Well, not in this case. He reached into the Inquisitor and he ..." Clary shuddered. "There was a lot of blood." "Like a special bonus for you," Jace said to Simon. Simon ignored this.
Identity is the history that has gone into bone and blood and reshaped the flesh. Identity is not what we were but what we have become what we are at this moment.
Emmerich's heart in his throat, he could only stare down at Monica, who looked up at him with glassy eyes as she shivered with pain and choked on blood.
But the people who mattered were the people you chose instead of the people who were yours by an accident of birth. Real family was heart as much as, if not more than, blood.
The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.
Soon he would be able to touch her, to feel the warmth of her blood. When the time came, nothing would stop him.
What he didn’t know was how to beg for her forgiveness, and at that moment, her forgiveness was what he craved the most…even more than he craved her blood.
A woman with an education may be able to spend more time sitting in a chair instead of lying on her back. A sound advantage, I should think.
And they were quiet but their blood and nerves and butterflies were not—they were rampantly alive, rushing and thrumming in a wild and perfect melody, matched note for note.
I must have you. We must have each other. You know that, don't you? You're in my blood, God help us both.
Blood is thicker than water, I know, but it's unnatural stuff to drink so much of. (“The Wife Of Ted Wickham”)
Because there wasn’t anything else to do, he settled at the kitchen table with a bottle of mead and nearly emptied it. The anesthetic effect he hoped for hadn’t happened, though. At least not yet.
But I don't want to be a vampire drone.' Sophronia winced. 'They'll suck my blood and make me wear only the very latest fashions.
You touch me again, you arrogant Ardenine swine, and I swear on the blood of Hanalea the warrior, I will geld you. Do you understand?
His name was Rambo, and he was just some nothing kid for all anybody knew, standing by the pump of a gas station at the outskirts of Madison, Kentucky.
HELLO! Look at me. HELLO! I am so ZEN. This is BLOOD. This is NOTHING. Hello. Everything is nothing, and it's so cool to be ENLIGHTENED. Like me.
Sounds like the effect of wolf’s blood to me,” he said, winking at her. “You think?” “Attacking without thinking? Just reacting instantly? Yeah, that’s wolf mentality.
Spells? Magic? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I drink blood and control people’s minds. But I’ve never heard of anything like this.
I wondered if full-blooded vampires had something like blue balls for their fangs if they didn’t get to feed when they were expecting to. Like some kind of pseudo-sexual gingivitis.
Her dark eyes slid to him. "I can't remember the last time I felt so good in clothes." And he wanted to get her out of them.
She felt something missing in her soul. It wasn't until she landed in Edinburgh that she realized that missing piece was the wild, mystical land.
