for you. God, is this all it is, the ricocheting down the corridor of laughter and tears? Of self-worship and self-loathing? Of glory and disgust?

Dziewicza strona, bia?a. Pierwsza skalana i odrzucona. Wszystkie te marzenia, obietnice: czekanie, a? b?d? mog?a znowu pisa?, a potem bolesny, sfuszerowany gwa?t na pierwszej kartce.

Elaine sat on the breezeway in an old yellow nightgown of her mother's waiting for something to happen.' [...] I sat like that for about an hour, trying to think what would come next, and in my mind, the barefoot doll in her mother's old yellow nightgown sat and stared into space as well.

I shall doggedly work, wait and expect the minimum.

I haven't had an acceptance since October 1st. And I have piles of poems and stories out. Not to mention my book of poems. Even Ted's letter about winning the contest, with its award details, hasn't come, so even vicarious pleasure is shorn from me. Bills come.

must work for a state in myself which is stoic: the old state of working & waiting. I have had the most unfortunate hap: the bright glittery youth from 17 to 20 and then the break-up and the dead lull while I fight to make the experiences of my early maturity available to my typewriter.

And to wait, taut, smiling, till evening, and the time after eight o'clock, again, to the time you go to bed, which is yours, which is brief and private.

I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope; for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.

What shall we do tomorrow What shall we ever do? We shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door

What shall I do now? What shall I do? I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? What shall we ever do? The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

We wait, we wait, And the saints and martyrs wait, for those who shall be martyrs and saints. Destiny waits in the hand of God, shaping the still unshapen: I have seen these things in a shaft of sunlight. Destiny waits in the hand of God, not in the hands of statesmen Who do, some well, some ill, planning and guessing, Having their aims which turn in their hands in the pattern of time.

Why should they wait until I came back to Wishwood? There were a thousand places where I might have met them! Why here? why here? Many happy returns of the day, mother.