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I can't help but see myself in them. The Seelie are who I was before my sister died. Pink, pretty, frivolous Mac. The Unseelie are who I've become, carved by loss and despair. Black, grungy, driven Mac.

Karen Marie Moning

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Karen Marie Moning
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: November 1
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Cincinnati
Ohio
Helping
Sister
Become
Driven
Despair
Died
Grungy
Loss
Carved
Pretty
Macs
Help
Frivolous
Black
Pink

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You & I are here but the wind is everywhere. Cast no words upon it you don’t wish followed back to you.
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She's too young. Too innocent. Too human. For what I'm becoming.
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Question: When you’re one of the few people who can do something to fix a problem, just how responsible does that make you for it? Answer: It’s how you choose to answer that question that defines you.
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You could ask me to teach you.” “Huh?” This night is getting weird in a hurry. “Teach me like you’re teaching a class or something? What are you going to call it: ‘You Too Can Be a Sociopath 101’?” “It would be more like a graduate-level class.” I start to snicker. His sense of humour sneaks up on you. Then I remember who’s talking and bite it off.
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Irony, perfect definition: that for which I want to possess it, I would no longer want once I possessed it.
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I have your word?” “You trust my word?” “You’re an idealistic fool. Of course.
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He had a come-and-get-me-baby-I'm-pure-trouble-and-you're-gonna-love-it kind of attitude.
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Dishonesty increases disorder exponentially. It's hard enough to communicate when you're telling the truth.
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Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.
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Valhalla on the right. Paradise regained on the left. Stuck between a Godiva truffle and a chocolate eclair. Between a rock and a very hard place. Two very hard places from the looks of it.
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Yesterday was a memory. Tomorrow was a hope. Today was another day to live and do one's best to love
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See me when you look at me.
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Are we, like, having a conversation? Did you just, like, ask me for advice and listen with an open mind? If so, then yes, I would call this a conversation
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Gwen Cassidy needed a man. Desperately. Failing that, she'd settle for a cigarette.
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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.
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You want to believe in black and white, good and evil, heroes that are truly heroic, villains that are just plain bad, but I've learned in the past year that things are rarely so simple. The good guys can do some truly awful things, and the bad guys can sometimes surprise the heck out of you.
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Your race devotes itself to justifying its errors, not correcting them
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I see God in a sunrise, not in repetitious ritual.
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One day you will kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence.
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Keep hoping to see the light in her eyes. Even knowing it'll mean she's saying good-bye.
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