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So much grief, so much anger. So unlike the usual Adrian.

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Anger
Grief
Much
Adrian
Unlike
Usual

More quotes by Richelle Mead

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I said earlier that dead things don't always stay dead. Well, I'm one of them. don't worry - I'm not like the Strigoi. But I did die once (I don't recommend it).
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Everything‟s fine,” I said, with a tight smile. “Kiyo was just giving me his latest explanation about how my son is a terror to be feared.” Dorian scoffed. “Little Thundro? A terror? Hardly, unless perhaps we‟re discussing diapers.
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Conversation was irrelevant. Only pie mattered.
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Everyone wanted what she couldn't have.
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It's a fact that people are afraid of what they don't understand. And most are too lazy or ignorant to find out more.
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You are so beautiful, it hurts me sometimes. -Dimitri to Rose
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What were you thinking? I demanded once we were moving to the music. I was trying to ignore his hands. Do you know how much trouble you may have gotten me in? Adrian grinned. Nah. They all feel bad for you. You'll achieve martyrdom after dancing with a mean, wicked vampire. Job security with the Alchemists.
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How do you say goodbye to someone who isn't exactly gone.
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Not me. Give me honesty anytime.
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Dreams, dreams. I walk them I live them. I delude myself with them. It's a wonder I can spot reality anymore.
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By the way, my name's Rose Hathaway. I'm seventeen years old, training to protect and kill vampires, in love with a completely unsuitable guy, and have a best friend whose weird magic could drive her crazy. Hey, no one said high school was easy.
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For a moment his eyes locked onto me with an intensity that left me breathless.
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You remember our talk about purpose and meaning? he asked me, the smile disappearing. Well, I think this might be mine. I think this is what I was meant to do, Georgina.
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You shook his hand? Adrian asked incredulously … “With all that red-hot passion, it’s a wonder you guys can stay away from each other
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Thatʹs a dangerous look,ʺ said Dimitri, giving me a brief glance before returning his eyes to the road. ʺWhat look?ʺ I asked innocently. ʺThe one that says you just got some idea.
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It was like having a genie. I'd only get so many wishes.
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That's the great thing about being a writer. You dream up amazing questions... and then dream up even more amazing answers.
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What was love, really? Flowers, chocolate, and poetry? Or was it something else? Was it being able to finish someone's jokes? Was it having absolute faith that someone was there at your back? Was it knowing someone so well that they instantly understood why you did the things you did—and shared those same beliefs?
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I thought Alchemists avoided alcohol the same way they do primary colors.
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We were going to kill ourselves in trying to kill each other.
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