But how to explain suffering because of a man? It's not explainable. With that kind of suffering, a person feels as if they're in hell, because there is no nobility, no greatness - only misery.
You put me through hell. On purpose. Made me suffer. And there’s no end in sight. I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, ace, but this Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde shit ain’t cutting it with me.
I think first of the children. What the hell am I supposed to tell them? Then I think about money, the house, all those things no widow will tell you ever crossed her mind.
This women is all about the kiss—the kiss of death. But if her sinister lips offer the joy of heaven, followed by the torment of hell, then I’ll be the first to pucker up.
I was enjoying the great human trophy hunt and, looking back, it scares the hell out of me
Strange, how a moment of existence can cut so deeply into our being that while ages pass unnoticed, a brief love can structure and define the very topology of our consciousness ever after.
Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset, to touch the one you love, to try again. “Hell would be waking up and wanting nothing,” he agrees.
The desire to touch her, to kiss her would end up with her walking away and him hurting again. So why the hell did he reach up and stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckle?
We must picture hell as a state where everyone is perpetually concerned about his own dignity and advancement, where everyone has a grievance, and where everyone lives with the deadly serious passions of envy, self-importance, and resentment.
The lucky ones, the ones who weren't here when the place was getting bombed to hell. We're not like these people. We shouldn't pretend we are. The stories these people have to tell, we're not entitled to them.
Kathel did not back down at all. "Well, Keirah told me she was suddenly unattached, if you know what I mean. And I figured, what the hell, why not have a go at her myself," Kathel said enthusiastically.
When I was little I bragged about my firefighting father: my father would go to heaven, because if he went to hell he would put out all the fires
Leave me alone, or I will shoot,” a woman’s husky voice rang out through the broken window. “I'm not too afraid to blow your ass right back to whatever hell you come from.
You're fucking crazy," he finally said, as though just realizing that. Hell, he had been with her how long now? Surely forever. And he was just now seeing that? Poor guy, he was just slow.
I didn't have a great grasp of what guys considered a "come hither" look, so maybe I gave him one. I'd thought it was a "leave me the hell alone" look, but who knew. ~ Lana from Moonlight
Music takes me to places of illimitable sensual and insensate joy, accessing points of ecstasy that no angelic lover could ever locate, or plunging me into gibbering weeping hells of pain that no torturer could ever devise".
No, really," I said. "Now that we know that Flores is really this nasty, fiery, superpowerful nothing-can-kill-me demon from hell, maybe we should consider just giving Christy to him?
I aint sure we've seen these people before. Their kind. I dont know what to do about em even. If you killed em all they'd have to build a annex on to hell.
She washed he hands,then looked at my side. "you haven't even had it stitched?" She said incredulously. "I've been rather busy," I said. "With the running like hell and hiding all night.
What the hell is that?" I laughed. "It's my fox hat." "Your fox hat?" "Yeah, Pudge. My fox hat." "Why are you wearing your fox hat?" I asked. "Because no one can catch the motherfucking fox.
The sunken grave would fade away, probably in my lifetime. If I could avoid killer zombies for a few years. And vampires. And gun-toting humans. Oh, hell, the hot-spot would probably outlast me.
