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Love can grown among the rocks and thorns of life.

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
Life
Thorns
Grown
Rocks
Among
Love

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If I'm a little girl, then that makes you a serious pervert.
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Is anyone who's supposed to be dead actually dead?
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Caring is love. And love fights! Love doesn't look for the path of least resistance.
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Don't celebrate yet, Ms. Lane. Don't believe anything is dead until you've burned it, poked around in its ashes, and then waited a day or two to see if anything rises from them.
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If V’lane were a signpost, it would read Abandon All Personal Will, Ye Who Tread Here.
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Jericho Barrons just told me he loves me.
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Liminal sucks. You can't grasp it with your hands and shape it. You can't make midnight come faster, or grow up sooner, or avoid the in-betweens. You can only hang in there, and get through them.
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She's too young. Too innocent. Too human. For what I'm becoming.
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You never knew what you could get away with until you tried.
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Grief shared was grief lessened.
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Sometimes my dreams feel so real it's hard to believe they're just the subconscious's stroll across a whimsical map that has no true north.
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Its our actions that define us. What we choose. What we resist. What we're willing to die for.
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Pretty girls don't have ugly mouths.
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What are you?” I said irritably. “In the Serengeti, Ms. Lane, I would be the cheetah. I’m stronger, smarter, faster, and hungrier than everything else out there. And I don’t apologize to the gazelle when I take it down.
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Life is not black and white. The closes we ever get to either of those colors is wearing them.
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Mac: It's not the sidhe-seers. He stopped and went very still. JZB: Who is it? Mac: The MacKeltars. He was silent a long moment. Then he began to laugh, softly. JZB: Well played, Ms. Lane. Mac: I had a good teacher. JZB: The best. Hop on one foot, Ms. Lane. Mac and Barrons
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You've been doing something bad since the moment you met me, lass.
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Let's get something straight, MacKeltar. I am not going home with you. I am not going to bed with you, and I am not wasting one more moment arguing with you. I promise not to mock you when you change your mind, lass.
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I get off on a man with strong moral fiber. The closest Barrons ever gets to fiber is walking down the cereal aisle at the grocery store.
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When do these three days expire? That's what pisses me off. I don't know. He was annoyingly vague. The nerve. Threatening you and not being precise about it.
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