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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.
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
Mind
Standards
Shades
Things
Judging
Relevance
World
Minds
Lofty
White
Maps
Black
Shade
Place
Gray
Nothing
Judge
Trying
Ideals
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It's often only in the lies we refuse to speak that any truth can be heard at all.
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It's why I laugh so much. If my face is going to stick, I'm going to like looking at it.
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You were firing questions at me today, trying to get inside my head. You asked if I believe in God. I told you of course I do - I've always had a strong sense of self
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Then you will simply have to see for yourself. Touch me, lass. Feel my ...sock. His silver gaze sizzled with challenge, as he unzipped his zipper. Uh-uh. She shook her head for added emphasis. Then find me a pair of trews that doona threaten to sever my manparts.
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You have splendid breasts, lass, he purred, cupping the plump mounds. Splendid, he repeated stupidly, and she almost laughed. Men loved breasts any shape or form, they just loved them. -Drustan to Gwen
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Turn it off, Ryodan says without even looking at me. You're distressing Dani. No one distresses Dani but me.
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There are three floors beneath the garage? Why on earth? -Mac
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I am going to love you now, slow and sweet, but when you come, I'm going to f*** you the way I need to. The way I've been dreaming about since the moment I saw you.
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Don't bother trying to guilt me. Ask my other. It doesn't work.
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Jericho. Mac. Thank you for saving my life. Again.
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Some people fall apart when they get hurt. Puddle into apathy and despair and never recover. They wait all their lives for someone to come along and rescue them.
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It's a sponge and I'm a sponge and for a second there all our sponge parts are one and I don't just have square pants, everything about me is squarish because I'm part of a wall.
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Dude, got eyes? I'm collecting evidence. [...] In Ziploc bags. I think they're Glad. They look impartial to me.
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Sometimes the small pleasures in life are the sweetest.
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Are you decent? a woman's voice called, pushing the door cautiously ajar. Nay, but we're clothed, Cian purred.
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Pretty girls don't have ugly mouths.
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I lock eyes with my reflection and don’t look away. The day you look away you start to lose yourself. I’m never going to lose myself. You are what you are. Deal with it or change.
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Like sheep, sidhe-seers herd by nature, until you *want* them to go somewhere. Then they're all fluffy bottoms and broken.
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You can't save people from themselves. You can only try to wake them up.
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You can't go forward if you're looking backward. You run into walls that way.
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