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He closes his hand around mine and I hold on. I like his hand. It's big and holds easy but sure. It's the kind of hold that says, I got you if you want me, but I'll let you go if you feel like running for a while.
Karen Marie Moning
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Karen Marie Moning
Age: 59
Born: 1964
Born: November 1
Author
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Cincinnati
Ohio
Feel
Says
Feels
Hand
Kind
Sure
Like
Bigs
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Running
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If he were any other man, I might have suspected him of substance abuse, of being coked up or something. But Barrons was too much a purist for that his drugs were money, power, and control
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You're Mac, and I'm Jericho. And nothing else matters.
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As she lifted the glittering strand of diamonds from the box, a small slip of paper fell out. She caught it as it wafted toward the floor. Four words in ancient script, an arrogantly slanted scrawl. Accept these, accept me. Well, she thought, blinking, that was certainly direct and to the point. -Adam's note to Gabrielle
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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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I'm sorry your pretty little world got all screwed up, but everybody's does, and you go on. It's how you go on that defines you.
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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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You can’t give somebody faith. They either got it or they don’t.
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He made a lousy passenger, barking instructions I ignored
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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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I miss her. I don't know how to live without her. There is a hole inside me that nothing fills. If you don't find something to fill that hole, someone else will. And if someone else fills it, they own you. Forever. You'll never get yourself back.
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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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Pretty girls don't have ugly mouths.
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Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does job applications anymore?” “I do.” I squint at it, then him. “What are you paying me?” I angle. “Dude. Post-apocalyptic world. Who does money anymore.” I snicker. First sign of any sense of humor he’s shown. Then I remember where I am and why. I wad it up and throw it at him. It bounces off his chest.
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I'll never get laid trying to keep you safe. You're a train wreck on steroids.
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I am a kite in a tornado but I have a long string. There is tension in my line. Somewhere, someone is holding onto the other end and, although it cannot spare me this storm, it will not let me be lost while I regain my strength. It is enough.
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But he didn't need to seek visual confirmation of what he'd just heard to know she had. And the truth was, he couldn't blame her. He'd not have let her die, either. He'd have moved mountains. He'd have battled God or Devil for his wife's life. She'd betrayed him. He smiled faintly.
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Sometimes the small pleasures in life are the sweetest.
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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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-I'm going to kill the kid. - Barrons says faintly. Ryodan makes a burbling sound like a bodly laught. -Get in line
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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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