You teach me now how cruel you've been - cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>Yes, you may kiss...
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Unknown
I knew they would kill me when they found out, but…” He struggled for words, releasing a sharp breath. “I think I realized that I would rather die because I betrayed them, than live because I betrayed you.
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Marissa Meyer
Ah, " she cried, "you look so cool." Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space. With an effort she glanced down at the table. You always look so cool, " she repeated. She had told him that she loved...
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F. Scott Fitzgerald
May she wake in torment! " he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. "Why, she's a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there–not in heaven–not perished–where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for...
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Unknown
A true gentleman is one that apologizes anyways, even though he has not offended a lady intentionally. He is in a class all of his own because he knows the value of a woman's heart.
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Shannon L. Alder
More Quotes By Dan Simmons
To see and feel one's beloved naked for the first time is one of life's pure, irreducible epiphanies. If there is a true religion in the universe, it must include that truth of contact or be forever hollow. To make love to the one true...
I wish we had the technology to fight God on an equal basis. To beard him in his den. To fight back for all of the injustices heaped on humanity. To allow him to alter his smug arrogance or be blown to hell.
There would be no more offerings. Not this day. Not any day. Humankind had suffered enough for its love of gods, its long search for God. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>He thought of the many centuries in which his people, the Jews, had negotiated with God, complaining,...
When the last autumn of Dickens's life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with...
In the beginning was the Word. Then came the fucking word processor. Then came the thought processor. Then came the death of literature. And so it goes.
