Quotes About Control

But there was something out of control about him, something that scared me. At that point in my young life, I was looking for an anchor.

Those with power never willingly concede their control.

Who cares if she called you?" Veblen cried out. There was a time when abreacting to her mother was out of the question, untenable. The slightest ripple between them terrified her. She was aware that her mother had trained her to turn herself inside out, like a pocket to be inspected for pilfered change.

See? You're using the stoic glacier method." "Remind me, what's the stoic glacier method?" "It's the slow process of shaping someone's behavior by force of one's own personal stoicism.

By the time the utter predictability of my orgasm sank into my brain, it had, of course, long been familiar to my body. There was no mistaking the power this man had over me. Like a well-made windup toy, whenever he set me in motion I came. Moods of wanting or not wanting to make love were moods I remembered as from a book. It was not a matter of insatiability but one of inevitability of response. He did what he did and then I always, inevitably, finally came. Only the preludes varied.

I like it that order exists somewhere even if it shatters near me.

No matter what I do, no matter how predictable I try to make my life, it will not be any more predictable than the rest of the world. Which is chaotic.

If you take a man by surprise, and behave with sufficient arrogance, he will generally do what you ask. -Emerson

Under the idea that we can all make our own fates, that we have choices, is the reminder that sometimes we don't. That sometimes life is bigger than our plans. Bigger than us.

I could run, but he would find me. He would take me back to 623 Daisy Lane and make everyone who lives there pay. He would make everyone there pay even if he didn't find me. I belong to him. I'm his little girl. All I have to do is be good.

God-monster, ruler of my world. ~Kyla

Ray makes me shower once a week and I hate coming out of the bathroom. I hate knowing he's waiting for me, that he will rub his hands and himself all over me and whisper things. His hands used to make me cry, but now I'm used to them. The thing is, you can get used to anything. You think you can't, you want to die, but you don't. You won't. You just are.

Under the idea that we can all make our fates, that we have choices, is the reminder that sometimes we don't. That sometimes life is bigger than our plans. Bigger than us.

I will find him one, a beautiful little stupid girl, as dumb as the one at 623 Daisy Lane used to be and show her to him. He will want her, with her little limbs and happy face and solid, live flesh. She will become the new Alice and he will want her so much he will forget all about me. Kill me to teach her a lesson, probably, and then move on. Yes, that is what will happen. What must happen.

I want him to take her tomorrow. I want that little girl here now, where I am. I want her to be Ray's love, to bear it. I don't care that TV and the preacher at church say that children are treasures or little miracles or special. They are flesh and blood like the shell around me, a thing waiting to be molded by someone's will, and Ray wants that job. I don't care if he takes it. If he takes everyone and everything, every child from every place. I just want him to leave me.

And the only way to find that honesty is to not overthink it. For your writing to come alive--to be multi-dimensional--you must barter away some control.

Anxiety is the evil conjoined twin of rigidity.

Hadrian controlled the empire in a way which had no precedent. What he did, at first perhaps by instinct, but later almost certainly as a calculated and largely successful policy, was to take the established dynamics of imperial rule and aristocratic behaviour and expand them beyond anything that had been seen before.

And then later, as the ambulance went faster, Abel felt not fear but a strange exquisite joy, the bliss of things finally and irretrievably out of his control, unpeeled, unpeeling now. Yet there was a streak of something else, as though just outside his reach was the twinkle of a light, as though a Christmas window was there; this puzzled him and pleased him, and in his state of tired ecstasy it seemed almost to come to him.

Why is ink like a fire? Because it is a good servant and a hard master.

Jim, because he was angry even back then and trying to control it, she felt, and Bob because his heart was big. She didn't care much for Susan. "Nobody did, far as I know," she said.

This authority was why I had fallen in love with William. We crave authority. We do. No matter what anyone says, we crave that sense of authority.

But I know that money is a big thing, in a marriage, in a life, money is power, I do know that. No matter what I say, or what anyone says, money is power.

Water is powerful. It can wash away earth, put out fire, and even destroy iron.