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 man is not called wise because he talks and talks again; but if he is peaceful, loving and fearless then he is in truth called wise.
He said that he felt that there was a book hidden between us. Some small thing lodged between a rib or a summer. and He wanted to find it.
My knees were weak but he held me with one hand, guiding me with the motion of his hips. I was completely his to do with what he wanted and he knew it.
Rumors said that if he got drunk enough, he sometimes got his jollies by stripping naked and scaring hikers out in the Broken into thinking he was Bigfoot.
He can’t ground her if he’s already killed her,” I pointed out when Juliana quoted this to me. “Well, he can, but it wouldn’t have the same impact.
Matt is a tortured soul,' Amanda insisted. 'He's Heathcliff and you're Cathy. He's Rochester and you're Jane Eyre. He's-' 'Darcy and I'm Elizabeth. I get it. And you're wrong.
We Were young. He didn't love me. He just thought he did. Simple as that.- Blaire Lynn
Joie," he said with his lips hovering over mine. "What?" I felt my heart flutter. "Shut up," he muttered and then he kissed me.
This is pity,” he thought, and then he lifted his head in wonder. He thought that there must be something terribly wrong with a world in which this monstrous feeling is called a virtue.
At that moment there was a knock on the door, and Sam came in. He ran to Frodo and took his left hand, awkwardly and shyly. He stroked it gently and then he blushed and turned hastily away.
I got hard and he was there and the next thing I knew he was on his knees. I mean, I was going to step away, but he me.
Yes, he's an equal opportunity asshole," Szilard said. "And he's aware of it, which he thinks means it's okay.
I'm not surprised he wants to challenge me here, where no one can protect me. He thinks I'm a weak woman. He thinks wrong.
He carries stars in his pockets because he knows she fears the dark. Whenever sadness pays her a visit he paints galaxies on the back of her hands.
Stop using him, and start protecting him. I know he thinks he doesn't need it, but sometimes he does. Sometimes we all do.
My dark secret is I’ve always wished I was Gatsby. As heartbroken as he was and as horrible a fate as he endured, I admired that he loved. It’s a difficult thing to do.
If he could bottle her strength and vitality, he would. He would take everything that was Tessa and lock it into a corner of his heart, to take out when the emptiness got too overwhelming.
He's at war with himself. Why doesn't he surrender to his feelings and stop fighting himself? He has hang-ups that I must cut him loose from.
He couldn't think of his robbed left eye without hate squirting into his veins from some deep poison gland he hadn't known he possessed.
There wasn’t a bit of innocence or purity in him. He was sinful and cynical. Unapologetic. He cared nothing for the world. He just ate its fruits and roamed its wilds and didn’t need anyone.
