Finally, realization dawned. I belonged to Luke. I was Luke’s woman. Hell, I had probably been born to be Luke’s woman (if you believed that kind of shit).
Sweat, scalded meat, puke, blood, smoke and a dozen kinds of bad ale and wine: the bouquet of civilized nightlife
I have no doubt at all the Devil grins, As seas of ink I spatter. Ye gods, forgive my "literary" sins -- The other kind don't matter.
A soft smile curved up her lips, and my gut dropped a little. A smile…I’d never known a smile could have that kind of effect. Could feel like a kick to the chest.
Her eyes narrowed, but she wasn't yelling. I think she liked me... kind of. The way a mother would like an annoying spastic two year old who belonged to someone else.
Bereavement seemed to work on him as a kind of blanket allergy, making him edgy and irritable to all the outside world. And of course it was reciprocal; the world receded on him.
Hanks grin almost sent me into meltdown. The kind where I killed him, but first I would stick my tongue down his throat and ride him till he was blind.
He released her arm and crossed his own over his chest. "I'm trying not to jump to conclusions. Spit it out." "I'm more of a swallowing kind of a girl." Holy hell.
Secretly," he mumbled in a quieter tone, "I've always wanted to know what it would feel like to lust, to hunger for something different. But I've never been able to imagine ever experiencing that kind of desire.
Next time, can you ask him to bring cookies? I don't like to put up with that level of insane unless there's some kind of high-calorie compensation.
Are you sure you want to go out with someone with that kind of history? ...He could have a psychotic break. I read that people get those when they're twenty-eight.
... there's fear that keeps you safe, and fear that warns you, and then there's fear of another sort. The kind that makes you turn on your friends, that irises the world down to one frightened person.
To forget oneself-to lose oneself in the music, in the moment- that kind of absorption seems to be at the heart of every creative endeavor.
Secrets are the kind of adventure she needs. Secrets are safe, and they do much to make you different. On the inside where it counts.
And then I became aware of all the magnificent silk wrapped around my body, and had the feeling I might drown in beauty. At that moment, beauty itself struck me as a kind of painful melancholy.
Thankyou,"Catherine said, the smile still hovering on her lips. "That is kind of you my lord. But i will never dance with you." Which, ofcourse, made it the goal of leo's life.
The man will wait in front of the altar in his black suit. The woman will walk up the aisle in her white gown. The vow, the ring, the kiss.... All kind of romance. A gate to happiness. They call it marriage.
Being surrounded with every conceivable kind of revolt from infancy, Gabriel had to revolt into something, so he revolted into the only thing left-- sanity.
He was a professional athlete and coach, a Ferrari who lived his life in the fast lane. She was a girl-next-door kind of girl, closer to a golf cart than a sports car.
It was the kind of place you went when your earthly troubles became too much for you and you were looking for a creative way to commit suicide.
I went to sleep feeling like a terrorist. But I wasn't going to kill people, I was going to bring them back to life. That's a whole different kind of terror. It's the terror of god.
