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I don't make sonic booms. I want a whip. I like the idea of walking around making sonic booms everywhere.
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
Ideas
Sonic
Make
Whip
Like
Whips
Everywhere
Walking
Idea
Making
Around
Booms
More quotes by Karen Marie Moning
He goes for stark versus accessorized, dark over bright, jewel tone instead of pastel, carnal over flirty.
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Please tell me we don't grow up and turn into the adults that drive us crazy.
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Silence isn't golden, it's deadly. It's a vacuum that fills up with ghosts.
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As he closed the door he said over his shoulder, Because you're a good lass. A heavy sigh. And I'm no' a good man.
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There was pain, but there was also joy. It was in the tension between the two that life happened. Imperfect as it was, this world was real. Illusion was no substitute. I'd rather live a hard life of fact than a sweet life of lies.
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One day you do meet a man who kisses you and you can’t breathe around it and you realize you don’t need air. Oxygen is trivial. Desire makes life happen. Makes it matter. Makes everything worth it. Desire is life. Hunger to see the next sunrise or sunset. To touch the one you love. To try again.
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In my experience, anybody besides your mom that feeds you is going to want something in exchange for it.
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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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Life equaled love plus passion squared. Loving and being passionate about what one did was what made life so precious.
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Nobody looks good in their darkest hours. But it's those hours that make us what we are.
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He'd made her feel what Barrons made me feel. Bigger than I could possibly be, larger than life, on fire with possibilities, ecstatic to be breathing, impatient for the next moment together. She'd been happy in those last months, so alive and happy.
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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.
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He wasn't handsome. That was too calm a word. He was intensely masculine. He was sexual. He attracted.
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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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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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A wing or a thigh? Ah, I'm afraid we don't have any thighs left.
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I have your word?” “You trust my word?” “You’re an idealistic fool. Of course.
Karen Marie Moning
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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What is trust, sidhe-seer, but expectation that another will behave in a certain fashion, consistent with prior actions?
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I was adrift in a sea of questions and if answers were lifeboats, I was in imminent danger of drowning.
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