Everything she’d ever read about love was true, she discovered. The sun shined brighter, the air smelled fresher. Flowers were more colorful, the songs of birds more musical.
Fate takes its own sweet time, but it always finds a way.
With blood and tears we spill our fears.” She waved a hand over the cauldron, and the liquid within began to stir. “A pinch of salt times four to close and bolt the door. Weeds to bind, berries to blind. My children he will not see, and they will live safe and free. Pretty petals tinged with hate, scented sweet and so to bait. Boil it all in fire and smoke, and on this potion Cabhan chokes. When I call he comes to me, as I will, so mote it be.
When people break your heart, pride’s all you’ve got left.
Or better yet, may all the gods who ever were bless us, and help us send the bloody bastard to hell.
What’s she like, the Peeping Tammy?” “She doesn’t think about it that way, and you get it when she talks. She likes people.
If you walked through the woods alone, in the dark, and didn’t have some sense of wonder, it was hardly worth the trip.
Shut up, shut up, she ordered herself, but nerves overwhelmed her. “You have a wonderful operation. Meara showed me around. And you’re right. Alastar has spirit, and a strong will, but he’s not mean. Not innately. He’s just mad and unsettled, finding himself in a strange place, with people and horses he’s not used to. Now he has something to prove, especially to Boyle.
Why do people always think being lovers shouldn’t be complicated?
A thousand and a thousand times.
Love’s a gift, Hayley, to be taken and received freely.
I’d have taken anything you’d given. I’d have wrapped my own gauzy layers around it and convinced myself that it was right. But it would never have been right. I can’t be happy, not really down-to-the-bone happy, with less than I need. And if I’m not happy, I can’t make someone else happy.
Most of all she wanted to feel – strong, ripping emotions, towering joys, vivid excitement.
Why would you apologize for what you read for pleasure? Just think of the illiteracy rate. Every book read for pleasure should be celebrated. And novels that celebrate love, commitment, relationships, making relationships work, why isn’t that something to be respected?
The story was told, generation by generation, in song and in story, until time misted it into myth and legend. But some believed, as legends brought comfort.
The woman’s managed what hasn’t been done in thirty-one years. She’s broke my god dawn nose.
It doesn’t matter. That’s the point. It doesn’t matter that my mother is my mother, or that things don’t always work exactly the way you thought they should. Moments matter. I know that better than anyone, but I never let it apply to me. Not to me. People matter, how they feel, how they connect, who they are alone and together. All that matters, no matter how quickly the moment passes. Maybe because it passes. What matters is you’re the blue butterfly.
I won’t argue. It’s different for everyone, isn’t it? Love, magick, and how we see and deal. And in each, the choices we make.
To improve is to change; To be perfect is to change often. – WINSTON CHURCHILL.
From this nice, safe distance, I’ve realized I actually like my family.