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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

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
Head
Believe
Courses
Always
Course
Strong
Firing
Sense
Questions
Asked
Today
Inside
Self
Told
Trying

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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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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 are what you are. Find a way to live with it.
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Is anyone who's supposed to be dead actually dead?
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Good and evil are merely opposite sides of a coin. Get tossed in the air enough, it's easy to come down on the wrong side.
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You can't go forward if you're looking backward. You run into walls that way.
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What is trust, sidhe-seer, but expectation that another will behave in a certain fashion, consistent with prior actions?
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The battle had been invisible to the naked eye, but the hardest ones are.
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I love re-creating myself. Change means you get to choose again. Become something new. -Dani
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When he kisses me again, the last part of me that could stand myself dies.
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I moistened my lips. His gaze fixed on them. I think I stopped breathing. He jerked so sharply away that his long dark coat sliced air, and turned his back to me. “Was that an invitation, Ms.Lane?” “If it was?” I asked, astonishing myself. What did I think I was doing? “I don’t do hypotheticals. Little girl.
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Some things are sacred. Until you act like they're not. Then you lose them
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And now she was just Gabby, currently staying in a dreamy, magnificent castle in Scotland with a Fae prince who did all kinds of non-nasty, non-inhuman things like tearing up lists of names, and returning tadpoles to lakes, and saving people's lives. Not to mention kissing with all the otherwordly splendor of a horny angel.
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Barrons has something the rest of us don't have. I don't know what it is, but I feel it all the time, especially when we're standing close. Beneath the expensive clothes, unplaceable accent, and cultured veneer, there's something that never crawled all the way out of the swamp. It didn't want to. It likes it there.
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You're Mac, and I'm Jericho. And nothing else matters.
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Life's a choice: you can live in black and white, or you can live in colour. I'll take every shade of the rainbow and the gazillion in between!
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My heart has jet lag.
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Like is an emotion. Emotions”—he raised a hand, made a fist, clenched it tightly—“are like holding water. You open your hand, there’s nothing there. Better to be a weapon than a woman.
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Oh, please, I rolled my eyes, You're a leftie, Barrons. Touche, Ms. Lane, he murmured.
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Your race devotes itself to justifying its errors, not correcting them
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