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What, are you doing? Aside from getting your sandwich cold. I’m making a snow angel. Don’t you know what that is? Yes, I know. But why? You must be freezing. Not so much, actually. My face is a little, I guess.

Richelle Mead

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Richelle Mead
Age: 47
Born: 1976
Born: November 12
Author
Novelist
Writer
Michigan
United States
Making
Snow
Littles
Angel
Little
Guess
Must
Cold
Much
Face
Freezing
Getting
Sandwich
Actually
Sandwiches
Faces
Aside

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You’ll have your own superhero club before you know it.
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I just told you to be quiet. That's one step away from asking you to wash my laundry and make me a sandwich.
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Adrian was easily distractible by wacky topics and shiny objects.
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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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I also have a feeling your mother’s going to have a very ugly conversation with me. – Dimitri
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Would he have said he loved me? I would ask myself that for the rest of my life.
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You're a Dhampir, I breathed. So are you. he teased. Yeah, but I just thought— That I was human? Because of the bite marks? Yeah. I admitted, No point in lying. We all have to survive, he said And dhamphirs are good at figuring ways out to.
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Sunshine had never tasted so sweet as it did at that moment.
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I like you being the sinner you are. -Adrian Ivashkov
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Mmm. O positive, my favorite.
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He sighed and then focused his eyes right on me. It was like drowning, drowning in seas of green. There was nothing in the world except for those eyes. I want to kiss you, Rose, he said softly. And I want you to want me too.
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I always love it whenever Rose delivers one of her witty one-liners—particularly when it’s a completely serious situation. The contrast always amuses me, but then, I’m biased.
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Maybe you don't need beauty sleep, but some of us aren't so lucky.
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What happened? Did a house fall on your sister? I asked. Maybe there was a benefit to our language barrier. She pursed her lips. You can't stay here much longer, she said. My mouth dropped open. You...you speak English? She snorted. Of course.
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Life and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave the world. I was still in it, barely, and as I looked up from the ashes, everything around me seemed so sweet and so beautiful. The trees. The stars. The moon. I was alive -- and I was glad I was.
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Don't fight them anymore.I'm going to go with them. No. I won't let them take you. You have to, I begged. He was breathing hard, every part of him braced and ready to attack. We locked gazes, and a thousand messages seemed to flow between us as the old electricity crackled in the air.
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And after a while...I mean how do you choose? Who gets to live? Part of life is that...well, some people have to die.
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Conversation was irrelevant. Only pie mattered.
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I want your opinion.ʺ ʺThat,ʺ Adrian said, ʺis not something I hear a lot.ʺ
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Yeah? Can you draw a skeleton riding a motorcycle with flames coming out of it? And I want a pirate hat on the skeleton. And a parrot on his shoulder. A skeleton parrot. Or maybe a ninja skeleton parrot? No, that would be overkill. But it'd be cool if the biker skeleton could be shooting some ninja throwing stars. That are on fire.
Richelle Mead