Quotes About Expectations

He left you the fortune, Avery, and all he left us is you.

Sometimes you have an idea of a person — about who they are, about what you'd be like together. But sometimes that's all that it is: an idea. And for so long, I have been afraid that I loved the idea of Emily more than I will ever be capable of loving anyone real." He looked at me like the act of doing so was painful and sweet. "It was never just the idea of you, Avery.

Hawthornes aren't supposed to break, his voice whispered in my memory. Especially me.

They'd been sculpted by Tobias Hawthorne, formed and forged by the billionaire's hands. They were extraordinary, and for the first time in their lives, they weren't living under the weight of his expectations.

was starting to sink in that for the rest of my life, the people I met, the people I became close to—there would always be a chance that they saw me as a payout.

I've built three different companies from the ground up. You don't achieve what I have achieved without an eye to potential eventualities. Potential risks. Frankly, young man, I expected Skye to tell you about me years ago.

If I were a boy," Thea told him with a Southern belle smile, "people would just call me driven." "Thea." Constantine frowned at her. "Right." Thea dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "No feminism at the dinner table.

I this was what it meant to be a Hawthorne.

Do you know why Jameson was daddys favorite when by all rights it should have been perfect, dutiful Grayson?" "It wasn't because my Jamie is brilliant or beautiful or charismatic. It was because Jameson Winchester Hawthorne is hungry.

Sometimes, you have an idea of a person - about who they are, about what you'd be like together. But sometimes that's all it is: an idea.

I'm supposed to be stronger than this. I wanted to be stronger than this. For you"... "You don't have to be anything for me, Grayson." I wait until he opens his eyes, until he's looking at me. "This," I say. "You. It's enough"... "It will never be enough.

And then," Grayson said, "the old man was gone. And then... there was you." "Grayson." His name caught in my throat. Grayson just looked at me, his light eyes shadowed. "Sometimes, you have an idea of a person--about who they are, about what you'd be like together. But sometimes that's all it is: an idea"... "It was never just the idea of you, Avery.

You love fairy tales, I know, but I can't be your happily-ever-after. We can't stay here in our little castle forever.

But Tess always wondered—maybe people were better off with the watered-down version of life, life with blinders, filters, cars that ran and buildings that went up on time, simple, stupid, mindless jobs. Maybe they were happy.

You cannot expect life to go wonderfully. Terrible things might not be happening now...but they will. Probably to you. Your job is to accept that and live a nice life anyway.

If there's one thing i know, it's that no one can promise anything.

You're probably better at math than I am, because pretty much everyone's better at math than I am, but it's okay, I'm fine with it. See, I excel at other, more important things—guitar, sex, and consistently disappointing my dad, to name a few.

Let me ask you something. Do you think there's such a thing as a perfect day?" "What?" "A perfect day. Start to finish. When nothing terrible or sad or ordinary happens. Do you think it's possible?" "I don't know." "Have you ever had one?" "No." "I've never had one either, but I'm looking for it.

I like the way he seems to think I have many, many people depending on me, including not just one but multiple girlfriends.

Can go downstairs right now and let my mom know how I'm feeling—if she's even home—but she'll tell me to help myself to the Advil in her purse and that I need to relax and stop getting myself worked up, because in this house there's no such thing as being sick unless you can measure it with a thermometer under the tongue. Things fall into categories of black and white—bad mood, bad temper, loses control, feels sad, feels blue.

I can go downstairs right now and let my mom know how I am feeling-if she's even home-but she'll tell me to help myself to the Advil in her purse and that I need to relax and stop getting myself worked up, because in this house there's no such thing as being sick unless you can measure it with a thermometer under the tongue. Things fall into categories of black and white- bad mood, bad temper, loses control, feels sad, feels blue.

Because it always ends the same, right? You have a good time and they have a good time and everyone's having fun, and then once the chase is over, suddenly they start chasing after someone else like you never existed. Besides, I like being me too much.

It's easy to give everyone what they want. What's expected. The problem with doing this is you lose sight of where you truly begin and where the fake you, the one who tries to be everything to everyone, ends.

See, I excel at other, more important things—guitar, sex, and consistently disappointing my dad, to name a few.