He was mystery, he was darkness, he was all she had dreamed of. And if she would only free him he would service her -oh yes- until her pleasure reached that thereshold that, like all theresholds, was a place where the strong grew stronger, and the weak perished.
She’s got powers,” said de Bono, taking off his spectacles and surveying the terrain ahead. “Most women have, of course.
She had long ago accepted that life was unfair. But why, when she’d accepted the bitter truth, did circumstance insist on rubbing her face in it?
I used to live in Los Angeles,” Norma said. “Off a winding road called Coldheart Canyon.
Why do boys always love talking about ghosts and murders and hangings?’ ‘Because it’s exciting,’ Wendell said.
Hate remembered though; hate remembered long after love had forgotten.
As Harry marveled, the Cenobite continued his brutal effort of making new adjustments to his own flesh so as to fit the Devil’s suit: first a slice off his other hip, down to the red meat; then up to his arms, slicing away the flesh at the back of his triceps; and passing the knife from left hand to right and back again, cutting effortlessly with either. The area around his feet looked like the floor of a butcher’s store. Cobs and slices of fatty meat were scattered everywhere.
But then sanity was a movable feast, wasn’t it? One man’s madness might be another’s politics.
This will not come again. Nor this. Nor this...
Sounds to me like those nails are touching too much gray matter.
They looked, to all intents and purposes, like living men and women. But then wasn’t that the trick of their craft? To imitate life so well the illusion was indistinguishable from the real thing?
His eyelids closed – buckled, really – the bones in his face so fragile they shattered under the weight of his very lids as he dropped to the threshold of existence. His last breath had already left him. And as he fell, life did the same.
We cannot believe, we men, that power will ever reside happily in the body of a woman, unless that power is a male child. Not true power. The power must be in male hands, God-given. That’s what our fathers tell us, idiots that they are.
I’ll love you until the death of love.
Sanity is a movable feast. One man’s madness is another’s politics.
The presence of phantoms – everywhere – their faces, ripe with need and unspent passion, trailing their hunger like pollen from flowers that were past their hour but refused to wither and disappear.
But the strongest scent was also the oldest – it was the perfume of his transgressions. There were other smells, too, some of which she could name – incense, books, sweat – and far, far more that she had no name for.
He spoke of both dancing and death with equal nonchalance, as though one carried as little significance as the other. It calmed her, hearing him talk that way.
They knew a lot, the dead. How many times had she said to Harry they were the world’s greatest untapped resource? It was true. All they’d seen, all they’d suffered, all they’d triumphed over – lost to a world in need of wisdom.
Extinct,” Steep murmured. “Yes.” He smiled. “Extinct, extinct, extinct.” It was like a mantra:.