Best 45 quotes in «happy ending quotes» category

All Bette's stories have happy endings. That's because she knows where to stop. She's realized the real problem with stories - if you keep them going long enough, they always end in death.

Epic love story has only love between two people but do not have 'they lived happily ever after

Believe me, my parents are not going to wind up as a 'happily ever after." "Maybe not. But even if they don't, that doesn't mean it wasn't worth it for them. "How do you figure?" "Do you ever go back and reread books that you really love?" "Yes." This was probably so much of an understatement that it was actually a lie. "And you know what happens, right? Even in the tragedies. Look, Romeo and Juliet manage a double suicide, Beth dies and Laurie marries Amy, Rhett leaves Scarlett ..." "You read really girly books." He paused to roll his eyes at me. "I was trying to use examples you would know." "Sure." "The point is that we already know id doesn't work out, but we reread them anyway, because the good stuff that comes before the ending is worth it." This took me aback. It was a compelling argument- one I'd never considered. "Also!" Max shook his fingers as if giving a lecture. "In books, sometimes the foreshadowing is so obvious that you know what's going to happen. But knowing what happnes isn't the same as knowing how it happens. Getting there is the best part." (pg. 123/124)

Disease, then, is one of those bad experiences that turns information into knowledge and knowledge into wisdom. The bad experiences that make you love yourself and your body and the world. And make you know that you are in a game that has to have a happy ending.

And then I understood: only then, sipping nettle soup, tasting the green shoots, the force of life itself that had pushed the young nettles up through paving stones, cobbles, packed mud. Ugolino had flavored his dishes with this. With everything: our food. The steam that drifted, invisible, through the streets. The recipes, written in books or whispered on deathbeds. The pots people stirred every day of their lives: tripe, ribollita, peposo, spezzatino, bollito. Making circles with a spoon, painting suns and moons and stars in broth, in battuta. Writing, even those who don't know their letters, a lifelong song of love. Tessina dipped her spoon, sipped, dipped again. I would never taste what she was tasting: the alchemy of the soil, the ants which had wandered across the leaves as they pushed up towards the sun; salt and pepper, nettles; or just soup: good, ordinary soup. And I don't know what she was tasting now, as the great dome of the cathedral turns a deeper red, as she takes the peach from my hand and steals a bite. Does she taste the same sweetness I do? The vinegar pinpricks of wasps' feet, the amber, oozing in golden beads, fading into warm brown, as brown as Maestro Brunelleshi's tiles? I don't know now; I didn't then. But there was one thing we both tasted in that good, plain soup, though I would never have found it on my tongue, not as long as I lived. It had no flavor, but it was there: given by the slow dance of the spoon and the hand which held it. And it was love.

Carol raised her hand slowly and brushed her hair back, once on either side, and Therese smiled because the gesture was Carol, and it was Carol she loved and would always love. Oh, in a different way now because she was a different person, and it was like meeting Carol all over again, but it was still Carol and no one else. It would be Carol, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where they would go together, in heaven and in hell. Therese waited. Then as she was about to go to her, Carol saw her, seemed to stare at her incredulously a moment while Therese watched the slow smile growing, before her arm lifted suddenly, her hand waved a quick, eager greeting that Therese had never seen before. Therese walked toward her.

How can someone struggle for a happy ending.... If they don't believe in one.

If the final chapter of your life story is written by love, you are guaranteed a happy ending.

I had rescued myself entirely.

I honestly wish I could believe that things will end perfectly with one big bright happy ending. But these last few days have taught me that life isn't made up of shiny moments. Life is hard; it's gritty. One day you are filled with joy and the next, you are crawling through the muddy trenches with no inkling of when you might be able to climb your way back up again. ~Willow Mosby (Exposing ELE)

I'll never forget that, because you were right. And I know you weren't trying to teach me a lesson, but you did. Not everything is going to go my way and not everyone gets a happily ever after. Life is real and sometimes it’s ugly and you just have to learn how to cope. I’m going to accept it with a dose of your indifference, and move on.

I liked the ending of The Sopranos. The screen suddenly went black. In the middle of a scene. Without any of the plotlines being resolved. That's what real life is like. Everything keeps going, until someone turns off the lights and you're dead. And even then the story continues, without you. There is no such thing as a happy ending.

I'm afraid I've already found my Ever After, Hort," said Sophie. "What? With who?" Hort asked, aghast. "On my own," she said, her voice sure and clear. "I'm happy on my own." And for the first time, she knew it was true.

I’m realizing it doesn’t really matter if we have a happy ending or not. We’re happy right now. That’s the important part, right?

It doesn't matter what my life has been like, Samir. What matters is hope. If you don't believe in a happy ending, what are you living for?

In books and movies, all the loose ends are tired, things are resolved, mysteries are solved, they catch the killer, the boy gets the girl, a sick baby is miraculously healed. In reality it doesn't always work that way. The killer gets away, the girl is in love with another boy, things just get buried under new dramas and don't get resolved. Life is far more complicated than the life depicted in a book or a movie.

I spoke to him in poetry And instead of mocking a tongue he couldn’t understand he took time to learn my language

It isn't the happy ending Ingrid and I had dreamed up, but it's all a part of what I'm working through. The way life changes. The way people and things disappear. Then appear, unexpectedly, and hold you close.

Look Moy, see the chimneys, they've lit all the fires, they must have known we were going to try to drown ourselves. And Anax is running on ahead to bring the news.

It was like a comedy by Shakespeare. All the ends of the story were being bound up in a good way.

Taken from the dedication in my debut novel Exactly 23 days. To honour all women on International Women's day. For women everywhere: When you know you are finally mended, spread the word, hold out your hand, share some love from your heart and some laughter from your soul and be there for a new member of the sisterhood who needs your help. Let's all help our sisters worldwide to stand tall and know, they can and they will recover, survive and thrive, to live the life they deserve. To all the sisters who reached out and held my hand in whatever way you could, who cried my tears with me, and laughter my laughter too, I thank every one of you. I survived.

Not everyone has to ride off into the sunset with a man. Some of us just want a tan.

Sometimes your happy ending isn't finding love but finding the strength to move on.

Maybe in life you get all kinds of soulmates. Multiple people who vibrate at the same level you do. I think that's what Fred is for me. I just don't get to see his penis anymore. So, no, I don't get my happy-ending tongue kiss in the rain, but I did get my friend back. And I don't have to worry about running these busted knees around after any babies.

October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or shutting a book, did not end the tale. Having admitted that, he would also avow that happy endings were never difficult to find: "It is simply a matter," he explained to April, "of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content.

Some things you jes' know Doll, and that's one I'd bet the farm on.

There was no romantic ending for Charlotte, but that's where writing your own novel can be so useful.

...the prepared meal is far more appetizing that its raw beginnings there’s a lot of fight that goes into the happy ending

Those are such beautiful words aren't they? Happy ending?" Lilly says. They are. They so are. But after all she's seen, Nash doesn't know if she believes in those particular words. She believes in something intricate and thorny, she thinks then. What she believes is that the story goes on.

The ultimate act of heroism shouldn’t be death. You’re always saying you want to give Baz the stories he deserves... So you’re going to kill him off? Isn’t the best revenge supposed to be a life well-lived? The punk-rock way to end it would be to let them live happily ever after.

Two birds locked inside a cage, we aren’t supposed to last, And I guess we both could blame it on our past. But I’m out of excuses if you’re done with pretending, I’m ready to start the story that doesn’t have an ending.

Unearthing fragile or broken parts of one’s past is not denying the nourishment that too existed It is not denying the beauty nor the countless blessings that were also given...

What's the good of a story that ain't got a happy endin'?

We've got an entire lifetime ahead of us to do things like get married. But sometimes things in people's lives don’t happen in chronological order like they should. Especially in our lives. Our chronological order got mixed up a long time ago.

What am I searching for? Maybe its the beliefs I had as a child, that the world is a nice place, that people are genuinely who they say they are, that life is not simply what it is, where the sun shines and the stars glitter for me. Where am I going? I do not know but maybe I am just searching for those beliefs that lead to a happy ending...

What's the good of a story that ain't got a happy endin'?" the girl demanded, crossing her arms. Leo considered. "Maybe it does have a happy ending. At least, when it's actually complete. I mean, this part of it is sad. But maybe something good will come from it still? I suppose you have to read all the legends together to know for sure, but I don't know all of them. This one is sad, but there might be a story out there somewhere to make it happy." The girl nodded. "I'd like to know that story someday.

Would you come with me, Belle? Help me do this? We may not succeed... I may always be a beast." "No," Belle said with a smile, touching him on the nose. "You will always be my prince." "Well, you're not exactly what I wanted out of a son-in-law- because of your parents, not because of your form, I mean," Rosalind said quickly. "But you're certainly a fair bit better than that Gaston fellow... what is his story, if I may ask? Was he also a patient at the asylum?" Belle almost choked on her laughter. "No, and that was not the first time he proposed to me." "I think," Maurice said, putting his arms around the couple, "we should all have one last night together before you start out... just the four of us. There are a lot of stories to tell before we see you again." "And most of them," Belle observed with a smile, "seem to almost have a happy ending.

When a fairy tale ends a new one starts. Close your eyes and say ‘once upon a time’ with me; who knows we may catch the beginning of a fairy tale which will bless us with a happy ending.” By T. Afsin Ilgar - Ted`s Tale

Whenever the birds sing, I will remember you Claire. As long as the sun shines, I will love you. And when the sun darkens everything and the dead sky falls, I will hope to see life again, I will hope to see you. There was never much hope but a fool's hope and a fool am I.

When one is sitting in his bedroom and, happening to glance out the window, sees his little brother walking slowly down the driveway, he immediately jumps up, knocks over a stack of magazines piled up beside him, and runs through the doorway and down the hall. He throws open the front door, slams his body, against the screen, and hearing the tap tap tap behind him, jumps over the porch steps and down to the driveway. He stands several yards in front of his brother. He considers running, but doesn't. His arms and legs are shaking. His bottom lip between his teeth, he walks slowly and carefully, making not a sound. He stops, reaches one arm out, and pokes Gabriel Witter on the left shoulder with his index finger. He smiles the slightest of smiles. Book Title #89: Where Things Come Back

Which is your bad shoulder?" His brows knit together. "The left," he said carefully. She slugged him in the right. He staggered. Steadied himself. Grinned. "Is that like some weird Wyoming mating ritual thing I should know about?" "Damn you," she cried, flying into his arms. Finally. "Damn you, damn you, damn you!" He wrapped his arms around her, held her tight. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was such a coward.

You are my blessing. Not because you always make me smile but because you made my heart happy.

You are my blessing. Not because you make me smile but because you made my heart happy.

You make me want to do things I’ve never done before. Never wanted to do before,’ she whispered.

You see that girl, she looks so happy right? But inside she's dying. She's hurt and tired. Tired of all the drama, tired of not being good enough, tired of life. But she doesn't want to look dramatic, weak or attention seeking so she keeps it all inside. Act's like everything's perfect but she cries at night, boy does she cry at night, so that everybody thinks she is the happiest person they know, that she has no problems and her life is perfect. Little do they know.