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What hope is there?” I asked. “If even angels fall, what hope is there for the rest of us?” “There isn’t,” he said. “We’re on our own. And we have to make the choices we think are best for our own survival. ↗
I can't believe you're going to sacrifice your archery mojo for MacReive." Lucia would forfeit her fantastical skill with a bow if she was unchaste. "Who am I going to hang out with when your a talentless nobody? ↗
#archer #berserker #declan-chase #dreams-of-a-dark-warrior #immortals-after-dark
Wouldn't be surprising. Most immortal females behave like they're in heat." Her brows rose. "You are the one who taught me about pleasure." ... "And now in another lifetime, you ridicule me for missing it? Come on, Chase. Take me to where you live. Scared I'll find some footy pajamas? A fleshlight? I want a bath almost as much as you need to watch me take one. I get so much more talkative when I'm clean. Loreans are really fastidious, you know. ↗
#berserker #declan-chase #dreams-of-a-dark-warrior #immortals-after-dark #kresley-cole
Life was rich and full. She couldn't have asked for more. Well... actually... she amended with a little inner flinch, she could have. Though most of the time she looked at Adam and just felt awed and humbled that this big, wonderful man had given up so much to love her, sometimes she hated that he didn't have a soul, and sometimes she wanted to hate God. And she had a dream, a silly dream perhaps, but a dream to which she clung. They would live to be a hundred, until long after their children and grandchildren were grown, and one day they would go to bed and lie down facing each other, and die like that, at the same moment, in each other's arms. And this was her dream: that maybe, just maybe, if she loved him hard enough and true enough and deep enough, and if she held on to him tightly enough as they died, she could take him with her wherever it was that souls went. And there she would do what was in her blood, what she now knew she'd been born for; she would stand before God, a brehon, and she would argue the greatest, the most important case of her life. And she would win. ↗
Yeah – Sure I remember Matter of fact it was just last September She still calls it the fall to remember Little Heather when it all came together You remember the first time you met her? She cried when it rained and blamed the weather But inside she strained with suicide letters The kind of cold you couldn’t warm with a sweater Hardly lasted past December She said she was headed down to defeat That’s the last you’d seen and never had dreamed That the same little Heather – It’s who you saw last week In an instant you couldn’t have missed her gleam As she listened she looked like a distant queen With a difference, there for all to see She found a different – A different kind of free ↗
After two years' absence she finally returned to chilly Europe, a trifle weary, a trifle sad, disgusted by our banal entertainments, our shrunken landscapes, our impoverished lovemaking. Her soul had remained over there, among the gigantic, poisonous flowers. She missed the mystery of old temples and the ardor of a sky blazing with fever, sensuality and death. The better to relive all these magnificent, raging memories, she became a recluse, spending entire days lying about on tiger skins, playing with those pretty Nepalese knives 'which dissipate one's dreams'. ↗
Real mystery - the very reason to read (and certainly write) any book - was to them a thing to dismantle, distill and mine out into rubble they could tyrannize into sorry but more permanent explanations; monuments to themselves, in other words. In my view all teachers should be required to stop teaching at age thirty-two and not allowed to resume until they're sixty-five, so that they can live their lives, not teach them away - live lives full of ambiguity and transience and regret and wonder, be asked to explain nothing in public until very near the end when they can't do anything else. Explaining is where we all get into trouble. ↗
My dear boy, looking like a thing has little to do with being a thing. Be the thing first, and you will grow to resemble it. ↗
