Karen Marie Moning Quotes (185 Quotes)

On the lips of my enemy, my sisterÆs lover, my loverÆs killer, I taste the punishment I deserve. I taste oblivion.

Unpredictable as a hungry lion, he might be feared by everyone else, but he never ripped out my throat, only licked me, and, if his tongue was a little rough sometimes, it was worth it to walk beside the king of the jungle.

Barrons, Jericho: I haven't the faintest fecking clue. He keeps saving my life. I suppose that's something.

I hope when I'm ninety-five the only things I want are free: love, family, a good home-cooked meal.

The wisest man is the silent one. Examine his actions. Judge him by them.

He just didn't look like the kind of creep that would messily murder a woman in her hotel room; he looked like the kind of creep that could line her up in the sights of an assassins rifle without a shred of emotion.

Last night you said you wanted to know what to expect so you could better select your attire. I told you we were going to visit a vampire in a Goth-den tonight. Why, then, Ms. Lane, do you look like a perky rainbow?

He is in my soul and i am in his, and we are in bed but we are in a desert, and i do not know where he begins and i end - Mac

The kind of person that thanks another person never survives. Have you learned nothing?

I was adrift in a sea of questions and if answers were lifeboats, I was in imminent danger of drowning.

As he fills me, I wonder ifùin the same way that sex makes its own unique perfumeùwe donÆt really ômakeö love. As in create, manufacture, evoke an independent element in the air around us, and if enough of us did it really well, for real, not just for the hell of it, we could change the world. Because when heÆs in me, I feel the space around us changing, charging, and it seems to set off some kind of feedback loop, where the more he touches me, the more I need him to.

I wasn't prepared for death. Nobody is. You lose someone you love more than you love yourself, and you get a crash course in mortality. You lie awake night after night, wondering if you really believe in heaven and hell and finding all kinds of reasons to cling to faith, because you can't bear to believe they aren't out there somewhere, a few whispered words of a prayer away.

One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you canÆt breathe around it and you realize you donÆt need air. Oxygen is trivial. Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset. To touch the one you love. To try again.

We are not perfect. What god is Examine yours. According to your mythos he was so disappointed with his initial efforts creating your race that he tried again. At least we imprisoned our mistakes. Your god permits his to roam free. At a mere few thousand years old your creation myths are far more absurd than ours.

Being nearly naked around Barrons felt a lot like going to a shark convention lightly basted in blood.

I looked from one to the other, and realized that Barrons and my dad were having one of those wordless conversations he and I have from time to time. Though the language was, by nature, foreign to me, I grew up in the Deep South where a man's ego is roughly the size of his pickup truck, and women get an early and interesting education in the not-so-subtle roar of testosterone.

There are only shades of gray. Black and white are nothing more than lofty ideals in our minds, the standards by which we try to judge things, and map out our place in the world in relevance to them.

He was on me before my brain processed the fact that he was coming for me.

Lose the pessimism, Ms. Lane. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I am a kite in a tornado, but I have a long string.

Walk out of this with your parents, the stones, and Darroc dead, Ms. Lane, and Iæll give you the bloody thing.

I was nothing if not determined; at least twice a week I would wear bright, pretty clothes. I was afraid if I didnÆt, IÆd forget who I was. IÆd turn into what I felt like: a grungy, weapon-bearing, pissy, resentful vengeance-hungry bitch.

Christian : You two gonna stand there fucking each other with your eyes all night, or can we get on with it ?

If I'm a little girl, then that makes you a serious pervert.

Pretty girl and all. Asking. Gotta love that. Stuff of heroes. Don't get the role too often.

When he kisses me again, the last part of me that could stand myself dies.

But it seems Ive got this set of scales inside me that I never used to have, or at least I wasnt aware of, and I cant shake the feeling that if I dont try to keep them balanced, Ill lose something I wont be able to get back.

I see God in a sunrise, not in repetitious ritual.

What is trust, sidhe-seer, but expectation that another will behave in a certain fashion, consistent with prior actions?

He wasn't just masculine and sexual, he was carnal in a set-your-teeth-on-edge kind of way; he was almost frightning.

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 have a black sense of humor. You try living my life, see what color yours turns.

We fucked, Ms. Lane. Even cockroaches fuck. They eat each other, too.

If VÆlane were a signpost, it would read Abandon All Personal Will, Ye Who Tread Here.

Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset, to touch the one you love, to try again. ôHell would be waking up and wanting nothing,ö he agrees.

I'm not the hero, Mac. Never have been. Never will be. Let us be perfectly clear: I'm not the antihero, either, so quit waiting to discover my hidden potential. There's nothing to redeem me.

Safety is a fence, and fences are for sheep. I would rather die at twenty-two, knowing the truth, then live in a cage of lies for a hundred years.

When he'd pushed inside me and I'd feel him begin to penetrate, it had turned me into a wild thing-hot, wet, and desperate for more of him. With every kiss, every caress, every thrust, I'd just needed more. He'd touched me, I went nuts. The world dwindled down to one thing: him.

Could words and symbols wield such power? Could mere scribblings on parchment unmake a person's moral fiber? Weren't we made of sterner stuff?

I want you to go to the Ancient Languages Department at Trinity College tomorrow morning, Ms.Lane.

When everything else is gone, balls are all any of us really have left. The question is: are yours made of flesh and blood, or steel?

He'd surely been spawned by some cataclysmic event of nature, not born.

My philosophy is pretty simple û any day nobodyÆs trying to kill me is a good day in my book.

IÆve been in your skin,ö he taunted. ôI know you inside and out. ThereÆs nothing there. Do us all a favor and die so we can start working on another plan and quit thinking maybe youÆll grow the fuck up and be capable of something.

When he comes, he makes a noise deep in his throat that is so raw and animal and sexual that I think if he merely looked at me and made that noise, I might explode in an orgasm.

I'm a bartender. I like recipes. They're concretes. Was the drink recipe for seduction one shot charm and two shots self-deception, shaken, not stirred?

Everywhere I looked, I could see only shades of gray. Black and white were nothing more than lofty ideals in our minds, the standards by which we tried to judge things and map out our place in the world in relevance to them. Good and evil, in their purest form, were as intangible and forever beyond our ability to hold in our hand as any Fae illusion. We could only aim at them, aspire to them, and hope not to get so lost in the shadows that we could no longer see the light.

Irony, perfect definition: that for which I want to possess it, I would no longer want once I possessed it.

Safety is a fence, and fences are for sheep.

You and I more than anyone else in the universe are perfect for each other.