The shears found his throat this time. He fell down on top of them and was silent. Something dark like mucilage glistened where he lay. She had jumped back - not in remorse, but to keep the bottom of her skirt clear of his blood. ("I'm Dangerous Tonight")
Stop fighting me! " he said, trying to pull on the arm he held. He was in a precarious position himself, straddling the rail as he tried to lean over far enough to get me and actually hold onto me.“ Let go of me! ”...
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Richelle Mead
The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.
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T.S. Eliot
Fresh is better. But you've never drunk fresh blood. Have you?" Simon raised his eyebrow in response." Well, aside from mine of course, " Jace said. "And I'm pretty sure my blood is fan-tastic.
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Cassandra Clare
Crap, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"" I'm thinking we have about fifteen vampires and no blood, " Claire said. "Is that it?"" No, I was thinking we're out of chips. Of course that's what I was thinking.
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Rachel Caine
So--what's it like, being a vampire?"" Aline! " Isabelle looked appalled. "You can't just go around asking people what's it like to be a vampire! "" I don't see why, " Aline said. "He hasn't been a vampire that long, has he? So he must...
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Cassandra Clare
More Quotes By Cornell Woolrich
The preliminaries were out of the way, the creative process was about to begin. The creative process, that mystic life force, that splurge out of which has come the Venus de Milo, the Mona Lisa, the Fantasie Impromptu, the Bayeux tapestries, Romeo and Juliet, the...
That was enough dialogue for a few pages - he had to get into some fast, red-hot action. There weren't any more hitches now. The story flowed like a torrent. The margin bell chimed almost staccato, the roller turned with almost piston-like continuity, the pages...
Home? What is home? Home is where a house is that you come back to when the rainy season is about to begin, to wait until the next dry season comes around. Home is where your woman is, that you come back to in the...
It was a brave city, she decided, eyeing them. Brave in its other sense; not courageous, so much as outstanding, commanding. It was too nice a town to die in. Though it had no honeysuckle vines and no balconies and no guitars, it was meant...
Every life is a mystery. And every story of every life is a mystery. But it is not what happens that is the mystery. It is whether it has to happen no matter what, whether it is ordered and ordained, fixed and fated, or whether...
