Lilith Saintcrow Quotes
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"So you're a dom, huh? Nice." I stabbed my pancakes again. "Kinky." "You're the one who ties people up, babe."
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Okay. I'll deal with Benjamin. You're safe, okay? Nothing's gonna happen." His mouth pulled tight against itself. And now I was having some sort of heart attack. Because when he looked at me like that, my chest started to feel like it was turned inside out. "Promise." And that—the promise, the way he said it with utter certainty—was enough to make me tear up again.
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It truly sucks to doubt your friends when you only have one or two of them, I realized.
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I caught the look Benjamin gave me. "What?" "Nothing. We just thought a svetocha would be more, well, difficult." Leon's mouth twitched. "I do seriously want a slushie." I tried a tentative smile. I definitely liked him now. "I haven't had one in ages. Maybe the guys outside—the double blonds—would want one, too?" For some reason Leon found that utterly fricking hysterical. He snorted and chuckled all the way through Housewares to the Health and Beauty section, and even Benjamin unbent enough to grin.
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Christophe, with the careful tone of an adult telling a kid not to pet the nice foaming-rabid pooch.
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Would I be as strong as that once I did that thing Christophe was talking about? Blooming? Would I smell like a bakery item? Or was that just him? Did he use pie filling for cologne?
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I thought I'd pay you a visit, my dear. Since you're so interesting." My mouth shifted into high gear, leaving my brain behind. "You know, you're the second guy in a few days to call me that. You should be more creative.
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I'd kind of expected that kids who knew about the Real World wouldn't act like jock dipwads. Guess I was wrong.
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Besides, the normal people here wouldn’t see it. That was what “different” meant. It’s just another word for lonely.
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There was Kir, red hair combed back and That Expression on his sharp face. Even his freckles looked serious. I'd given up wondering how a freckle-faced teenager could look so much like a disapproving granny.
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What you cannot escape, you must fight; what you cannot fight, you must endure.
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And you know, I believed him. What girl wouldn't?
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I just . . . knew, the way you know how to breathe or to pull your hand back from a hot stove.
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His eyebrows drew together. He was perilously close to unibrow; I guess nobody had held him down and administered a good plucking to the caterpillar climbing across his forehead.
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Hello, Officer? Can you help me? My dad got turned into a zombie. You know, we’ve been travelling around getting rid of things that aren’t real, and this time they hit back. I really need someplace to stay – but can you make sure I have some holy water or something wherever it is? And some silver-jacketed bullets? That’d be sweet. Yeah, that’d be totally cool. Thanks. And while you’re at it, can you tell the guys with the straitjackets that I’m really sane? That would help.
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I wondered what I’d end up looking like once I bloomed. I couldn’t even guess. If I had to be stuck in my own skinny, gawky, coltish body forever… well. It probably wouldn’t be so bad. I wouldn’t mind a little more in the chest, though. But wild horses wouldn’t drag that out of me. Ever.
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Come take a look at one of the oldest human urges- religion. After all, the only thing that makes us screwier is sex.
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How had I managed to tie my boots? I didn’t even remember getting dressed. I was out here in public at the mall. What was I wearing? Jeans. I could feel socks. I had my boots on. I plucked at the edge of my t-shirt and saw it was red. I was wearing Dad’s spare Army jacket, and there was a heavy weight in the right pocket that had to be something deadly.
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It's always difficult to say goodbye, especially when one has spent a long time - literally years, in the case of a series - inside a character or two, suffering and celebrating with them.
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Boys always get the best eyelashes; it's like some kind of cosmic law. And half-breed kids get some kind of extra help there from genetics, too.
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No problem, Goth Boy. First one's free.
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I should start charging uncomfortable thoughts rent. Except what would they pay me in? Probably something even worse.
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Lucas went even paler. “Then you’re on the track to suicide,” he whispered. “Take my advice, Valentine. Run. Run as fast as you can, for as long as you can. Steal whatever bit of life you can. You’re already dead.
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The smell of apple pies didn't quite fill the house, but it was there, a thread under everything else. It was kind of hard to take Christophe seriously when he smelled like baked goods. I wondered if other djampjir smelled like Hostess Twinkies and sniggered to myself.
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Next to her, even the prettiest djamphir boys looked gawky.
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I don't believe in getting clothes that just look pretty or that'll fall apart—they have to stand up to a lot of abuse.
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He was the only boy I'd found worth dating in God knows how many schools. I mean, ever since he'd been bitten by a werwulf he'd been rock-steady. The best thing about this totally effed-up situation.
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Richelle Mead delivers sexy action and tongue-in-cheek hellish humor-if damnation is this fun, sign me up!
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Some of the djamphir are so pretty it almost hurts to look at them. And it was hard to look without feeling rumpled and messy in comparison.
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There was a hole inside her, and it twisted.
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