AJ Lee Quotes

“Never trust anyone who doesn't drink coffee.”

“I'm not interested in being famous. I'm interested in doing my job and doing it well, and that's wrestling, and that's what I love.”

“It wasn't cool that I didn't comb my hair and had books and wore glasses. It was never cool be a nerd and tomboy, and these days, it really is. And I'm like, 'You guys have no idea what I went through.' How many times my mother yelled at me to comb my hair.”

“Unfortunately, I am only myself. I am scared and alone and unsure, but I am practicing. I am scared and alone and unsure, but that doesn't mean I always will be.Like AJ repeating words, I can repeat being me, until I start to believe it.”

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you.” “How did he look at me?” Allie asks warily. “Like you were his entire world.” She frowns. “And that’s a bad thing?” “Damn right it is. Nobody should ever be someone else’s entire world. That’s not healthy, AJ. If your whole life is centered on one thing—one person—whatcha going to be left with if that person goes away? Absolutely nothing.” He gruffly reiterates, “Not healthy.”

“Whoosh. Slap. The scream tore from Jillian’s chest as the flogger snaked across her back. She tensed and waited, but nothing else happened. “Why did you scream?” She didn’t answer immediately. Although the lash stung, it hadn’t actually hurt. “Because I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid of what?” “Of pain, I guess.” “How many times have you been assaulted on the job when you were a police officer?” “Too many times to count,” Jillian thought back. The last time, she was punched in the face so hard her vision was blurred for a week. “Were you afraid then?” “No. I was mad as hell.” There was an approving smile in AJ’s voice when she said, “Exactly. You aren’t acoward, Jillian. You are not afraid of pain, you are afraid of the past. Take your power back.”

“To Succeed You Must Read”

“Do your parents know you’re here?' asked the lady at social Services. ‘No,’ I said, ‘but I want to know about children’s homes.’ I had to stand on my toes to see over the reception desk.”

“. . . there were masses of pictures she had not seen; however, Lily Briscoe reflected, perhaps it was better not to see pictures: they only made one hopelessly discontented with one’s own work.”

“Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of beauty, so that all one’s perceptions, half-way to truth, were tangled in a golden mesh? Or did she lock up within her some secret which certainly Lily Briscoe believed people must have for the world to go on at all? Every one could not be as helter skelter, hand to mouth as she was. But if they knew, could they tell one what they knew? Sitting on the floor with her arms round Mrs. Ramsay’s knees, close as she could get, smiling to think that Mrs. Ramsay would never know the reason of that pressure, she imagined how in the chambers of the mind and heart of the woman who was, physically, touching her, were stood, like the treasures in the tombs of kings, tablets bearing sacred inscriptions, which if one could spell them out, would teach one everything, but they would never be offered openly, never made public. What art was there, known to love or cunning, by which one pressed through into those secret chambers? What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs. Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs. Ramsay’s knee.”