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Lust is a thing of the blood. Doesn't need head or heart.

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
Lust
Blood
Head
Doesn
Need
Needs
Heart
Thing

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Dishonesty increases disorder exponentially. It's hard enough to communicate when you're telling the truth.
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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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His heavy-lidded gaze reflected a languor that had nothing to do with having just awakened, and there was no doubt what was on his mind. But this is no safe cherry picker, Gwen thought, growing more concerned by the moment. This man looks like a cherry tree chopper-downer.
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You're not falling for me, are you, Irish? -Adam to Gabrielle
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How will we get back up? I worried. I have a different route in mind for our return trip. Does it involve stairs? I asked hopefully. No. Of course not. How silly of me. And for our return adventure we will be scaling the side of Mount Everest, hiking boots to be provided by our trusty sponsor, Barrons Books and Baubles.
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I hope they change my drugs soon. Whatever I'm on isn't working.
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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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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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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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A lamb in a city of wolves.
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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.
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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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The nerve. Threatening you and not being precise about it.
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The battle had been invisible to the naked eye, but the hardest ones are.
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Don't leave me, Rainbow Girl. Rainbow Girl. Was that who I was? It seemed so long ago. I smiled faintly. Remember the skirt I wore to Mallucé's the night you told me to dress Goth? It's upstairs in your closet. Never throw it away. It looked like a wet dream on you.
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Nobody looks good in their darkest hour. But it's those hours that make us what we are. We stand strong, or we cower. We emerge victorious, tempered by our trails, or fracture by a permanent, damning fault line.
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I wake up wating you. I fall asleep wanting you. I watch a magnificent sunrise and can think only of sharing it with you. I glimpse a piece of amver and see your eyes. Jillian, I've caught a disease, and the fever abates only when I'm near you.
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I'd teach them to read and to dream and to look at the stars and wonder. I'd teach them the value of imagination. I'd teach them to play every bit as hard as they worked. And I'd teach them that all the brains in the world can't compensate for love.
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Propping the mirror against the wall near the door, he waved a hand at it and clipped, Drustan: Cian MacKeltar. Cian: Drustan MacKeltar. Dageus, Drustan's voice was soft as velvet, never a good sign, why are you introducing me to a mirror?
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I wondered what one wore to visit a vampire. The chic red sweater set didn't go so well with my darker hair, and I was afraid it might be construed as a flirtatious invitation to color me bloodier.
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