We could get kinky and see how bats and rats make love, he suggested in a whisper, warm breath against her neck. You are a sick man, Jacques. Very, very sick.
Let me live my final days whole. Let my memory remain that I might know love's face. Life don't unwrap me to be fed to scavengers. I want to escape into light - not exist in darkness.
We're like the Three Musketeers, searching for truth and justice and the American way.: Glitch snorted. "More like the Three Blind Mice, stumbling around trying to find a hunk of cheese in the dark.
The astonishing fact is that similar mathematics applies so well to planets and to clocks. It needn’t have been this way. We didn’t impose it on the Universe. That’s the way the Universe is. If this is reductionism, so be it.
But I try not to think with my gut. If I'm serious about understanding the world, thinking with anything besides my brain, as tempting as that might be, is likely to get me into trouble.
Science is a way to call the bluff of those who only pretend to knowledge. It is a bulwark against mysticism, against superstition, against religion misapplied to where it has no business being.
My wife was saying to me just the other day how she's noticed a spring in my step lately. That was because I thought you were gone forever.' 'I missed you too, Thurid.
Leila dreamt that her Soul was on fire. It was not a nightmare. Shannon was in the dream. Shannon was telling her to wake up. She woke up, burning as if she had a fever, nearly soaking wet with sweat. Kevin was asleep beside her.
Our hearts are bound together,' he said, 'and I am free to decide who I love. And what I want. Nothing - not the pressure of my family, or what anyone else thinks - matters.
Dark brown nipples and perfect, pert breasts just a little more than a handful. Her abdomen was flat and toned, as if she worked out or ran. "You are built for sin," he murmured, looking up at her as he spoke.
'If life is pain, one could say that killing is an act of compassion. I look forward to my own death, you know. But dying is like losing you virginity. You can only do it once. I'm saving it for the right moment.'
The fact that you are possessed by a demon does not mean you must become evil. Being evil is a choice, just as being good is a choice. If you let the demon take over, it's because you choose to.
Self-help and those stupid proverbs, they do nothing. Soul food? It’s like trying to cure starvation with a sugar cube. It might taste sweet on the lips but once it dissolves, the emptiness is still there.
That was rather interesting,' Mercer said as he filled his coffee mug and passed the thermal carafe to John. 'What do you say for dinner? "Blessed be the serial killers, or else the devil would have no one to torment.
I’d be glad to go out on a limb with those Who want nothing beyond what the wind bestows, Were I not bound to roots, dug in deep to bear Never being done grasping for light and air
Books. They tumbled from the bleeding sky like wounded birds. The spines snapping open and the pages fanning white. Black letters slipping off the slanted pages and falling, falling to the ground where they... Shatter.
That, dillop brain, is what getting close to the Darke does. It makes you think only of yourself. It takes you away from people you care about. And now you don't have anyone to talk to and it serves you right.
We were a galaxy exploding into a million pieces, creating a whole new world, as we crashed against each other on the soft surface of his mattress, a cloud in the darkness, our bodies finally falling together like rain.
Unicorns, dragons, witches may be creatures conjured up in dreams, but on the page their needs, joys, anguishes, and redemptions should be just as true as those of Madame Bovary or Martin Chuzzlewit.
It was all he'd felt for too long to change now. Maybe it was too late for any other kind of life. This was all he knew. It was safe, insulated. Familiar. An absense of emotion kept him sane. Or what passed for it.
Sam was creative and dedicated, but his wasn't the plodding bright-and-early work ethic of the morning person, like mine. It was the crazy creative burst of the night owl, long dark hours of despair before dawn.
