Best 38 quotes in «stalking quotes» category

But at the very moment she was thinking these thoughts, adventure, as she afterwards told my Mother, was stalking her.

Death. It is a strange stalker, one that we spend our whole lives running from, some more successful than others.

Dark alleys, like social networks, are romantic, because you never know what might happen while I perform there every Caturday night. Cats do know, but won't tell. So don’t even ask.

Huggies from my Juggies

Dorcas wasn't a fast walker. It was difficult for me to keep behind her. I tried to let others, joggers, and bicyclists, come between us. I followed her past a field where girls were playing soccer, and into the woods bordering Catamount Creek. The smell of pine needles underfoot was sharp, pungent. I seemed to know that I would always associate that smell with this afternoon, and with Dorcas.

I ate a lot of candy and engaged in light stalking: I prowled Blythe’s Instagram and Twitter, I read her reviews, considered photos of her baked goods and watched from a distance as she got on her soapbox – at one point bragging she was the only person she knew who used her real name and profession online. As my fascination mounted, and my self-loathing deepened, I reminded myself that there are worse things than rabid bloggers (cancer, for instance) and that people suffer greater degradations than becoming writers. But still, I wanted to respond.

I cover my eyes with both hands. I think I'm either going to vomit or cry. At the moment, I can't decide which would make me feel better. I part my fingers to look at Matty. "It was only a few emails and texts." "A few?" "And maybe I showed up at ShopRite once or twice when he was getting off work. "Good way to keep busy after a breakup. Hoping incarceration would fill those empty hours?" Matty says.

I didn't look over my shoulder; there wasn't a sound behind me on the pavement, but I knew he was coming slowly after me. The crawl of the skin up and down my back told me. Little needles of warning that gathered at the back of my skull told me. I'd never known until then that the jungles aren't so very far behind us, after all, and tails, and four feet instead of two. Where else did those symptoms come from? ("Don't Wait Up For Me, Tonight")

How can I give up stalking when I have a family to feed? Get a job? I don't want to work for you, your work makes me puke, do you understand? This is the way I figure it: if a man works with you, he is always working for one of you, he is a slave and nothing else. And I always wanted to be myself, on my own, so that I could spit at you all, at your boredom and despair.

i am always stalking you, my dear. with my thoughts my words. my breath.

It’s better to not think about the night and how badly I want her, so I let it sort of stew there in my mind instead. And when I get her all to myself again, I’ll be grateful just to see her smile, just to have her with me. Even if it’s only for one more night.

I was deluded, and I knew it. Worse: my love for Pippa was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother's death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her back. All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness. I was seeing things that weren't there. I was only one step away from some trailer park loner stalking a girl he'd spotted in the mall. For the truth of it was: Pippa and I saw each other maybe twice a year; we e-mailed and texted, though with no great regularity; when she was in town we loaned each other books and went to the movies; we were friends; nothing more. My hopes for a relationship with her were wholly unreal, whereas my ongoing misery, and frustration, were an all-too-horrible reality. Was groundless, hopeless, unrequited obsession any way to waste the rest of my life?

If Jarod Kintz was a cat, he'd stalk people silently and deadly. Right now, all he does is bark at them for no good reason, like all the good people do.

Sealing your lips makes your eyes talk Truth creeps beneath your lame feet’s walk Knees stiffen when blood vessels stalk A pounding heart’s lies hard as rock

She had started driving past his apartment to see whether or not his car was out front. She had looked up his phone number, and twice she had called his apartment from the pay phone in school, knowing he wouldn’t be at home, just so she could hear how sexy his voice sounded on his answering machine. Was this what falling in love was supposed to feel like?

Only a woman is capable of stalking someone, just so she could have the pleasure of ignoring him.

One way of keeping your dreams alive is to keep it to yourself. It can save you and protect your dreams to a greater extent.

The Arab poet Silm Al Khaser wrote “He who watches people dies of worry” and his words have never been more potent than in today’s world where all people do is watch others and cater to them in return.

Simon leveled the gun at Will again. 'Now,' he said casually, 'someone's gonna die here in the next minute.' On the other side of the two-way mirror, Sammy took aim. 'That's exactly right,' she whispered.

We had, I felt, bared small pieces of our symmetrical souls to each other, fast, as if playing one of those breathless card games, and I had pretended to be as moved as I had been the first time I uncovered it all myself, back in East Hampton.

Where in the self-help section of Barnes and Noble does one find a guide on dealing with a supernatural stalker?

Stalking is a very difficult art to come to terms with, for in reality, you can’t apply yourself to it. This art inevitably has to apply itself to you.

We don't have dealings. He just stalks me. I'm popular like that.

Women never stalk men; they just research them intensely.

You're giving me fucking consent to stalk you? Oh, slave...

Would it discourage a stalker from stalking if he knew that they knew?

Your name. That’s all I want.” I debate on whether or not I should explain to him that my name isn't going to help him in his stalking endeavours.

Sometimes, when Bridget was in a particularly melodious mood, Sophie thought about stalking downstairs and pushing her into the oven like the with in 'Hansel and Gretel.

All I need is a badly mangled, irate sentence stalking me.

Stalking is an underrated startup strategy.

Being called ugly and fat and disgusting to look at from the time I could barely understand what the words meant has scarred me so deep inside that I have learned to hunt, stalk, claim, own and defend my own loveliness.

Generosity is often the stalking horse of control.

The umpire signals a bye with the air of a weary stalk

No man is competent unless he can stalk alone and armed in the wilderness.

And everywhere I turned: Riley and Amelia. I suppose this could have been because I was always following them around.

And there I was at night, chasing after the full moon behind the clouds like a mad man in search of the reflection of the light of love in another person, without daring to light up the spark of light that I had left within myself. It was nowhere to be seen, but I felt it was out there somewhere. I've surely seen it a couple of days ago up in the sky and my eyes couldn't have lied to me, it was so beautiful, or so it appeared to be. I guess I have to stop stalking what can't be seen for awhile and let the light of the full moon find its way through my messed up soul. Maybe it's time to go to sleep and trust that another sunrise will renew what the full moon couldn't clear away tonight. During all that time, I might've not found the light of the moon, but I rested deeply with the sound of the raindrops, while gazing at the quiet river flowing slowly. What a crucial moment to be alive!

Anyone has a right to make a fool of herself if she’s really in love,” Caroline said. “There aren’t any laws. But you have to realize everyone else does it too, and forgive yourself. That is a law.” “Whose law?” “Caroline’s law,” Caroline said. “Do you really believe that?” April asked softly. “I have to. I try to, that is.

... abhorrent and beyond inappropriate, reachable only through hours of hiking into the Realm of Really Goddam Wrong.