I must be dreaming. Bring that sweet ass over here and I’ll show you what God made women and well-hung Scotsmen for.
The four Keltar Druids brought their wives and children. They breed like it’s their personal mission to populate their country in case somebody attacks again, as if anybody wants the bloody place.
What the bloody hell are you, Ms. Lane?
Walk out of this with your parents, the stones, and Darroc dead, Ms. Lane, and I‘ll give you the bloody thing.
She loves. And she doesn’t know how to pull it back when you have to, because sometimes you sure as feck have to. Got to grab it up with both hands and pull it back before somebody turns into knives and uses it to cut you to pieces.
You exist in a place that is beyond all rules for me. Do you understand that? – JZB.
The illusions it had woven for me had taken place only in my head. The battle had been invisible to the naked eye, but the hard ones are.
Like is an emotion. Emotions” – he raised a hand, made a fist, clenched it tightly – “are like holding water. You open your hand, there’s nothing there. Better to be a weapon than a woman.
Almost only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes.
What the feck?” Dani snapped when I answered. “You sleep like the fecking dead up there! I been calling you for five fecking minutes!
Movies tell you what to think. A good book lets you choose a few thoughts for yourself. Movies show you the pink house. A good book tells you there’s a pink house and lets you paint some of the finishing touches, maybe choose the roof style, park your own car out front.
I mock everything. Don’t take it so personally.” Adam Black.
In order to make something, Ms. Lane, you must first unmake what is in the process. Should you begin with nothing, even nothing is unmade when it is replaced with something.
Dying for someone isn’t the hard thing. The man that dies escapes. Plain and simple. Game over. End of pain. Alina was the lucky one. Try living for someone. Through it all-good, bad, thick, thin, joy, suffering.
I’m what-iffing! I don’t what-if! What-iffing is for growups. They what-if themselves right into doing nothing, and die without ever living.
I had a sudden dismal view of my future, of being led around and asked incessantly, like one of those Verizon commercials, Do you feel sick now?
You got me a birthday cake. It was pink. I smashed it into the ceiling.
Any man who reads is a fine one.
If you control the cause you own the effect. If you don’t, events will unfold like dominoes toppling and you will have no one to blame but yourself.
I couldn’t decide what had been more disturbing – my bizarre hallucination or the hostile crone.